As soon as the gale moderated sufficiently sail was again made, and the noble old craft plowed her way onward through the briny wave, bearing her freight of humanity nearer, nearer to that home they so longed to see, and to those friends whose embrace they so longed to clasp. By our reckoning we now found ourselves “off Cape Horn,” and, with a fair wind, hoped soon to leave the Pacific far behind us. The weather now became very cold, and our Portuguese and Kanaka found some rather tough experiences of it. In fact, they were about froze up. Amo, the Kanaka, would come on deck, and, the cold soon taking hold, exclaim, “What for all the same? Ah! too much bite you no see ’em! What make all the same this?” On asking him if he ever saw cold weather before, he replied, “Golly! no. I no been see all same this my land. Cape Horn, he no good.” He constantly wore three or four coats, and, in fact, all the clothes he could get on. It appeared almost impossible that the cold should penetrate so many thicknesses, yet he complained that it did. Manuel and Amo both came on deck one morning, and found it covered with snow. We never saw two persons more astonished than they. They made all sorts of inquiries, asking where it came from, what it was for, and questions innumerable. Seeing some of the men engaged in snowballing, they thought they would “take a hand,” especially as they occasionally received a quantity in the face. On picking it up, however, and attempting to pack it, they very soon let it fall, exclaiming, “Golly! he hot all the same fire!” and ran off, slapping their hands together, and blowing their fingers. By our reckoning we found that on Thursday, January 26th, we had fairly passed Cape Horn, and were once more in the Atlantic. When this fact was announced, a feeling of great joy seemed to pervade the whole ship. We had all dreaded the passage round, and, now that it was passed, all felt a great relief. And we felt that we were so much nearer home. In fact, it appeared as though we were almost home; and as we had before counted the months, and then the weeks that would elapse ere we should tread our native soil, we felt that we could now begin to count the _days_. On Saturday, February 3d, we spoke the “Betsey Williams,” of New London, Captain Pendleton. She was, like ourselves, homeward bound, with a full cargo of whale oil. We passed a very pleasant day with them, and at evening wished each other a safe and speedy passage, and parted company.