England, Europe's Glory.

THERE is a land amid the waves, Whose sons are fam'd in story,

Who never were, nor will be slaves, Nor shrink from death and glory. Then strike the harp and bid it swell; With flowing bowls before ye; Here's to the land in which we dwell, To England, Europe's glory.

Blest land-beyond all lands afar,
Encircl'd with the waters,
With lion-hearted sons in war,

And Beauty's peerless daughters,
Go ye, whose discontented hearts
Disdain the joys before ye;
Go, find a home in foreign parts,
Like England, Europe's glory,

Whether in sultry scenes ye rove,
A solitary stranger;

Or seek the foreign fair one's love,
Where lurks deceit and danger;
Where will ye find domestic bliss,
With social sweets before ye,
A land so great, so free as this,
Like England, Europe's glory?

Paddy's Wedding.

SURE won't you hear what roaring cheer,
Was spread at Paddy's wedding O,
And how so gay they spent the day,

From the churching to the bedding 0; First two in hand, came Father Quipés, With the bride's dadda the, bailey O, While all the way to church, the pipes Struck up a lilt so gailey O.

Then there was Mat and sturdy Pat,
And merry Morgan Murphy 0:
And Murdock Maggs, and Tirlogh Skeggs,
Mac Lochan, and Dick Durphy O;
And then the girls drest out in whites,
Led on by Dad O ́Réilly O,
All jigging, as the merry pipes
Struck up a lilt so gailey O.

When Pat was ask'd, would his love last?
The chancel echo'd with laughter O;
Arrah, fait, cried Pat, you may say dat,
To the end of the world, and after O,
Then tenderly her hand he gripes,
And kisses her genteely O;
While all in tune the merry pipes
Struck up a lilt só gailey O.

Now a roaring set at dinner met,
So frolicsome and so frisky 0;
Potatoes galore, a skirraig or môrē,
And a flowing madder of whisky O ;

To the bride's dear health round went the swipes,
That her joys might be nightly and daily O;
And still as they gluited, the merry pipes,
Struck up a lilt so gaily O,

And then at night, O what delight,

To see them ali footing and prancing O,
An opera or ball, were nothing at all,
Compar'd to the style of their dancing O;
And then to see old Father Quipes,
Beat time with his shelala 0,
While the chanter with his merry pipes,
Struch up a lilt so gailey O.

And now the knot so tipsey are get,
They'll go to sleep without rocking O,
So the bridemaids fair, now gravely prepare,
For throwing of the stocking O;

And round to be sure did go the swipes,
And at the bribe's expense so freely O,
While, to wish them good night, the merry pipes
Struck up a lilt so gailey Q.

Lovely Nan.

SWEET is the ship that, under sail,

Spreads her wide bosom to the gale,

Sweet, O sweet's the flowing can ;

Sweet to poise the lab'ring oar,

That tugs us to our native shore,

When the boatswain pipes the barge to man:

The soldier gets his king's esteem the invalid a pension;

Each husband gets a wife, and sometimes (more*) that I could mention.

The politician gets a seat, tho' void of any great

sense;

The parson gets the tythe pig; the lawyer six and eightpence;

The thief enjoys a halter, what his life for years presages;

And Saturday night comes once a week with every poor man's wages,

Our rights in charter well we know, mechanics, princes, traders,

Is to protect our property from levellers and invaders, ;

Our lives to guard, and then in wars, when e'er our foes create 'em,

We jointly take the cudgels, and with blows prepare to meet 'em.

Since loyalty then reigns so firm; its blessings ever sing, sir,

While Englishmen, with one accord, thus hail their sovereign king, sir;

Huzza him o'er the flowing bowl, nay more, let nothing part ye,

Till round you've drank confusion to the democra

tic party.

*Horns.

Permit your most obedient, humbly now to take his leave, sir,

And hoping I've offended none, by barking as I have, sir;

For a loyal dog I am, and such, I think, will ne'er disgrace me,

If any one object it here, why boldly let him face

me.

The Chapter of Fashions.

FASHION was form'd when the world began,
And Adam I'm told was a very smart man,
As for Eve I shall say nothing more nor less,
But that ladies of fashion now copy her dress;
So barring all pother, of this, that, or t'other,
We all bow to fashion in turn.

The fashion next came to hunting poor brutes,
And Nimrod invented the fashion of boots;
For he was a buck, tho' he hadn't a wife,
And never saw Bond-street, perhaps, in his life.

Our barons of old- -wore comical clothes, And their shoes were square toed, yellow worsted their hose.

Your Henry's and Edward's were famous for dress, But ale and beef-stakes were the fashion with Bess.

In the reign of King Charles, you distinguish'd a prig,

By the length of his cane, and the size of his wig; Cromwell's hats were all broad, and his head it was round,

And his hair hung like candles, sixteen to the pound.