Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here: I am the soldier’s friend—here are some books for you; Nice clever books by TOM PAINE, the philanthropist.[19] Here’s half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too— Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some. Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny. _Exit Drummer Boy, with handbills and half-a-crown.—Manet Soldier’s Friend._ Liberty’s friends thus all learn to amalgamate, Freedom’s volcanic explosion prepares itself, Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty. Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum diddledum,” Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy, Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum diddledum”. _Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera._ SONNET.—TO LIBERTY. Just Guardian of man’s social bliss! for thee The paths of danger gladly would I tread: For thee! contented, join the glorious dead, Who nobly scorn’d a life that was not free! But worse than death it pains my soul to see The Lord of Ruin, by wild Uproar led, Hell’s first-born, ANARCHY, exalt his head, And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee! What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued, Crush half the nations with resistless might; Never shall this firm spirit be subdued: In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite, O LIBERTY! to thee shall be renew’d: O still be sea-girt ALBION thy delight! D. No. VI. Dec. 18, 1797. We cannot enough congratulate ourselves on having been so fortunate as to fall upon the curious specimens of classical metre and correct sentiment which we have made the subject of our late Jacobinical imitations. The fashion of admiring and imitating these productions has spread in a surprising degree. Even those who sympathise with the principles of the writer selected as our model, seem to have been struck with the ridicule of his poetry. There appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_ of Monday a _Sapphic Ode_, apparently written by a friend and associate of our author, in which he is however travestied most unmercifully. And to make the joke the more pointed, the learned and judicious editor contrived to print the ode _en masse_, without any order of lines, or division of stanza; so that it was not discovered to be _verse_ till the next day, when it was explained in a hobbling _erratum_.