On the 29th we anchored at St. Helena, before the little town of St. James, the whole crew being cheerful and healthy; but our spirits were soon damped by the news of the death of the Emperor Alexander, which we now received. I must here not omit to express my most cordial thanks to the Governor of St. Helena, for his very kind reception of myself and companions, and for his constant endeavours to make our stay on the island agreeable; he gave dinners and balls for our entertainment, and was always ready to comply with our wishes; hence he granted us what it is usually difficult to obtain--permission to visit the celebrated estate of Longwood, where Napoleon closed his splendid career, in powerless and desolate loneliness. We rode thither one fine morning, on horseback. The little town of St. James lies in a ravine between two high, steep, barren lava-rocks; its pleasant situation and cheerful aspect presenting a striking contrast with the gloom of its immediate environs. By a serpentine road cut through the rock, we climbed an ascent, by nature inaccessible; this path, in some parts not three fathoms in breadth, is bounded on one side by the perpendicular rock, and on the other overlooks an abrupt precipice, from which however it is defended by a strong stone balustrade, so that however fearful in appearance, its only real danger lies in an accident which sometimes happens, that large fragments detach themselves from the superincumbent rock, and roll down the precipice, carrying before them every thing that might obstruct their passage to the bottom. Having with some difficulty reached the highest ground on the island, we found the tropical heat changed into a refreshing coolness, and enjoyed an extensive prospect over the island, which presented a totally different aspect from that under which it is viewed by passing vessels. The sailor sees only high, black, jagged, and desolate rocks, rising perpendicularly from the sea, and every where washed by a tremendous surf, prohibiting all attempts to land except at the single point of St. James: his eye vainly seeks round the adamant wall, the relief of one sprig of green; not a trace of vegetation appears, and Nature herself seems to have destined the spot for a gloomy and infrangible prison. From these heights, on the contrary, the picturesque and smiling landscape of the interior forms the most striking contrast to its external sternness, and suggests the idea of a gifted mind, compelled by painful experience to shroud its charms under a forbidding veil of coldness and reserve.