There is no evil in the management of children to be more deprecated than that species of treatment which tends to destroy their happiness. Correction for obvious faults, in a proper manner, is essential to their proper moral training; but a habit of incessantly scolding them for every little accident or offence, only serves to excite the growth of evil passions and to make them dislike their home; things to be avoided as much as Scylla and Charybdis by the careful mariner. The influence of such mal-treatment follows the child through life, like an evil genius, materially affecting his views of life and the temper of his mind. For aught that now occurs to me, but for this unkindness, my early predilection for the sea would have died within me; while, as it was, I panted to enjoy the freedom my fancy painted in its pictures of sailor life. To add to my sorrows, my mother removed my sister, who had been my cheerful companion and true friend, to a lady’s school at Woodstock, in Oxfordshire, for the twofold purpose of affording her greater literary advantages, and of being able to see her more frequently. Several incidents occurred during my abode here, which tended to increase my growing desire. A smart, active sailor, over six feet in height, and well-proportioned, one day presented himself at my aunt’s door. He told us he had been to America, where he had seen a young man named George Turner, who was her nephew and my cousin. He proceeded to tell many fine stories about him, and at last inquired if she should not like to see him, and if she should know him. “I don’t know as I should,” said my aunt, “he has been away so long.” “Well, then,” replied he, “I am George Turner!” This fine, bold seaman, then, was my own cousin, son to my aunt Turner; he had been eleven years at sea, and, after visiting his parents, took this method of surprising his aunt. Most likely he has made this adventure the subject of many a forecastle yarn since then. While he remained he was so jolly, so liberal, and so full of pleasant stories, that I began to feel quite sure that sailors were noble fellows. We were also favored with a visit from an uncle, then visiting Europe from the West Indies. He was one of two brothers, who were educated at Greenwich for the navy. One of them had entered the British navy, and by dint of merit and hard service rose to the possession of a commission in the service, but ultimately perished at sea. This one had chosen the merchant service, but afterwards settled at Antigua. He took me with him to London, and carried me over the West India docks; he being well acquainted with many of the captains, they treated me with playful attention, inquiring if I did not wish to be a cabin-boy, and the like. When I returned to Wanstead, it was with a stronger desire than ever to be a sailor. My uncle went to Trinidad, and died shortly after.