A CATECHISM FOR THE TIMES.

WH

BY M. ARY.

HO were the men Jeff Davis sent Aboard the English steamer Trent, To land on Britain's shores intent?

Slidell and Mason.

What was it came athwart their way,
As they across the ocean stray,
And captured them without delay ?

The San Jacinto.

Who was it bragged and talked so wise,
And told the biggest sort o' lies,

While crowds looked on with wide-stretched eyes?

Lieutenant Williams.

Who was it then began to roar,

And bellow forth from shore to shore,
Just like the bear whose head was sore?
John Bull.

What was it joined the hue and cry,
Looked o'er the sea with flashing eye,
As if whole armies to defy?

The London Times.

Who dared us, like some angry chap,
To touch the chip upon his cap,

And clenched his fist to give the rap?

Lord Palmerston.

Who was it for a cotton-bale
Could of its principles make sale,
And welcome traitors to its pale?
Old England.

Who was it said 'twould never do
To fight for such a rebel crew,
Unfit to earn the bread they chew?

Abe Lincoln.

(If Britain should want any more
Of just such scamps to grace her shore,
She need not threaten us with war,

For she shall have them.)

Who is it that, with powerful hand,
Will hurl secession from the land,

And cow Jeff Davis and his band?
McClellan.

What is it that, untrammelled, free, Shall proudly wave o'er land and sea, The beacon light of liberty?

Our banner.

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE.

JOHN BULL, Esquire, my jo John,

When we were first acquent,

You acted very much as now

You act about the Trent.

You stole my bonny sailors, John,
My bonny ships also,

You're

aye the same fierce beast to me, John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,

Since we were linked together, Full many a jolly fight, John,

We've had with one another

Now must we fight again, John?

Then at it let us go!

And God will help the honest heart,

John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
A century has gone by,

Since you called me your slave, John,

Since I at you let fly.

You want to fight it out again—

That war of waste and woe;

You'll find me much the same old coon, John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
If lying loons have told
That I have lost my pluck, John,
And fight not as of old;
You'd better not believe it, John,

Nor scorn your ancient foe;
For I've seen weaker days than this,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo.

John Bull, Esquire, my jo John,
Hear this my language plain :
I never smote you unprovoked,
I never smote in vain.

If you want peace, peace let it be!

If war, be pleased to know,
Shots in my locker yet remain,
John Bull, Esquire, my jo!

WHAT

TARDY GEORGE.

THAT are you waiting for, George, I pray? To scour your cross-belts with fresh pipeclay?

To burnish your buttons, to brighten your guns;
Or wait you for May-day and warm-spring suns?
Are you blowing your fingers because they are
cold,

Or catching your breath ere you take a hold?
Is the mud knee-deep in valley and gorge?
What are you waiting for, tardy George?

Want you a thousand more cannon made,
To add to the thousand now arrayed?
Want you more men, more money to pay
Are not two millions enough per day?
Wait you for gold and credit to go,
Before we shall see your martial show;

?