than the extraordinary origin, rise, progress, germ, development, and maturity, of the above-bridge navy, the bringing of which prominently before the public, who may owe to that navy at some future—­we hope so incalculably distant as never to have a chance of arriving—­day, the salvation of their lives, the protection of their hearths, the inviolability of their street-doors, and the security of their properties.  Sprung from a little knot of (we wish we could say “jolly young,” though truth compels us to proclaim) far from jolly, and decidedly old, “watermen,” the above-bridge navy, whose shattered and unfrequented wherries were always “in want of a fare,” may now boast of covering the bosom of the Thames with its fleet of steamers; thus, as it were, bringing the substantial piers of London Bridge within a stone’s throw—­if we may be allowed to pitch it so remarkably strong—­of the once remote regions of the Beach[3], and annihilating, as it were, the distance between sombre southwark and bloom-breathing Battersea.

    [3] Chelsea.

The establishment of this little fleet may well be a proud reflection to those shareholders who, if they have no dividend in specie, have another species of dividend in the swelling gratification with which the heart of every one must be inflated, as, on seeing one of the noble craft dart with the tide through the arches—­supposing, of course, it does not strike against them—­of Westminster Bridge, he is enabled mentally to exclaim, “There goes some of my capital!” But if the pride of the proprietor—­if he can be called a proprietor who derives nothing from his property—­be great, what must be the feelings of the captain to whose guidance the bark is committed!  We can scarcely conceive a nobler subject of contemplation than one of those once indigent—­not to say absolutely done up—­watermen, perched proudly on the summit of a paddle-box, and thinking—­as he very likely does, particularly when the vessel swags and sways from side to side—­of the height he stands upon.

It may be, and has been, urged by some, that the Thames is not exactly the place to form the naval character; that a habit of braving the “dangers of the deep” is hardly to be acquired where one may walk across at low tide, on account of the water being so confoundedly shallow:  but these are cavillings which the lofty and truly patriotic mind will at once and indignantly repudiate.  The humble urchin, whose sole duty consists in throwing out a rope to each pier, and holding hard by it while the vessel stops, may one day be destined for some higher service:  and where is the English bosom that will not beat at the thought, that the dirty lad below, whose exclamation of “Ease her!—­stop her!—­one turn ahead!”—­may one day be destined to give the word of command on the quarterdeck, and receive, in the shape of a cannon-ball, a glorious full-stop to his honourable services!