The northeast Trades! Yes, the northeast Trades! Even the skipper is pretty sure that they have arrived, though we are still three degrees south of where they generally are in August. It is a piece of very good luck, for we all expected to be several days more in the Doldrums, and those who were on deck when the wind came in a squall at sunrise hardly dared to breathe or move for fear that it would be nothing but a puff. But as the hours wore on and the breeze momentarily increased, it was soon apparent that the Trades had reached us. How vastly different to-day is from yesterday! Then, all stagnation and blighting, withering heat; now, all motion and joy and sparkling sea. We had not a breath of air for eight solid hours last night, though, and the wrath of Abner Scruggs was very, very great. From eight to ten, during his watch on deck, we, sitting on the cabin-house, could hear him muttering and thumping away by the wheel-house, and we privately smiled thereat. Finally, after a couple of hours of this harlequin act, my wife went below; and then I went over to him and listened to the liveliest sort of arguments that he had with himself for nearly an hour. In vain he tried to draw me into them, and as a last resort he began on Central Park. “That’s a queer kind of a park, that is, where they won’t let people walk on the grass. Why don’t they have it like the park in Sydney? What’s a park for, anyway? Why don’t they put the thing in a glass case?” But I let him gibber on, and when I turned in, a little later, he had wrought himself into one of his passions.