While the Great Eastern remained at Berehaven, to take in her final stores of coal, the William Corry proceeded around the coast to Valentia to lay the shore end. She arrived off the harbor on the morning of Saturday, the seventh of July, and immediately began to prepare for her heavy task. This shore end was of tremendous size, weighing twenty tons to the mile. It was by far the strongest wire cable ever made, and in short lengths was stiff as an iron bar. As the year before, the cable was to be brought off on a bridge of boats reaching from the ship to the foot of the cliff. All the fishermen's boats were gathered from along the shore, while H. M. S. Raccoon, which was guarding that part of the coast, sent up her boats to help, so that, as they all mustered in line, there were forty of them, making a long pontoon-bridge; and Irish boatmen with eager looks and strong hands were standing along the line, to grasp the ponderous chain. All went well, and by one o'clock the cable was landed, and its end brought up the cliff to the station. The signals were found to be perfect, and the William Corry then slowly drew off to sea, unlimbering her stiff shore end, till she had cast over the whole thirty miles. At three o'clock next morning she telegraphed through the cable that her work was done, and she had buoyed the end in water a hundred fathoms deep. Describing the scene, the correspondent of the London News says: "In its leading features it presented a striking difference to the ceremony of last year. Earnest gravity and a deep-seated determination to repress all show of the enthusiasm of which everybody was full, was very manifest. The excitement was below, instead of above, the surface. Speech-making, hurrahing, public congratulations, and vaunts of confidence were, as it seemed, avoided as if on purpose. There was something far more touching in the quiet and reverent solemnity of the spectators yesterday than in the slightly boisterous joviality of the peasantry last year. Nothing could prevent the scene being intensely dramatic, but the prevailing tone of the drama was serious instead of comic and triumphant. The old crones in tattered garments who cowered together, dudheen in mouth, their gaudy colored shawls tightly drawn over head and under the chin--the barefooted boys and girls, who by long practice walked over sharp and jagged rocks, which cut up boots and shoes, with perfect impunity--the men at work uncovering the trench, and winding in single file up and down the hazardous path cut by the cablemen in the otherwise inaccessible rock--the patches of bright color furnished by the red petticoats and cloaks--the ragged garments, only kept from falling to pieces by bits of string and tape--the good old parish priest, who exercises mild and gentle spiritual sway over the loving subjects of whom the ever-popular Knight of