accomplished, well bred. Perhaps an Englishman
is prejudiced in their favour by finding
them comparatively so like English. The
reserved, solid kind of manner, the shaved
chin and lip, occasionally the physical type of
face, and almost always the dress, create
altogether a curious amount of resemblance.
English, though perhaps not often spoken, is
always, more or less, understood among French
naval men. You find Maury's Sailing Directions
in their rooms. One middle-aged officer
mentioned that he had read two hundred of our
novels. Several circumstances tend to isolate
French naval officers from the ordinary modern
France. Not only is the regular isolation,
especially from military society, stronger among
them than you would expect to find it, but I
doubt whether the French public does them,
ordinarily, full justice. Many a Frenchman
whom you meet in travelling will coolly give up
the marine to you, in discussion, as inferior,
though willing to contend to any extent for the
superiority of the French army, the French
literature, and everything else French. Yet
how unjust is this! What can be more certain
than that the French navy has fought admirably;
did we ever get more decided advantages over
it than our Marlboroughs, Wolfes, and
Wellingtons did over the French army? An
impression that they hardly get justice from their
countrymen—that they are made the scapegoats
of the national vanity—is calculated to throw
them very much upon themselves and their
profession, and the result is probably an increased
devotion to it. Their political leanings—but of
these a foreigner can only know very little
(especially now, when the political silence of
France is felt like a heavy—too calm—
atmosphere, to strangers)—seem to be, in accordance
with their naval position, less marked than those
of most professions. They must hate the
uncertainty which throws them, one day, into the hands
of a different government from that of the day
before; and it is possible that the Empire
is accepted as a practical working government
among them, even by the cadets (who must be
numerous) of Legitimist and Orleanist families.
At the same time, our British institutions seemed
respected and understood by those with whom we
talked; our navy certainly is; and it is a curious
and wholesome symptom that they incline to
think "Charley Napier" too critical on, and too
much an alarmist about, his country's navy and
naval policy.

The British and French arrangements as to
the personnel of their naval services differ in
some points worth remarking upon.

Their youngsters enter later in life, as a
general rule, than ours do. Their average age at
going afloat is above sixteen. Their training is
more liberal, as regards instruction, than ours
was until lately, and is managed by a college,
and by a training-ship in Brest roads. I know
no reason for supposing them to be better sea
officers, measured by the good old test of handling
a ship; and we could, no doubt, match any
individual officer among them in scientific and
other accomplishments by some individual officer
of our own. Cæteris paribus,—as entering later,
their average book knowledge ought to be higher
than ours; and I dare say that in the finer
accomplishments (let us say, music) they have
somewhat the advantage of us. We must not overrate
all that kind of thing, however, nor forget that
spirit, sinew, traditions, and experience, are the
bases of the greatness of naval men. The
French navy has made great strides within thirty
years, and we may learn something from it. Yet,
in passing from one "set" of the rising British
generation—say at Portsmouth—to another of
the rising French generation—say at Cherbourg
—an observer does not feel that he has got into
any remarkably higher region. To read some of
our writers one would fancy that it was like
going from Lilliput to Brobdingnag.

Having entered later, the grades of their
service are different among the French. From
aspirant of the second, they pass to aspirant of
the first class; and from that to the rank of
Enseigne de Vaisseau. We commonly translate
that title by Midshipman in England.
This, however, conveys a false impression. The
"enseigne" messes with the lieutenants: which
our mid does not, even after "passing" and
becoming mate. The enseigne has charge of a
watch; not the case with a mid. But the
enseigne de vaisseau, though better off in
status than our mate, has a long time to wait for
his promotion; and this is a detail of which
French naval officers complain. He remains
often, for years, virtually in the position of a
junior kind of lieutenant, without acquiring a
lieutenant's rank and title.

The rank of "master" is unknown in the
French service. It seems to have arisen in old
times, with us, from the primitive distinction
(so noticeable in Blake's days) between the
fighting captain and the sailing captain of a
man-of-war. The master ranks "with and
after" the lieutenants, and is specially charged
with the observations and the log: for
which (jointly with the captain) he is responsible.
In a French ship, the observations are
managed by the officers in turns; and it has
been suggested that we should imitate this
arrangement. But, there are several advantages
in keeping up the grade of master; and one is,
that it opens a path to commissions to a class of
families less well off or influential than those
from which the service as a whole is officered.
Observe, by the way, here, that there is no
promotion from the ranks—no "coming in through
the hawse holes"—in the French navy, any
more than in our own. A family which could
not manage a cadetship for one of its youngsters
in England, can often set him going en route
to master, as a master's assistant.

The French do not flog in their navy.
They punish by imprisonment, by the usual
restrictions on grog, and so forth. But they
can, by the operation of the "inscription,"
keep a man afloat as long as they like; and the
non-corporal punishment principle is not strictly
carried out. In the case of certain offences—