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,