and grace that the devoted generations of ship-builders have
evolved from some pure nooks of their simple souls, the sight that
could be seen five-and-twenty years ago of a large fleet of
clippers moored along the north side of the New South Dock was an
inspiring spectacle. Then there was a quarter of a mile of them,
from the iron dockyard-gates guarded by policemen, in a long,
forest-like perspective of masts, moored two and two to many stout
wooden jetties. Their spars dwarfed with their loftiness the
corrugated-iron sheds, their jibbooms extended far over the shore,
their white-and-gold figure-heads, almost dazzling in their purity,
overhung the straight, long quay above the mud and dirt of the
wharfside, with the busy figures of groups and single men moving to
and fro, restless and grimy under their soaring immobility.

At tide-time you would see one of the loaded ships with battened-
down hatches drop out of the ranks and float in the clear space of
the dock, held by lines dark and slender, like the first threads of
a spider's web, extending from her bows and her quarters to the
mooring-posts on shore. There, graceful and still, like a bird
ready to spread its wings, she waited till, at the opening of the
gates, a tug or two would hurry in noisily, hovering round her with
an air of fuss and solicitude, and take her out into the river,
tending, shepherding her through open bridges, through dam-like
gates between the flat pier-heads, with a bit of green lawn
surrounded by gravel and a white signal-mast with yard and gaff,
flying a couple of dingy blue, red, or white flags.

This New South Dock (it was its official name), round which my
earlier professional memories are centred, belongs to the group of
West India Docks, together with two smaller and much older basins