There is a vehement delight, no doubt, in novelty—but we may have too much of it at once; and certainly, if my advice were asked as to this point, in the case of another, I should recommend that a boy be gradually introduced to his future home; and, if possible, placed under the auspices of some one older than himself, and who, from having a real interest in him, might soften the needless rigours of this formidable change. I had no such preparation; and was without one friend or even acquaintance on board, who cared a straw for me. I was also very little for my age, spoke broad Scotch, and was, withal, rather testy in my disposition. The cock-pit, it is true, is a pretty good place to work the bad humours out of a crotchety young fellow, and to bring him to his due bearings; but I think I have seen a good many tenderer plants than I was, crushed down under the severity of this merciless discipline. Perhaps it is all for the best; because youngsters who cannot, or will not stand this rough rubbing, are just as well out of the way, both for themselves and the public. There is one practice, however, which, as I invariably followed it myself, I know to be in every boy’s power, and I venture strongly to recommend it to others in the same situation; nor is it very likely that many will be exposed to greater trials, in a small way, than I was at first. The maxim is, always, in writing home, to put the best face upon matters, and never, if possible, to betray any inevitable unhappiness. Such a practice is doubly useful—for it contributes essentially to produce that character of cheerfulness in reality, which is partly assumed at the moment of writing, in order to save our friends from distress on our account. It would be wrong, indeed, to say, in writing home, that we are very happy, when in truth we are very much the reverse; but, without stating any falsehood, or giving into any subterfuge—which is still worse—those particular things may very fairly be dwelt upon which are agreeable, almost to the exclusion of those which are otherwise. We should learn, in short, to see and to describe the cheerful things; and, both in our practice and in description, leave the unpleasant ones to take care of themselves. For example, I remember, as well as if the incidents had occurred yesterday, most of the details which are stated in the following letter, written only the day after I was left to my fate—amongst strangers—in the unknown world of a man-of-war. I certainly was far from happy, and might easily have made my friends wretched by selecting chiefly what was disagreeable. I took a different course. “_H. M. Ship Leander, June 12, 1802, Cock Pit._ “DEAR FATHER,