He had noted that the cannon was of a make used during Napoleon's time, and concluded that it must be one of those that were lost over the precipice when the great general had crossed into Italy. Stooping down, he poked into its mouth, mechanically scraping out the dirt that had accumulated there, and idly thought of the brave soldiers of those days. Suddenly he noticed a leathern book, in fairly good condition, lying in the little heap of dirt he had scraped out. Picking it up he opened it and found it full of papers. Thinking then that it was of no great importance, he placed it in his pocket and retraced his steps to the village. That evening he examined its contents, and among some papers relating to an old estate he found the following scrawl: "I, one of Napoleon's officers, fell from the cliff above, dragged over by a rope attached to this cannon. The two men that fell with me were instantly killed, as I have not heard them moan nor seen them move. My leg and left arm are broken, and I know that I am hurt internally. Fortunately, I struck but once while falling, and then this soft bed of snow prevented instant death. I have enough strength left to write this and stick it into the mouth of the cannon, for possibly some one may discover it. My papers and such as will prove the right to certain property will be found in the leathern book, and I beg the finder will place them in the hands of the proper owners. My strength is leaving me and I must stop--" (Here followed the signature.) Among the papers was found the right to an estate of considerable value, and when, after great difficulty, the descendants and owners were traced, it was discovered that the family had suffered more or less privation from the loss of these papers, restored after so many years. WHAT IT MEANS TO RUN AN OCEAN GREYHOUND. BY THE CAPTAIN OF THE "NEW YORK." Above all, it means unceasing vigilance. It is said that a man who rides often over the same road can fall asleep in the saddle and still travel it safely. Such a man would be drummed out of the steamship service. Every man who has to do with the sailing of an ocean greyhound must be on the alert every moment of his tour of duty. No matter how many scores of times he may have sailed over the route between New York and Southampton, he must be constantly on the lookout for all that he can read in sea and sky, or in the earth beneath the sea. For two things he is responsible--the safety and speed with which the journey is made. Nothing else appeals to him. The greatest orator of the finest singer in the world might appear and perform on deck, and I doubt whether the men on the bridge would see him or hear him. The ship is like a great cannon-ball that has been shot out of one port to strike the other. The officers of the ship are to make that cannon-ball go true to the mark without deviating in the least degree from the course. That duty is so absorbing that nothing else can be allowed to interfere with it.