rewards　of　rigid　self…command。　　But　we　have　lived　together　many
  years。　　We　have　grown　older；　too；　and　though　our　work　is　not
  quite　done　yet　we　may　indulge　now　and　then　in　a　little
  introspection　before　the　firemeditate　on　the　art　of　bringing　up
  babies　and　on　the　perfect　delight　of　writing　tales　where　so　many
  lives　come　and　go　at　the　cost　of　one　which　slips　imperceptibly
  away。
  Chapter　VI。
  In　the　retrospect　of　a　life　which　had；　besides　its　preliminary
  stage　of　childhood　and　early　youth；　two　distinct　developments；
  and　even　two　distinct　elements；　such　as　earth　and　water；　for　its
  successive　scenes；　a　certain　amount　of　naiveness　is　unavoidable。
  I　am　conscious　of　it　in　these　pages。　　This　remark　is　put　forward
  in　no　apologetic　spirit。　　As　years　go　by　and　the　number　of　pages
  grows　steadily；　the　feeling　grows　upon　one　too　that　one　can　write
  only　for　friends。　　Then　why　should　one　put　them　to　the　necessity
  of　protesting　（as　a　friend　would　do）　that　no　apology　is
  necessary；　or　put；　perchance；　into　their　heads　the　doubt　of　one's
  discretion？　　So　much　as　to　the　care　due　to　those　friends　whom　a
  word　here；　a　line　there；　a　fortunate　page　of　just　feeling　in　the
  right　place；　some　happy　simplicity；　or　even　some　lucky　subtlety；
  has　drawn　from　the　great　multitude　of　fellow…beings　even　as　a
  fish　is　drawn　from　the　depths　of　the　sea。　　Fishing　is　notoriously
  （I　am　talking　now　of　the　deep　sea）　a　matter　of　luck。　　As　to　one's
  enemies；　those　will　take　care　of　themselves。
  There　is　a　gentleman；　for　instance；　who；　metaphorically　speaking；
  jumps　upon　me　with　both　feet。　　This　image　has　no　grace；　but　it　is
  exceedingly　apt　to　the　occasionto　the　several　occasions。　　I
  don't　know　precisely　how　long　he　had　been　indulging　in　that
  intermittent　exercise；　whose　seasons　are　ruled　by　the　custom　of
  the　publishing　trade。　　Somebody　pointed　him　out　（in　printed
  shape；　of　course）　to　my　attention　some　time　ago；　and　straightway
  I　experienced　a　sort　of　reluctant　affection　for　that　robust　man。
  He　leaves　not　a　shred　of　my　substance　untrodden：　　for　the
  writer's　substance　is　his　writing；　the　rest　of　him　is　but　a　vain
  shadow；　cherished　or　hated　on　uncritical　grounds。　　Not　a　shred！
  Yet　the　sentiment　owned　to　is　not　a　freak　of　affectation　or
  perversity。　　It　has　a　deeper；　and；　I　venture　to　think；　a　more
  estimable　origin　than　the　caprice　of　emotional　lawlessness。　　It
  is；　indeed；　lawful；　in　so　much　that　it　is　given　（reluctantly）　for
  a　consideration；　for　several　considerations。　　There　is　that
  robustness；　for　instance；　so　often　the　sign　of　good　moral
  balance。　　That's　a　consideration。　　It　is　not；　indeed；　pleasant　to
  be　stamped　upon；　but　the　very　thoroughness　of　the　operation；
  implying　not　only　a　careful　reading；　but　some　real　insight　into
  work　whose　qualities　and　defects；　whatever　they　may　be；　are　not
  so　much　on　the　surface；　is　something　to　be　thankful　for　in　view
  of　the　fact　that　it　may　happen　to　one's　work　to　be　condemned
  without　being　read　at　all。　　This　is　the　most　fatuous　adventure
  that　can　well　happen　to　a　writer　venturing　his　soul　amongst
  criticisms。　　It　can　do　one　no　harm；　of　course；　but　it　is
  disagreeable。　　It　is　disagreeable　in　the　same　way　as　discovering
  a　three…card…trick　man　amongst　a　decent　lot　of　folk　in　a　third…
  class　compartment。　　The　open　impudence　of　the　whole　transaction；
  appealing　insidiously　to　the　folly　and　credulity　of　mankind；　the
  brazen；　shameless　patter；　proclaiming　the　fraud　openly　while
  insisting　on　the　fairness　of　the　game；　give　one　a　feeling　of
  sickening　disgust。　　The　honest　violence　of　a　plain　man　playing　a
  fair　game　fairlyeven　if　he　means　to　knock　you　overmay　appear
  shocking；　but　it　remains　within　the　pale　of　decency。　　Damaging　as
  it　may　be；　it　is　in　no　sense　offensive。　　One　may　well　feel　some
  regard　for　honesty；　even　if　practised　upon　one's　own　vile　body。
  But　it　is　very　obvious　that　an　enemy　of　that　sort　will　not　be
  stayed　by　explanations　or　placated　by　apologies。　　Were　I　to
  advance　the　plea　of　youth　in　excuse　of　the　naiveness　to　be　found
  in　these　pages；　he　would　be　likely　to　say　〃Bosh！〃　in　a　column　and
  a　half　of　fierce　print。　　Yet　a　writer　is　no　older　than　his　first
  published　book；　and；　notwithstanding　the　vain　appearances　of
  decay　which　attend　us　in　this　transitory　life；　I　stand　here　with
  the　wreath　of　only　fifteen　short　summers　on　my　brow。
  With　the　remark；　then；　that　at　such　tender　age　some　naiveness　of
  feeling　and　expression　is　excusable；　I　proceed　to　admit　that；
  upon　the　whole；　my　previous　state　of　existence　was　not　a　good
  equipment　for　a　literary　life。　Perhaps　I　should　not　have　used　the
  word　literary。　　That　word　presupposes　an　intimacy　of　acquaintance
  with　letters；　a　turn　of　mind　and　a　manner　of　feeling　to　which　I
  dare　lay　no　claim。　　I　only　love　letters；　but　the　love　of　letters
  does　not　make　a　literary　man；　any　more　than　the　love　of　the　sea
  makes　a　seaman。　　And　it　is　very　possible；　too；　that　I　love　the
  letters　in　the　same　way　a　literary　man　may　love　the　sea　he　looks
  at　from　the　shorea　scene　of　great　endeavour　and　of　great
  achievements　changing　the　face　of　the　world；　the　great　open　way
  to　all　sorts　of　undiscovered　countries。　　No；　perhaps　I　had　better
  say　that　the　life　at　seaand　I　don't　mean　a　mere　taste　of　it；
  but　a　good　broad　span　of　years；　something　that　really　counts　as
  real　serviceis　not；　upon　the　whole；　a　good　equipment　for　a
  writing　life。　　God　forbid；　though；　that　I　should　be　thought　of　as
  denying　my　masters　of　the　quarter…deck。　　I　am　not　capable　of　that
  sort　of　apostasy。　　I　have　confessed　my　attitude　of　piety　towards
  their　shades　in　three　or　four　tales；　and　if　any　man　on　earth　more
  than　another　needs　to　be　true　to　himself　as　he　hopes　to　be　saved；
  it　is　certainly　the　writer　of　fiction。
  What　I　meant　to　say；　simply；　is　that　the　quarter…deck　training
  does　not　prepare　one　sufficiently　for　the　reception　of　literary
  criticism。　　Only　that；　and　no　more。　　But　this　defect　is　not
  without　gravity。　　If　it　be　permissible　to　twist；　invert；　adapt
  （and　spoil）　M。　Anatole　France's　definition　of　a　good　critic；　then
  let　us　say　that　the　good　author　is　he　who　contemplates　without
  marked　joy　or　excessive　sorrow　the　adventures　of　his　soul　amongst
  criticisms。　　Far　be　from　me　the　intention　to　mislead　an　attentive
  public　into　the　belief　that　there　is　no　criticism　at　sea。　　That
  would　be　dishonest；　and　even　impolite。　　Everything　can　be　found
  at　sea；　according　to　the　spirit　of　your　queststrife；　peace；
  romance；　naturalism　of　the　most　pronounced　kind；　ideals；　boredom；
  disgust；　inspirationand　every　conceivable　opportunity；
  including　the　opportunity　to　make　a　fool　of　yourselfexactly　as
  in　the　pursuit　of　literature。　　But　the　quarter…deck　criticism　is
  somewhat　different　from　literary　criticism。　　This　much　they　have
  in　common；　that　before　the　one　and　the　other　the　answering　back；
  as　a　general　rule；　does　not　pay。
  Yes；　you　find　criticism　at　sea；　and　even　appreciationI　tell　you
  everything　is　to　be　found　on　salt　watercriticism　generally
  impromptu；　and　always　viva　voce；　which　is　the　outward；　obvious
  difference　from　the　literary　operation　of　that　kind；　with
  consequent　freshness　and　vigour　which　may　be　lacking　in　the
  printed　word。　　With　appreciation；　which　comes　at　the　end；　when
  the　critic　and　the　criticised　are　about　to　part；　it　is　otherwise。
  The　sea　appreciation　of　one's　humble　talents　has　the　permanency
  of　the　written　word；　seldom　the　charm　of　variety；　is　formal　in
  its　phrasing。　　There　the　literary　master　has　the　superiority；
  though　he；　too；　can　in　effect　but　sayand　often　says　it　in　the
  very　phrase〃I　can　highly　recommend。〃　　Only　usually　he　uses　the
  word　〃We；〃　there　being　some　occult　virtue　in　the　first　person
  plural；　which　makes　it　specially　fit　for　critical　and　royal
  declarations。　　I　have　a　small　handful　of　these　sea　appreciations；
  signed　by　various　masters；　yellowing　slowly　in　my　writing…table's
  left…hand　drawer；　rustling　under　my　reverent　touch；　like　a
  handful　of　dry　leaves　plucked　for　a　tender　memento　from　the　tree
  of　knowledge。　　Strange！　　It　seems　that　it　is　for　these　few　bits
  of　paper；　headed　by　the　names　of　a　few　ships　and　signed　by　the
  names　of　a　few　Scots　and　English　shipmasters；　that　I　have　faced
  the　astonished　indignations；　the　mockeries　and　the　reproaches　of
  a　sort　hard　to　bear　for　a　boy　of　fifteen；　that　I　have　been
  charged　with　the　want　of　patriotism；　the　want　of　sense；　and　the
  want　of　heart　too；　that　I　went　throug