Nothing of peculiar interest transpired further during the cruise except an occasional meeting with a brother whaleman. We were all the time working our way to the eastward, preparatory to leaving the ground in September. On Tuesday, August 4th, spoke the “Rambler,” of Nantucket, Captain Potter. Soon after parting company, we lowered our boats and captured two large whales, they yielding us about one hundred and sixty barrels of oil. On the 25th of the same month we gammed with the “Hope,” of New Bedford, Captain Gifford. We found him quite ill, and hardly able to walk the deck; yet in this same feeble condition, a few days previous, when whales were raised, he had been placed in his boat, bolstered up with pillows, and actually captured a large whale. Nothing, he said, but his anxiety to get a good voyage induced him to do so. The following day we again gammed with our old friends of the “Roscoe.” It will be remembered that we had with us a Kanaka from Simpson’s Island, whom we called “Dick Simpson.” As he did not wish to go to America, the captain told him that he might go into the first ship that we met that would take him to his island. An opportunity now presented itself in the “Roscoe,” and Dick availed himself of it. The captain gave him his discharge, and paid him in tobacco, pipes, calico, trinkets, etc.—the currency of “his land”—and Dick prepared to leave us. Nearly every one of the crew made him some present as a token of affection, for we all loved good-natured, obliging Dick Simpson. What if his skin was of a dingy hue, he had a brave, good heart, as we all could testify, and we could see that heart was heavy as he bade us each an adieu. The “pumps” of more than one warm-hearted sailor were “set going” on that occasion, but none were ashamed of them. Neither was he soon forgotten, but long remembered by us all.