The rest of the journal is pretty much in the same style—a record of insignificant facts which lead to nothing, useless as memorandums at the time, and of course not more useful at the distance of eight-and-twenty years. I would give a good deal, at this moment, to possess, instead of these trashy notices, some traces, no matter how faint, of what was actually passing in my mind upon the occasion of this journey. The resolutions we make at such a period, together with the doubts and fears which distract us, may have a certain amount of value, if then jotted down in good faith; but if these fleeting thoughts be once allowed to pass without record, they necessarily lose most of their force. There is always, indeed, something interesting, and often much that is useful, in tracing the connexion between sentiment and action, especially in the elementary stages of life, when the foundations of character are laid. But the capacity of drawing such inferences belongs to a very different period of life; and hence it arises, that early journals are generally so flat and profitless, unless they be written in a spirit which few people think of till too late. I shall have so many better opportunities than the present of speaking on the copious subject of journal-writing, that I shall merely remark, in passing, for the consideration of my young readers, that what most people wish to find recorded there, is not so much a dry statement of facts, however important these may be, as some account of the writer’s opinions and his feelings upon the occasion. These, it may be observed, are like the lights and shades and colours of a painting, which, while they contribute fully as much to the accuracy of a representation as the correctness of the mere outline, impress the mind of the spectator with a still more vivid image of the object intended to be described. I ought to have mentioned before, that the object of this journey was to ship me off to sea; and it was arranged that I should join the flag-ship of Sir Andrew Mitchell, then fitting in the River for the Halifax station. We, of course, set out for London, as the grand focus from which every thing in the English world radiates. But I find nothing in the memorandums of that period worthy of being extracted, nor do I recollect any incident which excited me strongly, except the operation of rigging myself out for the first time in midshipman’s uniform. There was something uncommonly pleasing, I remember, in the glitter of the dirk and its apparatus; and also in the smart air, as well as new cut of the dress; but the chief satisfaction arose from the direct evidence this change of garb afforded that there was no joke in the matter, but that the real business of life was actually about to begin. Accordingly, in a tolerable flutter of spirits, I made my first appearance on the deck of one of his Majesty’s ships. The meagre journal of that day is as follows:—