substituted. In the event of sudden and unforeseen storm, arrangements had been made to slip the Cable. On the decks of the paying-out vessels two large reels were placed, each wound round with two and a-half miles of a very strong auxiliary Cable composed of iron-wire only, and capable of resisting a strain of ten to twelve tons. Should the Telegraph Cable be endangered it would be divided, and the sea end attached to one of the strong supernumerary cords stored upon the reel; this being rapidly let out, would place the Cable in a depth of ocean where its safety would be secured until all danger had passed. In fine, every possible contrivance that ingenuity could devise or scientific knowledge could suggest, according to the experience then attained, had been adopted in order to secure success. Those who had toiled so long with wearied brain and anxious heart, undismayed by difficulties—not disheartened by failure, hoping when hope seemed presumptuous, but not despairing even when despair seemed wisdom, now felt that their part had been accomplished, that the means of securing the result had now passed beyond man’s control, and rested solely with a Higher Power.

On the 29th of July, 1857, the U.S.N. frigate Niagara arrived at Queenstown, having been preceded by H.M.S. Leopard and H.M.S. Cyclops, which latter steamer had taken the soundings of the intended bed of the Cable. The Niagara was accompanied by the U.S.N.S. Susquehanna, to act as her convoy. H.M.S. Agamemnon had already arrived.

The Earl of Carlisle, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, ever anxious to give such encouragement as his presence could afford to any undertaking which promised to do good, came down from Dublin to Valentia, and attended a déjeuner given by the Knight of Kerry to celebrate an event in which the keenest interest was evinced, although the heart of the country was thrilled by the dreadful intelligence of Indian mutinies and revolt. The country people flocked to the little island, and expressed their joy by merrymakings, dances, and bonfires. In an eloquent speech Lord Carlisle declared that though disappointment might be in store for the promoters, it would be almost criminal to feel discouragement then—“that the pathway to great achievements has frequently to be hewn out amidst perils and difficulties, and that preliminary failure is ever the law and condition of ultimate success.” These were prophetic words; in others, still to be fulfilled, “Let us hope,” he said. “We are about, either by this sun-down or by to-morrow’s dawn, to establish a new material link between the Old World and the New. Moral links there have been—links of race, links of commerce, links of friendship, links of literature, links of glory; but this, our new link, instead of superseding and supplanting the old ones, is to give them a life and intensity they never had before. The link which is now to connect us, like the insect in a couplet of our poet,