"Slavery's of course the chief corner-stone,"

Lilliburlero, etc.,

"Of our NEW CIV-IL-I-ZA-TION!"

Lilliburlero, etc.

“Lero, lero, that's quite sincere O, that's quite sincere," says old Uncle Sam,

"Lero, lero, fillibustero, that's quite sincere," says old Uncle Sam.

"You'll understand, my recreant tool," Lilliburlero, etc.,

"You're to submit, and we are to rule," Lilliburlero, etc.

"Lero, lero, aren't you a hero! aren't you a hero!" says Uncle Sam.

"Lero, lero, fillibustero, aren't you a hero!" says Uncle Sam.

"If to these terms you fully consent,"

Lilliburlero, etc.,

"I'll be perpetual King-President,"

Lilliburlero, etc.

"Lero, lero, take your sombrero, off to your swamps !" says old Uncle Sam,

"Lero, lero, fillibustero, cut, double-quick!" says old Uncle Sam.

ADDRESS TO JOHN BULL.

A REMINDER.

BY C. G. CHATFIELD.

DON'T you remember the time, John Bull,
The time when our country was small,

When our army contained but a handful of men,
And our navy was nothing at all?

And don't you remember the time, John Bull,
You terribly wanted a fuss;

About what it didn't matter, if you could only draw
Brother Jonathan into the muss?

So

you put all your old heads together, John Bull, And raked up taxation and tea,

And bled all our pockets until they collapsed,
And in return you gave us bohea.

Now don't you remember, 'bout then, John Bull,
Not catching our weasels asleep;

We took Boston harbor for a tea-pot, you see,
And quietly put it to steep.

We made a great pic-nic, you know, John Bull,
And you were invited to come,

And drink to the health of your children out here, As well as your children at home.

And don't you remember that you said, John Bull,

That come you most certainly should;

And in a great fury you promptly arrived,

Not thirsting for tea, but for blood?

Blood, blood, 'twas you wanted, you know, John Bull,

Blood, blood, just warm from the spout;

So we heaped up the red-coats on Bunker Hill's side,
And just poured the beverage out.

Just recall to your mind, if you please, John Bull,
The time when our sailors you stole,
Insulted our flag, imprisoned our men,

And otherwise played the old fool.

We made a shooting-match, remember, John Bull, 'Twas held away down in Orleans,

And while we were killing seven hundred or more,
You were a-killing sixteen.

And don't you remember you run, John Bull,
You scampered, all trembling with fear,
And sought out in haste your dear island home,
And took to your beef and your beer?

You guzzled your beer, you remember, John Bull,
Imbibed it to smother your care,

While we furnished biers for your dead where they

fell,

And kindly we buried them there.

For a long time your conduct improved, Johnny Bull,

And fondly on this we reflect;

Your manner was very respectful toward us,
And your demeanor was very correct.

We were glad, very glad, I assure you, John Bull,
That from prudence you never once swerved,
But you seemed to acknowledge with a penitent
grace

The licking you got was deserved.

But we notice strong symptoms of late, Johnny Bull,
Symptoms portentous of wrong;

Signs that have changed our opinion of you,
And also the burden of song.

We know you're a famous old coward, John Bull,
A fame of true British renown;

You never dare strike at a powerful foe

Till somebody else gets him down.

Now you see us in trouble at home, Johnny Bull, Our land with convulsions is torn,

You toss up your head and caper just like

A refractory steer in the corn.

Now take this advice for your good, Johnny Bull,
And keep your hoarse bellowings hushed;
Just lower your crest, and haul in your horns,
Or you'll get confoundedly thrashed.

We owe you a grudge, we confess it, John Bull,
Nor will ever deny what we've said,

And when each instalment in turn becomes due,
You will get it in powder and lead.
Mundy, February, 1862.

MCCLELLAN.

MASTER Genius! on whose shoulders rest
Burdens, such as the kingliest only bear,
Thou standest now, to thy large work addressed,
With soul so calm, in patience so possessed,
'Mong all our living, great beyond compare!
Only the great are patient, they can wait:
Fools ever fret, and chafe at wise delay;

And now when flippant tongues unloose their hate,
Stand firm! to thy just purpose consecrate,
And let the envious Cascas have their day,
And die and be forgotten! They of old
So slandered him whose glories manifold
Halo the nation. Thy work is well begun

When some now speak of thee, as they of WASH

INGTON.

New-York, Feb. 24, 1862.

A. D. F. RANDOLPH.