its booming reaching the now drowsy ear which was once attuned to the roar of cannon on a hundred fields, with the ejaculation of “_tête d’armée_” on his nearly motionless lips, died Napoleon. The head of his bed rested against the sill of a window, from underneath which the French have removed the stone, and placed it in the Hospital des Invalides as a precious relic. Through the sashless opening, the sun now streams in on the floor of a room occupied by a thrashing-machine, and with a manger overhead; while the room in which he mostly slept, and ate, and read, is now paved with cobble-stones, and filled with horse-stalls. The fish-pond is dry, and the grave of his favorite horse you can not find. Just across the road I visited the new house of Longwood, its walls sound, its porticoes and floors in a perfect state of preservation, and its spacious rooms unoccupied. Napoleon visited it once, but feeling that one jail was no less one for being better built than another, spurned this offer of the English to conciliate him in his cage, as the lion spurns the leavings of the jackal though he die in his den. On my way back to James’ town, I passed in sight of the grounds and former mansion of “The paltry jailer and the prying spy”— “Plantation house”—but had no desire to visit it. At James’ town there is a very fine bust of Napoleon, said to have been made from a plaster cast of the face, taken after death; the nose is much more exquisitely chiselled and beautiful than any other representation to be seen of his face. Before nightfall on the 11th of January, we were under way for the Cape of Good Hope from St. Helena. “The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast, Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast; When Victory’s Gallic column shall but rise, Like Pompey’s pillar, in a desert’s skies, The rocky isle, that holds, or held his dust, Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero’s bust.” CHAPTER III. We reached Cape Town after a run of thirteen days. On the morning of the 24th of January we made the long, low sandhills in the vicinity of Saldanha bay, South Africa, and continuing our run in sight of the coast during the day, anchored after nightfall, with bright moonlight around, in Table bay. We encountered the whole way a strong head wind and sea, and at one time doubted whether our coal would be sufficient to enable us to reach our port. The men were exercised at target practice, with pistol and musket. On the 15th, the sun being _vertical_, the friendly wish “May your _shadow_ never be less,” would have been superfluous, as on that day the thing was impossible. As we neared the guano islands, lying off the harbor, we were surrounded by booby-birds and sea-gulls innumerable; the “albatross” also “did cross,” and very large birds they were.