VICTORY AND JOY.

WHEN the sun bright ascending illumines the sky,
The lark sweetly carols, while soaring on high,
The bird of the dawn gives the signal of day,
Man rises refresh'd, and all nature is gay.
So when Selim in triumph returns from the fight,
And your terrors disperse like the shades of the

night,
Let the mountains redouble your shouts to the vale
And echo ride forth on the wings of the gale.
Let the cymbal and clarinet burst on the ear,
And the life screams shrill, that all Afric shall bear,
Let one loyal chorus your voices employ,
And as he comes with victory, meet him with joy.

CHORUS
All, all with loud according voices raise
A general plaudit in our monarch's praise.

* * * * * * * * *

HEYNONNI WHAT SHALL I DO. SO careless I sat in my grandmother's bower,

Singing heynonni no to my gay tambourine, When you asked for shelter awhile from a shower,

With heynonni no, sir, says I, what d'ye mean? Then so softly you vow'd, and you swore to be true, I'm asham'd to have heard you, but more sham'd

for you
To sing heynonni no, dear what shall I do?
So lightly we Aed from my grandmother's gate,

But silent I carried my gay tambourine ;
Too soon I repented, and found when too late,
What deceit all your false swearing promises

mean;
For now with my poor little boy I may go,

And play to kind mortals who soften my woey, Heynonni, hononni, heynonni, oh !

THE WIDOW IN LOVE.
I'M sure I never can forget,
The word's you spoke when first we met,

The love your looks convey'd :
While to the minuet's gentle air,
I danc'd around that form so fair,

And thus my thoughts betray'd.
And when we join'd the lively throng,
And tript to sprightly notes along,

How happy was the scene !
Terpsichore, had she been there,
Enchanted by your grace and air,

Had sure enamour'd been.
" Then thus you danc'd, and so did I,
" While jocund music bade us fly,

" Old time could scarce keep pace;
" His scythe and glass we did not mind,
“ Old Care and Time were left behind,

" Lost in the mazy race.

MASTER ROONEY OF BALLINAFAD'S

TRAVELS AND VOYAGE. IN Ireland so frisky, with sweet girls and whisky,

We manag'd to keep care and sorrow aloof, Our whirligig revels made all the blue devils Creep out with the smoke through a hole in the

roof. But well I remember, one foggy November,

My mother cried, Go make your fortune, my lad, Go bother the ninnies clean out of their quineas.

Away then I scamper'd from Ballinafad. Then to seek for promotion, I walk'd the wide

ocean, Was shipwreck'd and murder'd, and sold for a

slave, Over mountains and rivers was pelted to shivers,

And met on this land with a wat’ry grave..

But now Mr. Jew-man has made me a new man,

And whisky and Mammora make my heart glad, To sweet flowing Liffey, I'm off in a jiffey,

With a whack for Old Ireland and Ballinafad. From this cursed station, to that blessed nation,

Again Master Rooney shall visit your shore, Where, O flourish so gaily, my sprig of shillelagh

Long life to old Nadab of great Mogadore. O then all my cousins will run out by dozens,

And out too will hobble old mammy and dad, At dinner they'll treat us with mealy potatoes,

And whisky distill'd at sweet Ballinafad.

* * * * * * * * *

THE JEW OF MOGADORE, OR THE RIGHT

USE OF MONEY.
THAT Money will multiply care,
Philosophers foolishly teach;
'Tis a proof that their pockets are bare
When such silly maxims they preach.
It gives the sweet power to impart
What fortune denies to the brave,
It lightens the care-loaded heart,
And redeems the disconsolate slave,
My money-bags safe and secure
I hoard that the poor may partake ;
Reproach and contempt I endure,
And starve for humanity's sake.
Let them freely enjoy their abuse,
And call me a miserly eif;
I confess it, but 'tis for their use
I'm a miser--and not for myself.

THE HUMOURS OF MANCHESTER RACES,

Since last I trod upon this ground, I've travers'd

Sea and Lands, But now I am, bad money like, return'd upon your

Hands; I've beat my brains, for little gains, thro' North,

South, East and West, And found at last, Home all surpass’d, believe me

'tis no jest... Spoken.) Jest, no! 'tis a very serious matter to be

running up and down the world like a Will o' the Wisp, here a little and there a little, always in the wrong place, and for my part I've grown as small as pin wire, dang it, thinks I, there's better doings than this at Manchester Races, pretry Pickings, ordinary

dinners--They'll eat and they'll drink at a pretty pace, Bridgwater, Bull's Head, i'th' Market-place, White Horse and Spread Eagle, Hanging-ditch, Landlords are all growing very rich;

Then to Manchester Races we'll go What fiddling, fighting, bull-baiting, i've seen at

Eccles Wakes, But no such pretty sport you'll find through all

the land of Cakes; The' Bagpipes play, they dance away, the Lads

and Lasses rosy, And when all's done, there's better fun, at

Pendleton Pow Posey. Spoken. / Ah! Man do ye ken the New Toon at

Edinbro' and the College of Physicians? aye mun, says I, but look at the Town of Manchester, and the College in the Old Church Yard! then for Physicians, havn't we the Whitworth Doctors ! then for your fine Streets There's Church Street, High Street, Rook Street, Pall Mall, Piccadilly and Duke Street,

Hanging-ditch, Hyde's Cross and Burner Street, Garret Lane, Toad Lane, and Turner Street,

Then to Manchester Races we'll go. 'Tis said that Learning may be had by whole

sale in the North, And Wisdom there is cheaper far than England

can bring forth ; For there's preaching cheap, and teaching cheap,

and Poets of great fame, They'll: threap me down, in our town, there's

none can do the same. (Spoken.) Yes but we can tho', we can work all

this by Steam ; and more than that, we can rock the Cradle, roast Beef, and scrape Po

tatoes by Steam, and by and by, I dare say-Parsons will preach by a Steam Engine, Doctors will bleed by a Steam Engine, . Soldiers will shoot by a Steam Engine, Kill Bonaparte by a Steam Engine,

Then to Manchester Races we'll go. Such crowds of. Folks together met, sure ne'er

were seen before, From all the Country round about, to the Races

on Kersey Moor; . From Oldham, Rochdale, Bolton too, as throng

as Smithy-door, From Chorley, and Chewbent a few, likewise

from Cockey-moor. (s ohen.) Barrel Cyder, barrei Cyder, fourpence

a quart, twopence a pint, and a penny the half pint !- Boul up, bowl up, civil Will, all's in the Well, hit your Legs and miss my Pegs!-- Whirl about, round about Kitty Fisher, liackney Coaches, a halfpenny a Ride! - Valk in, Valk in, Ladies and Gentlemen, see the Old Lion from Bengal; the African Tiger, and the Vild Man of the Vood! Shew him up, shew him up, mine's the best Shew, none of your vild Beas:esses! for here's Ir. Punch and his merry Companions, Jane