This has been a grand cleaning day forward. Every movable object was taken out of the forward house and spread on the forecastle-head in the baking sun, and a curious sight did the men’s old clothes and bedding present after lying mildewed and sodden for so many weeks. They lay in a wretched heap, the outside of which was composed of ancient, grimy bedticks, frowsy, ill-looking quilts, and disreputable, mouldy mufflers. The forecastle itself was then swept cleanly out and thoroughly washed with soap and water. We have scores of snow-white birds with us now, about the size of common gulls, called bosuns. They are pretty creatures, with the most remarkable tails; for, instead of the usual fan-shaped arrangement of feathers, their bodies seem to be elongated into pointed spines, so thin and sharp that it is almost impossible to see the extreme end. These birds are very noisy and keep up a harsh croaking, whence their name, as a bosun is supposed to live in a continual state of exhortation. On coming up from supper last night just before six, we saw a plump, little feathered creature bearing down upon us, which had a very familiar appearance; and great was our surprise a moment later when we found that it was a Cape pigeon! Imagine one within six hundred miles of the equator! He must have been the last survivor of some vessel ahead of us, and, having abandoned her, concluded to stop and see if he couldn’t find some scraps here. He looked very calm sailing about on motionless wing among the flocks of bosuns and Mother Carey’s chickens that appear, in comparison, to make so great an effort at flying. This morning, though, we found that this, the last token of Cape Horn, had vanished. Mr. Rarx, however, didn’t seem much surprised at the appearance of the pigeon, and told us that he had seen them often in the harbor of Callao in 12° south. In a maritime paper that the second mate showed us to-day there was rather an interesting article concerning the naming of ships. According to it, French merchant-vessels are usually called after provinces, towns, wines, and victories, but never after men, except the greatest men of French history. British ships are generally named after mythological characters, lakes, bays, glens, and cities; German vessels after rivers, ports, poets, states, and characters in German literature. The Italians name theirs after characters in Italian literature, and names of hope, courage, enterprise, and religion. Spanish ships are almost always called after cities or the great commanders in Spanish history. Norwegians and Swedes take the names of localities dear to them; while American ships are given the names of their owners, relatives, friends, or “any old thing.”