'Yes, VICTOR,' he said, 'it gives me joy To present you, to-day, with this pretty toy, With such freedom from envy or rancor! But get up from your knees; 'tisn't quite orthodox To kneel to a man; you might get on the rocks Of his HOLINESS' anger. Now lay the crown in your jewel-box, And, lest some wandering, cunning fox Should steal it, be sure to secure the locks.' 'Oh, a friend in need is a friend indeed!' Quoth VICTOR; 'but this is beyond my meed. And what gift of mine can repay you?' 'The key of the casket, friend, if you please, I will take to my safe beyond the seas. Your grateful heart will thus rest at ease; So give it to me, I pray you.' But VICTOR'S eyes grew large with fright, And he cried, 'Oh, LOUIS! this can't be right; For how can I get of my jewels a sight? You might as well take them away too.' 'Give me the key!' screamed his guardian angel, 'Or receive the curse of the LORD'S evangel!' Poor VICTOR trembled with fear and pain, When he found his entreaties were all in vain, And the key was lost forever. Alas, alas for the counsel scorned; For the jewels hid and the freedom mourned. And the faith returning never! For link after link of the adamant chain Mounted endless guard over heart and brain. * * * * * The London _Times_ of Dec. 12 contained the following:-- Blind indeed must be the fury of the Americans if they can voluntarily superadd a war with this country to their present overwhelming embarrassments. It is clear, notwithstanding the sanguine spirit in which small successes are regarded, that the Federal Government is making no material progress in the war. That is to say, 'We have you at disadvantage. Now is our time to strike. A year ago we might have been afraid, but not now.' When John Bull is next cited as the standard authority for fair play, let his very manly vaunts at this time be quoted in illustration! Up through the misty medium of 'News from the South' have struggled of late divers rumors to the effect that the triumphant HOLLINS, of Steam Ram and Greytown memory, has been somewhat shorn of his 'lorrels.' How his stock fell below par is solemnly narrated in the second and following instalment of our' Chronicles:'-- CHRONICLES OF SECESSIA. BOOK II. CHAPTER I. There was a man and his name was HOLLINS. He was of those that go down to the sea in ships, and sometimes across the bay in very different conveyances. Bold of speech, with a face like unto a brazen idol of Gath, and a voice even as a bull of Bashan; a man such as Gog and Magog, and ever agog for to be praised of men, or any other man. Now this HOLLINS was greatly esteemed of the South, howbeit he was held of but little worth in the North, since they who made songs and jokes for the papers had aforetime laughed him to scorn.