The Channel Fleet has at length visited our Roads, much to the gratification of thousands of the Queen’s lieges, as well as to the galling disappointment of thousands of the same excellent body. The squadron came in in the open day, clear to the gaze of multitudes, but disappeared like a majestic phantom in the night. A little more than a week ago we were informed that the Channel Fleet had, after an anchorage of sixteen days in St. Margaret’s Hope, Frith of Forth, left its moorings under canvas, with auxiliary steam power, and proceeded down the Frith and out to sea, destined for the Yarmouth Roads. As we stated in our last impression, the consequence of that information being diffused was to put all the speculators and quidnuncs of the town and neighbourhood on the alert. Leaving St. Margaret’s Hope on the Saturday, the fleet would certainly, it was argued, be here on the Tuesday, on which day the Marine Parade and the Beach were literally swarmed with expectant people, whose glasses were searching the waters in every direction; but, owing either to the perversity of Admiral Neptune, the weather office, or the Vice-Admiral in command (who is admitted by everyone to be a pleasant and courteous gentleman), the fleet did not arrive. Much disappointment and innumerable prophecies followed, and while some knowing individuals averred positively, and “on undoubted authority” that the fleet had passed and would not come in here, others were equally confident, on the strength of telegrams and “unquestionable information,” that the great ships would be seen, on the “next flood.” As, however, they put in no appearance up to Friday evening, the conviction that they had omitted us began to be pretty general, especially when “undoubted authority” satisfied us that the squadron had been seen some distance to the south of this port, namely, in the Wold. A few persons held out, notwithstanding their belief that the ships would visit us, and were stirring early on Saturday morning to catch the latest intelligence, when lo! the rumour spread that the fleet was in sight. People began hurrying to the Beach, which, between 8 and 10 o’clock a.m. presented, as to throng and bustle, an appearance equal to that of Tuesday, with the single exception that the fair sex had not had time to put on the gay attire in which they looked so well on that day. As the Royal Albert, three decker, flag ship of Vice-Admiral Freemantle, came in sight, the cry was, “There they are!” and as the magnificent vessel steamed up into the gat there appeared something so triumphant and majestic in her appearance as to make every one who saw her feel proud of the “wooden walls,” which have so long defied all the enemies of Old England. Britannia from the top of the lofty pedestal in front of the gatway might look