Ahead of us, distant from fifty to two hundred miles, lie a number of shoal spots, called the Royal Charlotte, David Scott, Hotspur, Busbridge, Victoria, and Fly Banks. There are more than twenty fathoms on all of them, though, except on a certain unnamed shoal, thirty miles south-southeast of the Fly Bank, on which the ship “Professor Airy” struck in 1875. I wonder whether the water is discolored on these spots? It would be rather strange to come suddenly upon a stretch of green sea surrounded on all sides by water of the darkest blue. In a copy of _Harper’s Round Table_ on board I found an amusing article called “A Yankee Skipper’s Trick,” which seemed good enough to transcribe, so here it is: “A good anecdote is told illustrating the superior enterprise of the Yankee skippers years ago. The New Bedford whalers left port for many a long voyage, sometimes to the far north, at other times to the far south. These intrepid followers of the sea sought and pursued the whale into the ice-clad latitudes about the poles with a natural fearlessness. A squadron sent out by Russia to explore the south seas, and reach the pole if possible, had attained a degree of latitude which the commodore proudly told himself had never been reached before by white man or other human beings. While he reflected upon the fame which would surely embellish his name, his sailors cried, ‘Land ho!’ Off to the south he descried a long, low-lying bit of land, and hastened to shape his course to reach it, there to plant the Russian standard on its highest point, claiming it in the name of His Majesty. “What was his disgust and astonishment when, as his vessel approached the shore, he observed, over a bit of headland, a flag fluttering from a mast-head. In a few minutes a little schooner poked her nose around the point and came sailing smartly over the waves towards his vessel. The lean, Yankee captain, who was standing in the rigging as the schooner came up in the wind, yelled,-- “‘Ahoy there! What ship is that?’ “‘His Majesty’s ship the ----.’ “‘Well, this is the ‘Nantucket’ from Massachusetts. We’re doing a little piloting in these latitudes, and if you want to run in the cove yonder, why, we’ll pilot you in for a small charge.’ “The commodore’s disgust caused him to square his yards and shape his course to Russia.” Latitude, 16° 11′ south; longitude, 37° 15′ west. +June 17+