A Death on board?—?Our Freight?—?Extracts from Diary?—?St. Helena and Napoleon?—?The Trades?—?Poetical idea of a starry Telegraph?—?Good Sailing.

One of the invalids, whom we were bringing home from the squadron, died and was buried at Cape Town. Poor fellow, he was never destined to see his native land again. His disease, consumption, with the usual tendency of that complaint, made rapid advances as we drew near land. He had resigned himself to die, and his repeated wish was that we might reach the Cape before he should breathe his last; that he might feel assured of resting in consecrated ground. He was of the Catholic faith, and had his wish, for a priest of his religion attended his remains to their last resting-place, where the seagull swoops, on the shores of the "stormy Cape."

On leaving the Cape, our ship presented the appearance of a vessel engaged by naturalists to bring home specimens; and the botanical department was represented by boxes containing specimens of sugar-cane placed in the quarter, stern boats, and on the poop. Monkeys, belonging to the men, made a menagerie on the booms. Others of the genus simia were stationed in the tops; an aviary composed of cockatoos, Cape parrots, Java sparrows, minas, &c., was dispersed through different messes; whilst indigenous animals, such as rats, mice, cockroaches and ants, had their appropriate haunts.

Fifth of May.—"Rolling down to St. Helena," as the sailors' song has it. Have passed the latitude of Angra Pequena, on the African coast, where Martin Diaz the Portuguese navigator erected a cross, and gave it the additional title of Santa Cruz. This emblem is said to have been lately overthrown by an English merchant captain. I can imagine the Goth, bloated with beer, and vomiting forth strange oaths!

May the 10th.—Still heading for St. Helena, which calculate on making within three days. Have caught the "trades," but indeed have had winds answering their purpose ever since we left the Cape, having had them generally aft.

On the 13th of May at 10 h. 30 m. made the loom of the Island of St. Helena, bearing N. N. E. per compass, passed it about thirty miles to windward, just twelve days and a half from the Cape, within the average passage.

Helena, lone hermit of the ocean, saddened by the memory of Napoleon, its involuntary hermit. But the dead lion no longer reposes there; his remains have been transferred to one of his own splendid monuments in unfaithful but now penitent Paris; and the spirit of prophecy must have prompted the pen of Byron to write, long before the event took place—

May 19th.—In latitude 8° 50' south, 19° 33' west longitude, approaching the line; have had fine trades; now getting light; weather warm, and fine; for the last few days summer clothing in demand.

Sunday, 23d of May.—Trade wind still holds on; three sail in sight; one passed across our bows bound to the southward and westward, and showed Dutch colors.

Thursday, 27th May, 1852.—Crossed the line last night in about longitude 34° west; are now in the northern Atlantic, and fairly in our own hemisphere; have hit the same day of the month to cross it, in returning; going out the 26th of February, 1850, and coming back the 26th of May, 1852. What has passed in the interval! Is it not faithfully recorded on these pages?

Are now looking out for the N. E. trades, and have symptoms of soon getting them. With luck shall make our port within a month from present date.

Tuesday, June 1st.—Within this month expected to be detached; for the last few days have encountered calms and squalls, line weather, and have not made much progress; got no observation yesterday; last night at half past eleven the master took a lunar, which put us in 3° 17' north latitude. Whilst writing have struck a fine breeze, which we hope will soon carry us out of the doldrums.

Third of June.—Latitude 7° 1' north; have caught the trades at last; after coquetting for several days, these winds, so constant when caught, have consented to fill our sails, and we are now careering along, knocking off hourly nine knots of the distance which divides us from our homes. It is pleasant sailing, too, in these trades, and when you once strike them, you feel secure of their continuance up to a certain parallel. All you have to do is to set your sails, studding-sails, royals, moonsails and sky-scrapers, if you carry them; keep them full, and let your vessel go dancing along, day after day, without handling a brace. Seamanship may take a spell below, for your ship will almost sail herself!

Saw the northern or polar star last night for the first time, a few degrees above the horizon, peeping at us with its twinkling eye, as much as to say, welcome home! Hailed it as a link connecting us with our native land. How many eyes of persons dear to us, look upon that star, when they think of us. Its appearance suggests the following idea:

Saturday, June 5th, 1852.—Latitude 20° 43' N., longitude 47° 40' W. Yesterday knocked off two hundred and forty miles, averaging ten miles per hour; best run yet; only about 2200 miles distant to-day; made two hundred and twenty-four miles the last twenty-four hours.

Sixth of June.—Twelve o'clock just reported, and latitude 15° 14', and have run two hundred and twenty-two miles since meridian yesterday; making six hundred and eighty-six miles in three days, an average of two hundred and twenty-eight and two third miles per diem. Have passed the Windward Islands; are getting anxious now, and even if we do make good runs, yet this practice of killing time by half hours (the bell is struck every half hour), is becoming tedious, as we draw near home.