When near the latitude of Bermuda, one afternoon when it was nearly calm, we spied a schooner ahead drifting toward us. Visions of Nova Scotia potatoes excited our enthusiasm; the boat was got ready and when the vessels were near each other, the mate, passenger and two sailors went off to board her in search of news and supplies. The passenger had on a new cap of white duck made in naval style, and his imposing appearance perhaps accounted for the trepidation of the captain of the schooner, who stood on deck in his stockings trembling, as though he might be fearing the attack of a pirate. When the mate politely presented my compliments and asked for a few potatoes, his assurance returned and he was enthusiastic in his desires to serve us. [Illustration: The effects of a yawn.] The schooner was the "Jane" of Shelburne, Nova Scotia, ten days out for Barbadoes. The supplies obtained were salt-fish and a few potatoes. But the captain, in the kindness of his heart, sent me a jar of preserved wild strawberries gathered and prepared by his wife, which he repeatedly assured the mate were "real nice," and, as though he might not be believed, he turned to the man at the wheel and said, "Ai'n't they, John." They certainly proved deserving of his encomium. We got a little country newspaper, that gave a few items of news, and a "New York Ledger," which proved to be a year old. She reported a heavy gale two days before, when we had been in calm weather. Discussions of this event, the news obtained, and a salt-fish dinner enlivened a few days. The last Saturday afternoon of the passage, the decks were washed down early and at four o'clock all hands were called aft. The captain took his stand at the capstan and the crew sitting on boards laid upon deck-buckets, listened attentively to a temperance lecture, and some warnings and instructions about the dangers of life on shore soon to be encountered. Several signed the pledge afterwards, "Old Brown" among them. The first sign of our approach to land was the meeting with some fifty schooners mackerel fishing, south of Nantucket Shoals. As we came among them one put his helm up, and running down on us till his bowsprit seemed nearly to touch us, he sheered alongside and shouted, "Cap'n, do you want some fish?" "Aye! aye!" I replied. Then the air was filled with mackerel aimed at my head by a half-dozen men, and some of them came near the mark. Three schooners in succession paid us this compliment, and all hands had a good supper and breakfast of mackerel in consequence. We generally expect a gale when coming on the coast and always promote our fears by recalling the old rhyme: "If the Bermudas let you pass, Oh then beware of Hatteras; If safely you get by Cape May You'll catch it sure in Boston Bay." This time our fears were not realized.