Sailors, under canvass stiff, Now no more shall dread a _cliff_. From Bombay to Coromandel, The Faqueers shall chorus Handel. Arab sheik, and Persian maiden, Simpering serenades from Haydn. Crossing then the hemisphere, Jonathan shall chant Auber, All his love of pelf resign'd, England, to thy march of Mind. --Still moving on, still passing multitudinous agglomerations of brick, mortar, stone, and iron, rather than houses.--Docks crowded with masts, thicker than they ever grew in a pine forest, and echoing with the sounds of hammers, cranes, forges and enginery, making anchors for all the ships of ocean, rails for all the roads of earth, and chain-cables for a dozen generations to come. In front of one of those enormous forges, which, with its crowd of brawny hammerers glaring in the illumination of the furnace, gave me as complete a representation of the Cyclops and their cave, as any thing that can be seen short of the bowels of Ætna; stood a growing church, growing of iron; the walls were already half-way grown up. I saw them already pullulating into windows, a half-budded pulpit stood in the centre, and a Gothic arch was already beginning to spread like the foliage of a huge tree over the aisle. It was intended for one of the colonies, ten thousand miles off. As the steamer is not suffered in this part of the river to run down boats at the rate of more than five miles an hour; I had leisure to see the operation. While I gazed, the roof had _leaved_; and my parting glance showed me the whole on the point of flourishing among the handsomest specimens of civic architecture. In front of another forge stood a lighthouse; it was consigned to the West Indies. Three of its stone predecessors had been engulfed by earthquakes, a fourth had been swept off by a hurricane. This was of iron, and was to defy all the chances of time and the elements, by contract, for the next thousand years. It was an elegant structure, built on the plan of the "Tower of the Winds." Every square inch of its fabric, from the threshold to the vane, was iron! "What will mankind come to," said George Canning, "in fifty years hence? The present age is impudent enough, but I foresee that the next will be all _Irony_ and _Raillery_."