It will be seen that whales are plenty off the coast of New Zealand, and the query may be raised, why are not more captured? But seeing whales is not taking them, and killing them is not securing them; as may be exemplified by the case of the Prince Regent: whilst near us, she captured two large whales, but lost them both from the severity of the weather. The Flying Childers, too, lost the greater part of another. The James Allen, however, was more fortunate. One day, after having by the most strenuous exertions succeeded in getting in a whale which they had taken the previous day, sperm whales came up close to the ship. The mate wanted to lower; but the captain, deeming the weather so boisterous as to make such a proceeding injudicious, refused his consent. The mate then went below, charged his gun, and fired a bomb-lance into the whale with such effect, that on rising again he discharged blood from his spout-holes, appeared bewildered, and attempted to grasp the sides of the ship with his jaws. By this time all hands were thoroughly excited; and on the spur of the moment, although the experiment was a hazardous one, a boat was lowered away, which, though stoven by coming into contact with the fish, yet managed to save him. I will here take occasion to relate another fish-story, which emanated from the James Allen. Her boats had been down for several hours, and when lying still, awaiting the re-appearance of a school of sperm whales that had sounded, a strange fish, in size between the grampus and whale, rushed by them with open jaws. He kept on for a short distance, then about-ship, and returned. Both jaws were furnished with sharp, wicked-looking grinders. Deeming discretion the better part of valor, they gave his fishship a wide berth. He did not, they said, appear to be in pursuit of them, but kept on his way, unmolesting, and unmolested.