The _Daily News_, it will be remembered, was founded in January 1846 by Charles Dickens, who officiated as its first editor. He soon sickened of the mechanical drudgery appertaining to the position, and resigned his editorial functions the following month. From January 21st to March 2nd he contributed to its columns a series of 'Travelling Sketches,' afterwards reprinted in volume form as _Pictures from Italy_. He also availed himself of the opportunity afforded him, by his association with that newspaper, of once more taking up the cudgels against the Tories, and, as in the case of the _Examiner_, his attack was conveyed through the medium of some doggerel verses. These were entitled 'The British Lion--A New Song, but an Old Story,' to be sung to the tune of 'The Great Sea-Snake.' They bore the signature of 'Catnach,' the famous ballad-singer, and were printed in the _Daily News_ of January 24, 1846. Three weeks later some verses of a totally different character appeared in the columns of the _Daily News_, signed in full 'Charles Dickens.' One Lucy Simpkins, of Bremhill (or Bremble), a parish in Wiltshire, had just previously addressed a night meeting of the wives of agricultural labourers in that county, in support of a petition for Free Trade, and her vigorous speech on that occasion inspired Dickens to write 'The Hymn of the Wiltshire Labourers,' thus offering an earnest protest against oppression. Concerning the 'Hymn,' a writer in a recent issue of _Christmas Bells_ observes: 'It breathes in every line the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount, the love of the All-Father, the Redemption by His Son, and that love to God and man on which hang all the law and the prophets.' THE BRITISH LION A NEW SONG, BUT AN OLD STORY TUNE--'THE GREAT SEA-SNAKE' Oh, p'r'aps you may have heard, and if not, I'll sing Of the British Lion free, That was constantly a-going for to make a spring Upon his en-e-me; But who, being rather groggy at the knees, Broke down, always, before; And generally gave a feeble wheeze Instead of a loud roar. Right toor rol, loor rol, fee faw fum, The British Lion bold! That was always a-going for to do great things, And was always being 'sold!' He was carried about, in a carawan, And was show'd in country parts, And they said, 'Walk up! Be in time! He can Eat Corn-Law Leagues like tarts!' And his showmen, shouting there and then, To puff him didn't fail, And they said, as they peep'd into his den, 'Oh, don't he wag his tail!' Now, the principal keeper of this poor old beast, WAN HUMBUG was his name, Would once ev'ry day stir him up--at least-- And wasn't that a Game! For he hadn't a tooth, and he hadn't a claw, In that 'Struggle' so 'Sublime'; And, however sharp they touch'd him on the raw, He couldn't come up to time.