Our first albatross presented himself to view this morning. When you are making your first long voyage there is generally some confusion at first, resulting in the more or less similarity between an albatross and a molly-hawk. The latter are large birds and really look a good deal like the former; but when you have seen an albatross half a dozen times, you will never forget his appearance. There is no mistaking that great beak or the odd hunchback-look of those shoulders, much less the majestic flight of the stately bird as he skims along close to the surface of the sea and then rises in a splendid circle on those great wings of his. Our friend of this morning, however, did not long abide with us, but, after looking us over, wheeled about and vanished in the south. A Cape pigeon struck the taffrail this morning and fell on the poop by the wheel-house. He was a beautiful little creature, with a snow-white breast, dark-brown wings splashed with white, and a glossy black head and neck, with a sheen as of satin on the feathers. After sufficiently admiring the little fellow and showing him to the cat, who wouldn’t approach within ten feet of him, we hove it overboard, and it whizzed screaming away to rejoin its companions, who now follow us in scores. Latitude, 38° 12′ south; longitude, 49° 35′ west. +June 30+ The bright happy weather of yesterday has given place to a chill, gloomy day with half a gale from the westward, while the ship under reefed topsails has been digging into a strong head-sea in quite a violent manner. How tender and delicate, so to speak, even the best and largest of wooden vessels really are! For instance, at nine last evening the second mate said that he thought he would put the gaskets on the royals, the sky-sails having come in before supper. “What on earth do you want to stow the royals for?” said I; “there certainly is not wind enough for that.” “No, it’s not the wind,” he answered, “but this sea’s makin’ ahead, and she’ll strain goin’ into it with the royals on her.” There certainly was a southerly sea running, but the ship was diving easily, without wrenching or pounding; and it surely was very surprising that a powerful ship like this would have to shorten sail for such a swell. “And that’s just the great point in favor of an iron ship,” said Mr. Rarx; “you can drive her through most anything and not give her a thought. You know the ‘William J. Rotch’? We opened her all up forrad a-drivin’ of her into a head-sea beatin’ up the Sea of Japan trying to find Willywoodstock in a fog.” “Where’s that place? It’s new to me,” said I. “Siberia,” was his reply; and it was not until some hours afterward that I grasped his meaning; he intended to say Vladivostok.