edge of many other things, his chance must be
very small in the race of professional life.

In tolerably wide opposition of habits to these tarpaulin men follow
the less dashing and showy race sometimes called "star-gazers,"
sometimes "dictionary-men," who are also occasionally taunted or
dignified by their messmates with the title of "philosophers." The
object of most of these young philosophisers is to get at the reason
of all things, and to be able not only to work by the rules laid down
for them in printed books, or in the written orders of their
superiors; but to investigate the foundation of these rules and
regulations so thoroughly, that when new cases occur, they may have it
in their power to meet them by fresh resources of their own: according
in spirit, with those which experience has shown to be conducive to
the happiness of the crew and the efficiency of the service. Out of
the class of officers now alluded to, the growth of which it has been
the wise policy of late years to encourage, there have sprung up the
numberless voyagers, surveyors, and other strictly nautical men, who
are always to be found when the public service requires a practical
question to be settled, or a professional office of responsibility and
trust to be filled up. If the arctic circle is to be investigated by
sea or by land, or the deserts of Africa traversed, or the world
circumnavigated afresh, under the guidance of the modern improvements
in navigation, the government at once calls upon such men as Parry,
Franklin, Clapperton, Beechey,[1] to whom they can safely entrust the
task.

From the same class, also, a valuable race of naval statesmen have
been drawn. For a considerable number of years, the whole of the
diplomatic duties of South America, as far as concerned the interests
of England, were carried on by the naval commanders-in-chief. Who can
forget how important a share of Lord Nelson's command, or, after him,
of Lord Collingwood's in the Mediterranean, consisted of duties of a
purely civil description? And it may be questioned if diplomatic
history offers a more masterly specimen of address and statesman-like
decision, as well as forethought, than was displayed by Captain
Maitland, in securing the person of Buonaparte, not only without
committing himself or his government, but without wounding the
feelings of the fallen emperor. The case was, and ever must remain,
unique; and yet the most deliberate reflection, even after t