The sea, perhaps because of its saltness, roughens the outside but keeps sweet the kernel of itsservants' soul. The old sea; the sea of many years ago, whose servants were devoted slaves and wentfrom youth to age or to a sudden grave without needing to open the book of life, because they couldlook at eternity reflected on the element that gave the life and dealt the death. Like a beautiful andunscrupulous woman, the sea of the past was glorious in its smiles, irresistible in its anger, capricious, enticing, illogical, irresponsible; a thing to love, a thing to fear. It cast a spell, it gave joy, it lulled gently into boundless faith; then with quick and causeless anger it killed. But its cruelty wasredeemed by the charm of its inscrutable mystery, by the immensity of its promise, by the supremewitchery of its possible favour. Strong men with childlike hearts were faithful to it, were content tolive by its grace-to die by its will. That was the sea before the time when the French mind set theEgyptian muscle in motion and produced a dismal but profitable ditch. Then a great pall of smokesent out by countless steam-boats was spread over the restless mirror of the Infinite. The hand ofthe engineer tore down the veil of the terrible beauty in order that greedy and faithless landlubbersmight pocket dividends. The mystery was destroyed. Like all mysteries, it lived only in the hearts ofits worshippers. The hearts changed; the men changed. The once loving and devoted servants wentout armed with fire and iron, and conquering the fear of their own hearts became a calculatingcrowd of cold and exacting masters. The sea of the past was an incomparably beautiful mistress, with inscrutable face, with cruel and promising eyes. The sea of to-day is a used-up drudge, wrinkledand defaced by the churned-up wakes of brutal propellers, robbed of the enslaving charm of itsvastness, stripped of its beauty, of its mystery and of its promi