We have, doubtless, all seen, heard, or read of the various devices adopted by the different peoples of the globe in the capture of the finny tribe, from our own familiar hook and line to the Chinaman's trained cormorant or the Chenook Indian's tame seal. These are all good in their way, only they involve a great loss of time and require no end of patience. But the method illustrated to us the morning after our arrival, besides being a more certain is also less cruel than anything else in the shape of fishing I have yet seen. Observing a vast quantity of fish disporting themselves near the ship, our experimental torpedo officer armed himself with a small torpedo, pulled himself into their midst, quietly dropped the missile overboard, and pulled away again. The beautiful unsuspecting creatures still played on, unconscious of the doom that awaited them. The effect on firing the torpedo was terrible: for a space of 150 yards all around, the surface was like one mass of silver, from the closely-packed and upturned bellies of a species of pilchard. The slaughter was complete--not a fish moved after the awful stun it had received. Boats from the squadron were signalled to gather up the slain, which will perhaps convey a pretty fair idea of their number. Of late the admiral's barge has been attracting much attention by her sailing qualities. She has been taken in hand by the same energetic officer previously alluded to, who has altered the service rig, and provided a new set of sails, more suited in every way to develop the boat's qualities. We had not long to wait for a challenge, for the "Comus'" people, ever jealous in all such matters, offered to match their sailing pinnace against her. The challenge was accepted, and bets were concluded in the customary manner. The admiral, in particular, was especially pleased to think that, at last, he would have an opportunity of verifying his remarks about his boat; for he has reiterated again and again that, in his opinion, the boat wanted only proper handling to go. Well, as you know the race came off, and as you may also remember the "Comus'" boat was beat--in common phrase--"all to smash." September 15th.--Southward once again. It was intended to call in at Yamada on the way down, but by some unaccountable reason we overshot the mark and found ourselves in Kama-ichi instead. The mistake was, of course, speedily discovered; the squadron hove around and headed north for Yamada. Next we put in to Sendai bay, a commodious anchorage, but very much exposed seaward from its broad and unprotected mouth. Great rollers and heavy swells come thundering in with nearly all winds.