By sundown the victory was complete. Not an individual of the enemy held his head erect. On our side there was a terrible effusion of perspiration, and a great quantity of provisions and drink were reported missing; but on the whole the Battle of the Harvest Field may be considered as one of the most advantageous victories ever won. THE BATTLE OF THE YATCHES. A truly affecting copy of verses, made by a British Tar in Spit-head last August, and corked up in a bottle, floated to the end of the Herne Bay Pier last week. The bottle was speedily uncorked, in a vague expectation of Cognac; but the finders, discovering that the only spirit which it contained was the spirit of the verses, magnanimously surrendered the whole to the board of Admiralty, as justly and legally appertaining to that body. The Board, having sat upon the bottle (and broken it), rose as soon as possible after instructing the First Lord to transmit to us the poetry, with a polite note, stating how they had come by it, and lamenting that the poet should have so obstinately adhered to his peculiar mode of spelling the word "Yacht." THE BATTLE OF THE YATCHES. Oh, weep ye British Sailors true, Above or under hatches, Here's Yankee Doodle's been and come, And beat our crackest yatches! They started all to run a race, And wor well timed with watches; But oh! they never had no chance, Had any of our yatches. The Yankee she delayed at first, Says they, "She'll never catch us," And flung up their tarpaulin hats— The owners of the yatches! But presently she walked along; "O dear," says they, "she'll match us!" And stuck on their tarpaulin hats, The owners of the yatches! Then deep we ploughs along the sea The Yankee scarcely scratches, And cracks on every stitch of sail Upon our staggering yatches. But one by one she passes us While bitterly we watches, And utters imprecations on The builders of our yatches. And now she's quite hull down a-head, Her sails like little patches. For sand barges and colliers we May sell our boasted yatches. We faintly hears the Club-house gun— The silver cup she snatches— And all the English Clubs are done, The English Clubs of yatches!