accuracy, being rarely a mile apart from each other in the result. The only dubious point related to the buoy itself, for it might have drifted in the gale, it might have gone down at its moorings, or the Cable might have parted. There were strong currents, as well as winds and waves. The moment the weather moderated in the forenoon, the whole body of smiths and carpenters, and workers in iron, metal, and wood, were set to work at the alterations in the machinery for letting out the grapnel and taking it in again. A little army of skilled mechanics were exercising on deck; workshops and forges were established, and some of the many chimneys which rise above the bulwarks of the Great Eastern, and put one in mind of the roofs of the streets seen from the railway approaches to London, began to smoke. The smiths forged new pins for the swivels, and made new shackles and swivels; the carpenters made casings for capstan; ropemakers examined and secured the lengths of wire rope, and a new hawser was bent on to make up for the deficiency of buoy rope. At last, the much-sought-for object was discovered--the buoy was visible some 2 miles distant. The Great Eastern made haste to announce the news to the Terrible, and just as her flags were going aloft, a fluttering of bunting was visible in the rigging of the Terrible, and the signalman read her brief statement that the buoy was where we saw it was, thus proving that both vessels dropped on it at the same time. The finding of the little black point on the face of the Atlantic was a feat of navigation which gave great satisfaction to the worthy performers and the spectators. A little before 5 o’clock the Great Eastern was abreast of the buoy. The Terrible came up on the other side of it, and the Great Eastern and the man-of-war lay-to watching the tiny black ball, which bobbed up and down on the Atlantic swell, intending to stay by it as closely as possible till morning. By dint of energetic exertion, Mr. Canning hoped to have his grapnel and tackle quite ready the moment the ship was in position on the morrow. It was a sight to behold the deck at night--bare-armed Vulcans wielding the sledge--Brontes, Steropes, and Pyracmon at bellows, forge, and anvil--fires blazing--hailing sparks flashing along the decks--incandescent masses of iron growing into shape under the fierce blows--amateurs and artists admiring--the sea keeping watch and ward outside, and the hum of voices from its myriad of sentry waves rising above the clank of hammers which were closing the rivets up of the mail in which we were to do battle with old ocean for the captive he holds in his dismal dungeons below. Will he yield up his prisoner?