an hour, having seen that his admonition had had its effect—for he preached without book, and kept his eye on his congregation the whole time—he dismissed them with their faculties unfatigued, and what he had told them fresh upon their minds. On standing up or kneeling down, the clash of their swords upon the pavement was very fine; the jingle of spurs also was heard whenever they moved; and not the less gallantly will they press their horses’ flanks, and sway their sabres in some deathful charge, that they heard and treasured the lessons of their friend the chaplain. We intend, on some future occasion, to devote a whole paper to a day at Woolwich, but we have already seen enough to take off the edge of our fear of a French invasion. With Hardinge at the head of our Ordnance, and the great name of Wellington still sounding in the hearts of his countrymen—with rifle corps innumerable, and the whole empire ready to rise at the first beacon that flares on Beachy Head—we shall only observe to the whole world in arms, that if by some miracle it finds its way to English ground, it will receive the most tremendous thrashing that ever a world in arms, or out of them, received since history began. We therefore solemnly advise all foreign nations, kings, princes, adventurers, bullies, and personages whatsoever, to keep a civil tongue in their heads, and stay quietly at home. THE GOLD-FINDER. I. To travellers by the seas, or on long plains, The distant objects, on the horizon’s verge, Show but their highest summits; so with Time. Time orbs so silently beneath our feet, We look around, and know not that we move, Or that the point whereon we stand, to-day, This moment, is our culminating point; The Past and Future dip as they recede, And only give to view the tops of things. Therefore, be happy now; the mental eye May take his pleasure, pleasure if it be, In gazing on the Cottage, or the Church; The Heart may fondly dwell upon the one, And think of days of piety, to be; And on the other, till the breath of Home Waft to the soul more pleasant memories Than the West stealing o’er a field of hay;— Blest in our ignorance, we cannot see That, underneath the rose-grown eaves of Home Lurk fire and sickness, bickering and want; Or, where the steeple-cross shines in the sun, That damp, cold graves are nestling dark beneath. All Nature cries, “Be happy now.” The Bee, Whose angry labours wound the ear of Noon, Finds in the winter, from his garnered store, Quick spoliation, and a bitter death; The light-winged Butterfly, with truer scope, Ranges, all summer, through the garden-beds, And, ignorant of darker days to come, Enjoys a life-long holiday; the Man