Whenever I chance to be on a ship, I amuse myself with noticing the changes that have taken place in maritime customs since the time--alas! already far distant--since I first embarked. I can remember when the old customs and bluff phraseology were still retained even in the imperial navy. Commissioned officers scattered a number of very picturesque expressions amongst their orders, which, although in all probability religiously handed down from squadron to squadron since the time of the Bailli of Suffren, would have made a grammarian shudder at their formation. A hundred times I have heard midshipmen or lieutenants shout to the men, “_Bande de soldats, vas-tu haler sur le bras de misaine?_” Or conversations of this kind: “_Combien es-tu dans la grand-hunc?_” “_Je suis cinq_,” replied a voice from above. “_Eh, bien, reste deux et descends trois._” In moments of great excitement it frequently happened that a middy, and often even an officer, lent his aid in hauling in a rope, or to assist in a manœuvre, sending at the same time a backhander across the face of some Parisian novice, who pretended to haul and really did nothing. Then came the reaction. Old officers were accused of being too free and easy. A new school replaced them who were stiff and formal in their deportment; giving their orders in measured tones so that the boatswain had to repeat them before they could be heard. At first this was called _chic Anglais_, and some enthusiasts went so far as to command in English. I knew at least two navy lieutenants, two brothers, who would have fancied themselves lost had they shouted “_Amarrez_.” They always said “_Belay_,” which is the English translation. But the English school triumphed. I am ready to acknowledge its superiority even whilst I regret the picturesqueness of old times. Our captain of the Holyhead steamer is a worthy representative of the former. This morning he managed to get off without a single word, a perfect triumph of its kind. It was only half past two, yet the dawn spread over the waters and daylight appeared. We are five degrees farther north than Paris, and this accounts for the short nights. The morning is splendid. In the distance the horizon is clear, but behind us the English coast is lost in a thick mist; its outline is only indicated by a succession of lights that still shine against the sky. On the port side one of them burns with marvellous brilliancy.