In contradistinction to this fast passage of the “St. James” friend Murphy spoke as follows: “The last time I went round the Horn was in the Yankee ship ‘Centennial,’ and we were a hundred and ninety-nine days from New York to ’Frisco. We had a terrible time off Cape Horn, and ran back twice to the Falklands for repairs, and at last a third time we bore away for Montevideo. We passed close to Stanley this time, too, but there was a heavy gale on and we dasn’t try for that place again. As we ran by, though, we saw an American ship tryin’ to weather the Billy Rocks at the entrance to Stanley Harbor, and we passed so close to her that I heard the cap’n say as how he could see the sailors in the riggin’ with the glasses. We afterward found out ’twas the ‘City of Philadelphia.’” Then I remembered the tragedy of this ship. She sailed from Philadelphia for San Francisco a little over two years ago. Her captain had just bought her for himself, and she had on board a passenger travelling for his health. The vessel was disabled off Cape Horn, bore away for Stanley for repairs, missed stays off the harbor, struck on the terrible Billy Rocks in a gale of wind, and every soul on board perished. The last Yankee square-rigger to lay her bones upon the beach was the “Commodore,” which ran on Malden Island in the Pacific, in 5° south and 155° west, about a year ago, while on a voyage from Honolulu to New York with sugar. All hands saved. Murphy, like Louis, is a man-o’-war’s man, and said that the last government vessel in which he served was the “Olympia.” “Oh, Lord, she’s a terror for work,” he added. “I’ll bet she can’t beat this packet in that line,” said one of the men. “She can’t, eh? I’d just like to see you try her once. This ship’s a playground compared to her.” This, in part, bears out what Mr. Rarx said, that this is one of the hardest ships for work that he has ever seen. _If sailors get enough to eat_, though, by far the best way to run a ship is to keep them hard at work continuously; they will always be in far better humor, and when they turn in they will think more about sleep than about imaginary grievances, which foremast hands are very prone to do. Latitude 25° 12′ south; longitude, 42° 14′ west. +June 21+ Oh, simple, childish Captain Platt of the “Judas Dowes!” This morning when day broke we looked in vain for this vessel, for behold the watery expanse void of objects fashioned by the hand of man save ourselves. We had confidently expected to see the “Dowes” upon our quarter, where, in truth, she would have been if Captain Platt hadn’t shown the white feather, sheering off under cover of the darkness and secreting himself beyond the horizon.