My second voyage westward in a sailing ship was also a memorable one. The Scotch captain of the good ship _Perthshire_, in which we sailed from the Tail of the Bank, off Greenock, on June 19th, 1844, was very unlike the Yankee skipper of the previous voyage. Captain S—— was kind and attentive to his passengers, but not at all popular with his crew. As I watched him taking the sun, the first day out, he said, “Young man, you are going to be some weeks on board this ship, with nothing to do but to eat and drink and sleep. Suppose you take a few lessons in navigation? Here is a spare quadrant which you can use.” I jumped at the offer, and very soon mastered at least the outlines of the business. Much was learned in these six weeks—how to find the latitude and longitude at sea; to ascertain the precise deviation of the chronometer from Greenwich time, and of the compass from its true bearing; to measure the trend and velocity of ocean currents, and, failing solar observations, how to consult the moon and the stars. This was not only interesting; it was a fascinating pastime. The captain of a twenty-knot steamship has seldom need to “resolve a traverse;” he steers a straight course for his destination, and can usually estimate within a few hours, or even minutes, when he will reach it. It is quite different with the master of a sailing vessel; after contending with contrary winds and being driven out of his course for weeks at a time, he must often wrack his brains before he can locate his exact position on the chart. To be enveloped in dense fog in the near neighbourhood of Sable Island for several days at a time, as happened to us on this voyage, is a very perplexing position to be in.