PR 8861 .L8 E65 Copy 1 iliilMJ lift Price Thirty Cents. 2Z3 "D GOOD BOOKS SENT UPON RECEIPT OP THE PRICE. » ^ < The Al-ma-kan-tur Circle; or, How to Win a Sweetheart or Lover. Containing Facts and New Discoveries never before offered to the public. Being of the greatest importance to both Married and Single Persons, of both sexes. By M. L. Byrn, M.D., Graduate of the University of the City of New York. Price, 25 cents. Laughing- Gas. An Encyclopaedia of Wit, "Wisdom, and Wind. By Sam Slick, Jr. Comically illustrated with 100 original and laughable Engrav- ings, and nearly 500 side-extending Jokes, and other things to get fat on ; and the best of it is, that every thing about the book is new and fresh— all new— new designs, new stories, new type — no comic-almanac stuff. It will be found a complete antidote to " hard times." Price, 25 cents. The " Coi Er< Pu; ten Ma tair tills fact Prii and fact Clot Char and the ] pian Blacl taini cismi UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. brinlta. English, Juleps, to bar- nded a >., con- iie Dis- Manu- ts, and States tfanu- 12mo. ic first of all Ethio- Con- Witti- Chips from TJncle Sam's Jack-Knife. Illustrated with over one hundred Comical Engravings, and comprising a collection of over five hundred Laugha.blc Stories, Eunny Adventures, Comic Poetry, Queer Con- undrums, Terrific Puns, Witty Sayings, Sublime Jokes, and Sentimental Sentences. The whole being a most perfect portfolio for those who love to laugh. Large octavo. Price, 25 cents. Pox's Ethiopian Comicalities. Containing Strange Sayings, Eccentric Doings, .Burlesque Speeches, Laughable Drolleries, Funny Stories, inter- spersed with Refined Wit, Broad Humor, and Cutting Sarcasm, copied ver- batim, as recited by the celebrated Ethiopian Comedian. With several Comic Illustrations. Price, 12 cents. No ^largefor Catalogues or information. Address, DICK & FITZGERALD. 18 Ann Street. N. Y. GEORGE CHRISTY'S ESSENCE OF OLD KENTUCKY; CONTAINING A CHOICE COLLECTION OP NEW AND POPULAR SONGS, INTERLUDES' DIALOGUES, FUNNY SPEECHES, DARKEY JOKES, AND PLANTATION WIT. BY GEORGE CHRISTY, THE POPULAR ETHIOPIAN, COMEDIAN AND VOCALIST. E> E, I O E lO CENTS. C O N T E Annie with, the Veil An Adventure on Broadway A Circus-Performer A Bootblack's Soliloquy- All we Read we Know is True Ben Hollins Charles Augustus Con Donahue Cold and Heat Dat Beet's Gone Geology Ilappy'be thy Dreams Hold your Horses, will you ? Merry Green Fields of Oland Love, Pigs' Feet and Suicide Love and Doughnuts Alan at his Wife's Apron-string Mean Man Miss Starch and Mr. Buckram No One to Love Nancy Gray New Patent Song " Old Sorrel's" Adventures Push and Bull — -*-4~ IiE MARC NTS : Simon Gray Smiggy McGlural Six Changes Shells of Ocean Sally Morgan Spelling Lessons Striking Characters in Love The Medley of Medleys The Rival Darkeys The Gay Little Waiter The Streets of New York The Darkey Sleighing Party The Zoo-Zoo's Toast The Old Jawbone The Fancy Barkeeper The Wonderful Mr. Brown The Harriet Lane The Irishman's Courtship The City Beau The Dog and the Milestone Taylor's Saloon Whisky in Decanter clean Wonderful Eggs We may be Happy Yet HAND'S Fortune Teller and Dreamer's Dictionary. Containing a complete Dictionary of Dreams Alphabetically arranged, with a clear Interpretation of each Dream, and the lucky Numbers that belong to them. Also, showing how to tell Fortunes by the Wonderful and Mysterious Ladies' Love Oracle ; How to Foretell the Sex and Num- ber of Children; How to Make a Lover or Sweetheart come to You; To tell whether your Lover or Sweatheart Loves You ; How to Tell any Person's Age ; To know who your Future Husband will be, and how soon you will be Married; To ascertain whether your Husband or Wife is True to You; To tell whether you will enjoy your Love ; How to tell Future Events with Cards, Dice, Tea and Coffee-Grounds, Eggs, Apple- Parings, and the Lines of the Hand; How to tell a Person's Character by Cabalistic Calculations; How to Bead Fortunes by the moles on a Person's Bi dy, also explaining the Art of Discovering Truth from False- hood, together with a List of Unlucky Days, and a List of Days and Hours usually Considered Fortunate with Respect to Courtship, Mar- riage, and Love Affairs in General, with a Collection of Charms and Ceremonies, etc., etc. By Madamk Le Maechand, the Celebrated Parisian Fortune-Teller. Illustrated with a Steel Frontispiece and Numerous Wood Engravings'. This book contains 144 pages, and is bound in pasteboard with cloth back. Price 30 Cents. ■ST* Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, free of postage. Send cash orders to DICE & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann St., N.Y. New Series of Novels about Celebrated HIGHWAYMEN AKD HOUSEBREAKERS. ~*»«^-> CAPTAIN HERON ; on, The Highwayman of Epping Forest. Price 25 cts. JONATHAN WILD'S STRATAGEM; or, The Highway- man's Escape Price 25 cts. THE HANGMAN OP NEWGATE ; or, The Highwayman's Adventure Price 25 cts. TOM RIPON ; or, The Highwayman and Housebreaker. Price 25 cts. CLAUDE DTJVAL AND HIS COMPANIONS; or, The Pace on the Road ..Price 35 cts. THE HIGHWAYMAN'S RIDE TO YORK ; or the Death of BlackBess - Price 35 cts. BLUESKIN BAFFLED; or, The Highwayman's Trap. Price 25 cts. LIVES OF CELEBRATED HIGHWAYMEN. CLAUDE DUVAL, The Dashing Highwayman. Illustrated. Price 35 cts. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF DICK CLINTON, The Mysterious Highwayman - Trice 25 cts. THE ADVENTURES OF TOM KING, and the Story of his Romantic Life Price 25 cts. NED SCARLET, The Daring Highwayman Price 25 cts. CAPTAIN HAWKES. A Narrative of the Exploits of a Robber Captain Price 35 cts. PAUL CLIFFORD ; or, The Reformed Highwayman. Price 25 cts. FEARLESS FRED. A Companion to Claude Duval. Price 25 cts. THE PICTORIAL ADVENTURES OF MARGARET CATCHPOLE, The Female Horse Thief. Large 8vo. Price 50 cts. ggg^ Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, free of postage. Send cash orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann Street, W. Y. Tales of Border Adventure. THE REGULATORS OF ARKANSAS. A Thrilling Tale of Border Adventure Price 25 cte. BELL JOHNSON; or, The Outlaws of Arkansas. .Price 25 cts. RAWSON THE RENEGADE; or, The Squatter's Re- venge Price 25 cts. THE RED SCOUT; or, The Outlaw's Revenge Price 25 cts. RED JACK; or, The Scout's Rifle Price 25 cts. STEEL ARM; or, The Robbers and Regulators of California. By the author of the "Regulators of Arkansas."... Price 25 cts. BIG GOLIATH ; or, The Terror of the Mines. By the author of "Steel Arm." ..Price 25 cts. *+4 CELEBRATED REVOLUTIONARY NOVELS. HARRY BURNHAM ; or, The Adventures of an Officer of the Revolution _ Price 50 cts. BYRON BLONDAY ; or, The Ranger of the Mohawk. By Newton M. Curtis Price 25 cts. THE RANGER OP RAVENSTREAM. A Romance of the Early History of America Price 25 cts. THE PATROL OF THE MOUNTAIN; or, The Days of '76. By Newton M. Curtis Price 25 cts. THE SCOUT OF THE SILVER POND. By Newton M. Cur- tis Price 25 cts. THE "WOODMAN'S RIFLE. This is a story of thrilling in- terest Price 25 cts. PAUL JONES. A Tale of the American Navy Price 25 cts. PIRATE TALES AND ADVENTURES. GARNELLE; or, The Rover's Oath Price 25 cts. THE PIRATE CHIEF ; or, The Cutter of the Ocean. Price 25 cts. THE PIRATE DOCTOR; or, The Extraordinary Career of a New York Physician ..Price 25 cts. DAVID "WATSON, The London Apprentice Price 25 cts. OLPH; or, The Pirates of the Shoals Price 25 cts. THE DANCING FEATHER ; or, The Pirate Schooner. Price 25 cts. JOSEPHINE; or, The Maid of the Gulf Price 25 cts. THE OCEAN CHIEF Price 25 cts. THE YANKEE PRIVATEER ..Price 25 cts. ggf* Copies of the above hooks sent to any address in the United States, free of postage. Send cash orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann Street, N. Y. Novels by Samuel Lover. RORY O'MORE. A Romance. This work is illustrated, and contains 230 octavo pages Price 50 cts. All are familiar with the Fun, Humor, and "Wit, which are to be found in every line of this National romance. HANDY ANDY. Anovel Price 50 cts. Handy Andy speaks for itself to the hearts of all gay, jolly, and mirth-lo ag folks. LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND ; or, The Adven- tures of Paddy Mullowney Price 25 cts. Mr. Lover has here produced his best work of fiction, which will survive when half the Irish sketches with which the literary world teems are forgotten. BARNEY O'RIERDON; or, The Adventures of a Bashful Irishman Price 25 cts. TREASURE TROVE ; or, Accounts with Irish Heirs : £. s. d. One of Lover's best works. Price 50 cts. TOM CROSBIE AND HIS FRIENDS. Large octavo. Price 50 cts. We advise all who have not read this inimitable novel to procure it at once. -*•-♦- FOUR GOOD INTERESTING BOORS. THE KNAPSACK FULL OF FUN; or, 1000 Rations of Laughter. Illustrated with over 500 Comic Engravings. Price 25 cts. THE DARING DEEDS OF GOOD AND BAD ■WOMEN. Containing the Heroic Achievements of Celebrated Good Wo- men, and the Criminal Deeds of Notorious Wicked Women. Price 25 cts. CHARLEY HUNTER ; on, the Fate of a Forger. A Thrilling Story, Illustrated with numerous Engravings Price 25 cts. HISTORY OF THE PIRATES. The Adventures of the Pirates which are here narrated, are of so romantic and monstrous a nature, that they rival in detail the most improbable tales of fiction. The work is one of the most exciting interest. 12mo, with illustrated cover. 144 pages Price 25 cts. g^ip" Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, free of postage. Send cash orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, IS Ann Street, N. Y. THE EMERALD; BOOK OF IRISH MELODIES A CHOICE COLLECTION OP SENTIMENTAL, COMIC, CONVIVIAL, POLITICAL, AND PATRIOTIC SONGS OF ERINIA. NEW YORK: DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS, 18 Ann Street. u Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1863, by DICK & FITZGERALD, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. i r * / \ v v CONTENTS, rxBT pxmT l n. Aggie Asthobk 25 — Angel'9 Whisper 21 — A Sweet Irish Girl is the Darling 69 — Barnaby Finegan 59 — Biddy Magee — 27 Black Turf — 25 Bryan O'Lynn — 23 Colleen Bawn 50 — Corporal Casey — 80 Darling Old Stick 62 — Dennis M'Caster, the Irish Schoolmaster — 36 Doran's Ass 83 — Dublin Lasses — 53 Erin go Bragh 1 64 — Erin is my Home 86 — From Munster I came — 89 Good-Morrow to your Nightcap — 71 Green grow the Bushes, 01 57 — Heigh for the Petticoats 23 — He tells Me He loves Me 65 — Hibernia's Lovely Jean 45 — I came from the Land of the Pats and Pitatees — 40 I came from the Boar — 41 2 CONTENTS. PAllT PARI I. 11. I'm leaving Old Ireland 2S ^- Fd mourn the Hopes 12 ^~ I'm not Myself at all 61 — Irish-English Scotchman — 43 Irish Hearts for the Ladies — 71 Irish Post-Boy's Song 10 — Irish Tinker's Lament 16 — Johnny M'Clusky — 46 Kathleen Mavourneen 38 — Katty Avourneen — 69 Katty Mooney — 47 Kill or cure — 7 Kitty Tyrrell 27 — Lament of the Irish Emigrant 22 — Leave us a Lock of your Hair — 20 Limerick Kaces 65 _ Ma Allieen, Asthore 54 — Meet me, Miss Molly Malone — 49 Molly Asthore 51 — Molly Bawn 20 — Molly Malone — 48 My Heart's in Old Ireland 6 — My Nick-name is Barney 40 — Norah M'Shane 88 — Norah, the Pride of Kildare 17 — Now can't you be aisy ? — 5 Och ! Norah dear 44 — Oh ! once we were Illigant People — 6 Ould Ireland ! you're my Darlin' 4-J — Paddy Conner — 74 Paddy Goshlow 26 Paddy Hegarty's Leather Breeches — 44 Paddy's Wake — 19 Pat and his Leather Breeches — 50 CONTEXTS. 3 *art paiit I. II. Pat's Curiosity-Shop 11 Pretty Maid milking her Cow 9 — Party Molly Brallaghan gg — Savourneen Deelish 18 — Sergeant M'Fadgin 55 — Shelah O'Neal _ 70 Teddy O'Neal 67 — Terence's Farewell to Kathleen 53 — The Blackbird 13 — The Blarney 56 — The Boys of the Irish Brigade 54 The Captain 39 — The Cobbler _ 35 The Croppy Boy 71 — The Darlin' Oukl Stick _ 62 The Dear Irish Boy 52 — The Exile of Erin 30 — The Fairy Boy 1 1 — The Fine Old Irish Gentleman 31 — The Flaming O'Flanagans 62 The Four-Leaved Shamrock. 5 — The Gray Mare 29 — The Green Bushes 7 — The Green Linnet 14 The Hard-Hearted Molly Carew _ 32 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls 32 — The Irish Brigade, O! 17 — The Irish Jaunting-Car 55 — The Irish Love-Letter _ 21 The Irishman , 10 The Irishman's Wager — 17 The Land of- Ould Erin _ 16 The Land of Potatoes. ! 70 — The Lass o 1 Gowrie 54 — The Loves of Judy Booney and Looney Connor — 68 The Low-backed Car 19 — The New Policeman 42 — The Night before Larry was 6tretched — 57 4 CONTENTS. PART TAT.f I. IT. The Old-Country Party 7 — The Patriot Mother 41 — The Piper — 60 The Keal Irish Stew — 15 The Road of Life 10 — The Shan Van Togh 24 — The Snob and the Tailor — 8 The White Cockade 14 — The Widdy M'Ginness's Raffle — 28 The "Wonderful Irishman 34 — The Wake of Teddy the Tiler — 66 The Young Irish Gentleman — 55 Up for the Green 1 46 — What Man would be without a Wife, I should like to know ? — ■ 58 Widow Machree 6S — Widow Malone — ■ 64 Willy Reilly 43 — THE EMERALD SONGSTER. PAET I. The Four-Leaved Slitimroelc. [A four-leaved Shamrock is of such rarity that it is supposed to indue the finder with magic power.] I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells, And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells ! I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold, For treasure tires the weary sense— such triumph is hut cold ; But I would play the enchanter's part in casting bliss around — Oh ! not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found. To worth I would give honor! — I'd dry the mourner's tears, And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years ; And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold, Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old ! Oh! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found ! O THE SHAMROCK J OR, The heart that had been mourning o'er vanish' d dreams of love Should see them all returning, like Noah's faithful dove, And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's dark'ning sea, And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be ; Oh ! thus I'd play the enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, And not a tear nor aching heart should in the world be found. My Heart's in Olcl Ireland. My bark on the billow dash'd gloriously on, And glad were the notes of the sailor-boy's song ; Yet sad was my bosom and bursting with woe, For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh ! my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go. More dear than the flowers that Italy yields, Are the red-breasted daisies that spangle thy fields, The shamrock, the hawthorn, the white blossom sloe, For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh ! my heart's, &c. The shores they look lovely, yet cheerless and vain, Bloom the lillies of France, and the olives of Spain ; When I think of the fields where the wild daisies grow, Then my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh! my heart's, &c. The lillies and roses abandon the plains, Though the summer's gone by, still the shamrock remains, Like a friend in misfortune it blossoms o'er the snow ; For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh ! my heart's &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. I sigh and I vow, if e'er I get home, No more from my dear native cottage I'll roam ; The harp shall resound, and the goblet shall flow, For my heart's in old Ireland wherever I go, Oh! my heart's, &c. The Green Bushes. I'll buy you new bavers and fine silken gowns, I'll buy you new petticoats, flounced to the ground, If you will prove constant and loyal to me, And leave your own true love, and follow with me. I care not for bavers or fine silken hose, For I am not so poor as to marry for clothes ; But if you prove constant and loyal to me, I will leave my own true love, and follow with thee. Oh ! let us be going, young man, if you please, Oh ! let us be going from under these trees, For my true love is coming — 'Tis yonder, I see, Down by the green bushes where he thinks to meet me. And when that he found his true love she was flown, He stood, like a lambkin that blates, all alone ; For my true love is gone, and she's forsaken me, Adieu ! the green bushes, forever, says he. The Old Country Party. BY HARRY M. PALMER. Air— Irishman's Shanty. Say, did ye iver go till an ould country party, Where the boys are so gay, and the girls dress so smartly, While around the turf fire the ould folks take their aise And a drop of the crater whiniver they please. Arrah, me jewel ! oh ! Ireland's the country for me. 8 THE SHAMROCK J OR, The first one I wint to, before I left home, Was give be me TJncie that lived at Athlone. He sint word for me to be there without fail, So I wint in the stage coach that carried the mail. Arrah, &c. Whin I opened the door, what a sight met my eyes : Hot bacon and praties, , wid herrin and pies, While up on the closet, by way of a lunch, Was a five gallon bowl full of hot whisky punch. Arrah, &c. There was Dolan, the blacksmith, the cooper, McFail, Wid schoolmaster Casey, and Father O'Neal, 0' Brian, the butcher, wid a great many more, And the MacEvoy brothers, who came from Bondore. Arrah, &c. Thin Biddy McGrurn and the brothers O'Neal Stood up in the floor for a three handed reel. While, perched on the table, blind piper McGill Played a tune called "The Little House Under the Hill." Arrah, &c. "The Connaught Man's Kambles" the pipes thin did Play, While ould folks and young kept dancing away ; But the music stopped short, for the bottle was dry, And under the table the piper did lie. Arrah, &c. Thin Biddy McClosky sung Kitty Asthore, And Pat MacEvoy giv us Kory O'More ; Wid the " Tail of me Coat " by my first cousin Tim, And " The Life and Adventures of Bryan O'Lynn." Arrah, &c. But now I'm away from the folks at Athlone, As well as me father and mother at home ; Be the Powers, the tears rushes into me eyes Whin I think of the whisky, the girls, and the pies. Arrah, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 1 Pretty Maid Millting- her Cow- It being on a fine summer's morning, As birds sweetly tuned on each bough, I heard a fair maid sing most charming, As she sat a milking her cow. Her voice was enchanting— melodious, Which left me scarce able to go ; My heart it was soothed in solace, By the pretty maid milking her cow. With courtesy I did salute her : " Good-morrow, most amiable maid ; I am your captive slave for the future." " Kind sir, do not banter," she said ; 11 I am not such a precious rare jewel, That I should enamour you so ; I am but a plain country girl," Said this pretty maid milking her cow. II The Indies afford no such jewel, So precious and transparent clear, Oh ! do not refuse to be my jewel, But consent, and love me, my dear ; Take pity, and grant my desire, And leave me no longer in woe ; Oh ! love me, or else I'll expire, Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe.°" II I don't understand what you mean, sir, I never was a slave yet to love ; These emotions I cannot experience, So, I pray, these affections remove ; To marry, I can assure you, That state I will not undergo, So, young man, I pray you will excuse me," Said this pretty maid milking her cow. • Pretty maid milking her cow. 10 THE SHAMROCK J OR, " Had I the wealth of great Oniar, Or all on the African shore ; Or had I great Devonshire's treasure, Or had I ten thousand times more, Or had I the lamp of Alladin, And had I his genius, also — I'd rather live poor on a mountain, With colleen dhas cruthin amoe." ' I beg you, withdraw, and do not tease me, I cannot consent unto thee ; I prefer to live single and airy, Till more of the world I see ; New cares they would me embarrass — Beside, sir, my fortune is low : Until I get rich I'll not marry," Said the colleen dhas cruthin amoc. ' A young maid is like a ship sailing, She don't know how long she may steer, For in every blast she is in danger, So consent, and love me, my dear. For riches I care not a farthing ; Your affections I want, and no more ; In wedlock I wish to bind you, Sweet colleen dhas cruthin amoe !" Tlie Road of* Life ; Or, Song of the Irish Post-Boy. Oh ! youth, happy youth ! what a blessing ! In thy freshness of dawn and of dew ; "When hope the young heart is caressing, And our griefs are but light and but few ; Yet in life, as it swiftly flies o'er us, Some musing for sadness we find ; In youth — we've our troubles before us, In age — we leave pleasure behind. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 11 Aye — Trouble s the post-boy that drives us Up hill, till we get to the top ; While Joy's an old servant behind us We call on forever to stop ; Oh ! put on the drag, Joy, my jewel, , As long as the sunset still glows ; Before it is dark 'twould be cruel To haste to the hill-foot's repose. But there stands an inn we must stop at, An extinguisher swings for the sign ; That house is but cold and but narrow — But the prospect beyond it's divine ! And there — whence there's never returning, When we travel — as travel we must — LI ay the gates be all free for our journey ! And the tears of our friends lay the dust ! Tlie Fairy JSoy. [When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believrs the heilthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. J A mother came when stars were paling. Wailing round a lonely spring ; Thus she cried, while tears were falling, Calling on the Fairy King : " Why with spells my child caressing, Courting him with fairy joy ; Why destroy a mother's blessing, Wherefore steal my baby boy ? " O'er the mountain, through the wild wood, Where his childhood loved to play ; Where the flowers are freshly springing, There I wander day by day. There I wander, growing fonder Of the child that made my joy ; On the echoes wildly calling, To restore my fairy boy. 12 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, " But in vain my plaintive calling, Tears are falling all in vain ; He now sports with fairy pleasure, He's the treasure of their train. Fare thee well, my child, for ever, In this world I've lost my joy ; But, in the next, we ne'er shall sever, There I'll find my angel boy ! " I'cl Mourn tlie Hopes. AiR—The Rose Tree. I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, If thy smiles had left me too ; I'd weep when friends deceive me, Hadst thou been, like them, untrue. But while I've thee before me, With heart so warm, and eyes so bright, No clouds can linger o'er me, That smile turns them all to light. 'Tis not in fate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to me ; 'Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shared with thee. One Minute's dream about thee Were worth a long and endless year Of waking bliss without thee, My own love, my only dear ! And though the hope be gone, love, That long sparkled o'er our way, Oh ! we shall journey on, love, More safely without its ray. Far better lights shall win me, Along the path I've yet to roam ; The mind that burns within me, And pure smiles from thee at home. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 13 Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveler, at first goes out, He feels a while benighted, And looks round in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which heaven sheds ! Tlie Blackbird. Once on a morning of sweet recreation, I heard a fair lady a-making her moan, With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation, Aye, singing, " My Blackbird foi^ever is flown ! He's all my heart's treasure, my joy, and my pleasure, So justly, my love, my heart follows thee ; And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather, To seek out my Blackbird, wherever he be. " I will go, a stranger to peril and danger, My heart is so loyal in every degree ; For he's constant and kind, courageous in mind : Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be ! In Scotland he's loved and dearly approved, In England a stranger he seemeth to be ; But his name I'll advance in Ireland or France, Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be. " The birds of the forest are all met together The turtle is chosen to dwell with the dove, And I am resolved, in foul or fair weather, Once in the spring-time to seek out my love. But since fickle Fortune, which still proves uncertain, Hath caused this parting between him and me, His right I'll proclaim, and who dares me blame? Good luck to my Blackbird, wherever he be." 14 THE SHAMROCK ; OS Tlie White Coekade. King Charles he is King James's son, And from a royal line is sprung ; Then up with shout, and out with blade, And we'll raise once more the white cockade. ! my dear, my fair-hair' d youth, Thou yet hast hearts of fire and truth ; Then up with shout, and out with blade — We'll raise once more the white cockade My young men's hearts are dark with woe ; On my virgin's cheeks the grief -drops flow ; The sun scarce lights the sorrowing day, Since our rightful prince went far away ; He's gone, the stranger holds his throne ; The royal bird far off is flown : But up with shout, and out with blade — We'll stand or fall with the white cockade. No more the cuckoo hails the spring, The woods no more with the stanch-hounds ring : The song from the glen, so sweet before, Is hush'd since Charles has left our shore. The prince is gone : but he soon will come, With trumpet sound, and with beat of drum ; Then up with shout, and out with blade — Huzza for the right and the white cockade. The Grreeii Linnet. Curiosity bore a young native of Erin, To view the gay banks of the Ehine, When an empress he saw, and the robe she was wearing All over with diamonds did shine ; A goddess in splendor was never yet seen, To equal this fair one so mild and serene, In soft murmur she says, My sweet linnet so green, Are you gone — will I never see you more ? SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 15 The cold, lofty Alps you freely went over, Which nature had placed in your way, That Marengo, Saloney, around you did hover, And Paris did rejoice the next day. It grieves me the hardships you did undergo, Over mountains you traveled all covered with snow, The balance of power your courage laid low, Are you gone — will I never see you more ? The crowned heads of Europe when you were in splendor, Fain would they have you submit, But the goddess of Freedom soon bid them surrender And lowered the standard to your wit ; Old Frederick's colors in France you did bring, Yet his offspring found shelter under your wing, That year in Virginia you sweetly did sing, Are you gone — will I never see you more ? That numbers of men are eager to slay you, Their malice you viewed with a smile, Their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you, And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile. Like ravens for blood their vile passions did burn, The orphans they slew, and caused the widows to mourn, They say my linnet's gone, and ne'er will return, Is he gone — will I never see him more ? When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding, You marched to the north with good will, To relieve the poor slaves in their vile sack clothing, You used your exertion and skill. You spread out the wings of your envied train, While tyrants great Ceesar's old nest set in flames, Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plains, Are you gone — will I never see you more ? In great Waterloo, where numbers laid sprawling, In every field, high or low, Fame on her trumpets through Frenchmen was calling, Fresh laurels to place on her brow. 16 THE SHAMROCK ; OK, Usurpers did tremble to hear the loud call, The third old Babe's new buildings did fall, The Spaniards their fleet in the harbor did call, Are you gone — will I never see you more. I'll roam through the desserts of wild Abyssinia, And yet find no cure for my pain, Will I go and inquire in the isle of St. Helena ? No, we will whisper in vain. Tell me, you critics, now tell me in time, The nation I will range my sweet linnet to find, Was he slain at Waterloo, or Elba on the Rhine ? If he was, I will never see him more. Irislx Tinker's Lament. [Words and music by Mr. W. J. Florence, and sung by him iu his great drama of " Uncle Mike's Cabin; or, The Gipsey's Warning."J Ted Rooney's my name, from Dublin I came, To make my fortune in this quarter ; With stove in my hand, I'm a tinker so grand, But I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! [Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? I've been in each town, but there's none like my own, I've courted many a gintleman's daughter ; I've been offered the hand of the fair and the grand, Still I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! [Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? The fair girl at home, whom I left for to roam, Has been led like a lamb to the slaughter ; Ould Hogan she wed — she'd better be dead S Och ! I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! [Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? She was a fine girrul, every hair was a curl, That grew on the spot it had oughter ; Her cheeks were as red as the hair of her head- Faith, I'm sorry I crassed o'er the water ! [Spoken.] Any tin ware to mend ? SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 17 Should I ever go home, ne'er again would 1 roam, But would live like a true Irish sporter ; When ould Hogan was dead, his widow I'd wed, And keep on the right side of the water ! [Spoken. 1 Any tin ware to mend? ]Nor*ali, tlie Pride of* Kilclax-e. As "beauteous as Flora is charming young Norah, The joy of my heart and the Pride of Kildare, I ne'er will deceive her, for sadly 'twould grieve her, To find that I sighed for another less fair. Her heart with truth teeming, her eye with smiles beaming, What mortal could injure a "blossom so fair, Oh, Norah, dear Norah, the Pride of Kildare. Where'er I may be, love, I'll ne'er forget thee, love ? Though beauties may smile and try to ensnare, Yet nothing shall ever my heart from thine sever, Dear Norah, sweet Norah, the Pride of Kildare. Her heart, &c. Tlie Irislx Brigade O! Oh ! why should I sing of Roman or Greek, The boys we hear tell of in story ? Come, match me, for fighting, fur frolic, or freak, An Irishman reigning in glory. There's Ajax and Hector, and bold Agamemnon, Were up to the tricks of our trade 0, But the rollickin' boys for war, women, and noise, Are the boys of the Irish Brigade ) 18 THE SHAMROCK J OR What for would I sing of Helen of Troy, Or the mischief that came of her flirting ? Sure, there's Biddy O'Flannigan, pride of Forroy, Twice as much of an Helen, that's certain. Then for Venus, Minerva, or Queen Cleopatra, Bad luck to the word shall be said ! But the rollickin' boys for war, women, and noise, Are the boys of the Irish Brigade ! What for would I sing ye of classical fun, Of games, boys, Olympic or Parthian ? And the Curragh's the course where the knowing ones done, And there's Mallow, that flogs for diversion. For fighting, for drinking, for females and all, No times like our times e'er were made ! For the rollickin' boys, for war, women, and noise, Are the boys of the Irish Brigade ! Havourneen I>eelisli. Ah ! the moment was sad when my love and I parted — Savourneen deelish Eileen oge!* As I kissed off her tears I was nigh broken-hearted — Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder — Damp was her hand, no marble was colder, I felt that again I should never behold her. Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! When the word of command put our men into motion, Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean, Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder, Pleased with the voyage, impatient for plunder, My bosom with grief Avas almost torn asunder. Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! Darling dear Young Ellen. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 19 Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love, Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! All my pay and my bounty I hoarded for you, love Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! Peace was proclaimed — escaped from the slaughter, Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her ; But sorrow, alas ! to the cold grave had brought her. Savourneen deelish Eileen oge ! Tlie ]L.o^v-t>»cls:ecl Ojvi*. {The words and music of this Song, with Piano-forte accompaniment, are pnb lishcd by Wm..Hall & Son, New York,] When first I saw sweet Peggy, 'Twas on a market day, A low-backed car she drove, and sat Upon a truss of hay ; But when that hay was blooming grass, And decked with flowers of Spring, No flow'r was there that could compare With the blooming girl I sing : As she sat in the low-backed car— The man at the turnpike bar Never asked for the toll, But just rubbed his owld poll, And looked after the low-backed car. In battle's wild commotion, The proud and mighty Mars, With hostile scythes, demands his tithes Of death — in warlike cars ; While Peggy, peaceful goddess, Has darts in her bright eye, That knocked men down, in the market town As right and left they fly — While she sits in her low-backed car, Than battle more dangerous far— For the doctor's art Cannot cure the heart That is hit from that row-backed car. 20 THE SHAMROCK ', OR, Sweet Peggy, round her car, sir, Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters By far out-number these ; While she among her poultry sits, Just like a turtle dove, Well worth the cage, I do engage, Of the blooming god of love — While she sits in the low-backed car, The lovers come near and far, And envy the chicken Thet Peggy is pickin' , As she sits in the low-backed car. Oh ! I'd rather own that car, sir, With Peggy by my side, Than a coach-and-four and goold galore, And a lady for my bride ; For the lady would sit forninst me, On a cushion made with taste, While Peggy would sit beside me, With my arm around her waist — While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar, Oh ! my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh — Though it beat in a low-backed car. Molly Bawn. 0, Molly Bawn, why leave me pining, Or lonely waiting here for you — While the stars above are brightly shining, Because they have nothing else to do. The flowers late were open keeping, To try a rival blush with you, But their mother, Nature, kept them sleeping, With their rosy faces wash'd in dew. 0, Molly, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 21 The pretty flowers were made to bloom, dear, And the pretty stars were made to shine ; The pretty girls were made for the boys, dear, And may be you were made for mine. The wicked watch-dog here is snarling — He takes me for a thief, d'ye see ? For he knows I'd steal you, Molly, darling, And then transported I should be. 0, Molly, &c. A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For her husband was far on the wide raging sea, And the tempest was swelling 'Round the fisherman's dwelling, And she cried, " Dermont, darling, oh ! come back to me !" Her beads while she number'd, The baby still slumber'd, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee : " Oh ! bless'd be that warning, My child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the a'ngels are whispering to thee. "And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh ! pray to them softly, my baby, with me — And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee." The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see ; And closely caressing Her child, with a blessing, Said, " I know that the angels were whispering with thee." 22- the shamrock; or, Lament oftlie Irisli Emigrant. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning long ago, "When first you were my bride ; The corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on thy lip, Mary, And the love light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then ; The lark's loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again ! But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'ning for the words You never more may speak. 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near — The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here ; But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest, For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends, But, ! they love thee better far, The few our father sends ; And you were all I had, Mary, My blessing and my pride ; There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true, But I'll not forget you,, darling, In the land I'm going to ; 80XGS OF OLD IRELAND. 23 They say there's bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there, But I'll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair. And often in those grand old woods, I'll sit and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again, To the place where Mary lies ; And I'll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and bright May morn, When first you were my bride. Heig-li for* tlie Petticoat. Och ! a petticoat, honey, is an Irishman's joy, Go where he will, his time merrily passes ; Search the world over, sure Paddy's the boy, For banging the men and for kissing the lasses ; And if you but get a red coat to your back, In Russia, in Prussia, in France, or in Flanders, All the pretty ma'amselles have a mighty neat knack Of cocking their chins both at men and commanders. Then heigh for the petticoat, that is the joy, Go where I will my time merrily passes ; Search the world over, sure Paddy's the boy, For banging the men, and for kissing the lasses. When sweet Kitty Conner pierced me clean through the heart, And chose Teddy Blarney, a big man of honor, One moonshiny night, to give ease to my smart, I kicked Mr. Blarney, and kissed Mrs. Conner. And the little plump god, for his mother knew what, Was the son of old Mars, or he'd never alarm ye ; And if he'd be growing as tall as he's fat, You'd see Mr. Cupid brought up to the army. Then heigh for the petticoat, &c. 24 THE SHAMROCK J OE, The Sliaix Van Vogli. * [i. Ballad of 1798.] Oh ! the French are on the sea, Says the Shan Van Vogh ; The French are on the sea, Says the Shan Van Vogh ; Oh ! the French are in the Bay, They'll be here without delay, And the Orange will decay, Says the Shan Van Vogh. Oh ! the French are in the Bay, They'll be here by break of day, And the Orange will decay, Says the Shan Van Vogh. And where will they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; Where will they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vogh : On the Curragh of Kildare, The boys they will be there, With their pikes in good repair, Says the Shan Van Vogh. To the Curragh of Kildare The boys they will repair, And Lord Edward will be there, Says the Shan Van Vogh. Then what will the yeomen do ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; What will the yeomen do ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; What should the yeomen do, But throw off the red and blue, And swear that they'll be true To the Shan Van Vogh ? What should, &c. • Properly spelt. An t-sean bhean bhochd, meaning The Poor Old Woman— «nother name for Ireland. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 2f And what color will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; What color will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; What color should he seen Where our fathers' homes have heen, But their own immortal Green ? Says the Shan Van Vogh. What color, &c. And will Ireland then he free ? Says the Shan Van Vogh ; Will Ireland then he free ? Says the Shan Van Vogh. Yes ! Ireland shall he free, From the centre to the sea ; Then hurra for Liberty ! Says the Shan Van Vogh. Yes ! Ireland, &c. Aggie Astliove. [By permission of J. H. ITidley, Albany, N. T., publisher and proprietor of tha copyright Sung by W. J. Florence, and always received with shouts of applause.] Oh ! blessings for ever on Aggie Asthore, She's good as she's lovely, and twenty times more. With her sparkling blue eyes and her eloquent smile ; Och ! the hearts of the hardest 'tis she can beguile. Oh ! blessings on Erin's fair maid I adore, She's good as she's lovely, my Aggie Asthore. The first time we met 'twas at our village fair, And the prettiest girls of the country were there, But never did I see, either since or before, One fit to be named with my Aggie Asthore — Aggie dear. Oh ! blessing on Erin's, &c. 26 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, I asked her to dance, and 'twas then with the pride I stood out on the floor, my sweet girl by rny side ; But oh ! how I sighed when we gave up the floor, Shure my heart was clane gone to dear Aggie AsthoKt — Aggie dear. Oh ! blessing on Erin's, &c. My love it is faithful and honest and true, And much more than that, 'tis a winning love, too, For the day will come round, with the ring to the " fore," When for life she is mine, my dear Aggie Asthore — Aggie dear. Oh! blessing on Erin's, &c. BY G. W. ANDERSON. AIR— Billy Barlow. My darling, don't smile, while to you I do tell The very sad fate that to me has befell : I was crossing the street, to come here, ah ! oh ! And slap into the gutter went Paddy Goshlow. With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, Slap into the gutter went Paddy Goshlow. I've a note which the President sent me, so fine ; He axed me quite dacent to go wid him and dine ; He said that the company ne'er could agree, Without the pleasure of my company. With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. I arrived at the house, and I looked mighty glum ; The President said, " Why, we thought you'd ne'er come." Says I, 4i Me clothes are all torn, and that yez all know, And a bashful ould fellow is Paddy Goshlow." With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 27 I was next introduced to the company fair, Whin a lady stood by me, with such sweet auburn hair. She seized hold of my hand, and shook it just so, " Let go, you ould divil," cried Paddy Goshlow. With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow. I left tbe company all in despair ; The women went crazy, and tore all their hair, They fell on their knees, and cried out oh ! oh ! ' Don't leave the dear company, Paddy Goshlow." With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. I was on my way home, on a moonlighted night, Far away in the distance I saw a beautiful sight : A crowd of young spalpeens had collected, just so, To take a good peep at Paddy Goshlow. With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, &c. I arrived at the house, and so as to be sure, I sat on a tub, just close by the dure ; I got asleep on the edge, and it's in I fell, oh! And here's the drowned remains of poor Paddy Goshlow. With me hi ho, Paddy Goshlow, Here's the drowned remains of poor Paddy Goshlow. Kitty Tyrrell. You're looking as fresh as the morn, darling, You're looking as bright as the day ; But while on your charms I'm dilating, You're stealing my poor heart away. But keep it and welcome, mavourneen, Its loss I'm not going to mourn ; Yet one heart's enough for a body, So pray give me yours in return, Mavourneen, mavourneen, ! pray give me yours in return. 28 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, I've built me a neat little cot, darling, I've pigs and potatoes in store ; I've twenty good pounds in the bank, love, And may be, a pound or two more. It's all very well to have riches, But I'm such a covetous elf, I can't help still sighing for something, And, darling, that something's yourself, Mavourneen, mavourneen, And that something you know, is yourself. You're smiling, and that's a good sign, darling, Say "yes," and you'll never repent, Or, if you would rather be silent, Your silence I'll take for consent. That good natured dimple's a tell-tale, Now all that I have is your own ; This week you may be Kitty Tyrrell, Next week you'll be Mistress Malone, Mavourneen, mavourneen, You'll be my own Mistress Malone. I'm Leaving Old Ireland. I'm leaving old Ireland, The land of my heart, Oh ! bless me, dear mother, Before I depart ; I know you will miss me, I fear you will grieve, When darkly between us The dark waters heave ; But heaven will watch o'er you And kindly befriend, And still your poor Kathleen From danger defend. I'm leaving old Ireland, The land of my heart, Oh ! bless me, dear mother, Before I depart. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 29 When far among strangers, I wander alone, My thoughts will be straying* To days that are gone ; Asleep or awaking, I'll think of you still, And our turf-covercd cabin, Beside the green hill ; The hour will be joyous And welcome to me, When after long absence My dear home I see. I'm leaving old Ireland, The land of my heart, Oh ! bless me, dear mother, Before I depart. The Gray Mare. As I was a walking to Nottingham fair, A riding on horseback upon a gray marc, The mare it was black, but the divil a hair But what was all yaller, upon the grey mare. There was the King, the Queen, and a couple of more, A riding on horseback, a walking before ; The bells did ring and the people did stare, To see a coach and six horses drawn by a gray mare. It rained and it snowed, I stood out in the storm With my hat in my hand to keep my head warm ; The mare threw me into the ditch, but I mounted again, And on my tiptoes rode o'er the plain. I'll saddle the mare and to fishing I'll go, To fishing I'll go, whether or no ; If my wagon upsets and my fish it would spill, I'll sell the gray mare, I'll be d d if I will. 80 THE SHAMROCK J OR, Tlie JUxile of Erin. There came to the heach a poor exile of Erin, The dew on his robe was heavy and chill ; For his country he sighed, when, at twilight repairing, To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion. For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean, Where once, In the flow of his youthful emotion. He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 'Oh, sad is my fate," said the heart-broken strange*, " The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee, But I have no refuge from famine or danger, A home and a country remains not for me ! Ah ! never again, in the green shady bower, Where my forefather's lived, shall I spend the sweet hours, Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, And strike the sweet numbers of Erin go bragh ! ' Oh, Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I visit thy sea-beaten shore ; But alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends that can meet m« no more ; And thou, cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace, where no perils can chase me ? Ah ! never again shall my brothers embrace me ! They died to defend me, or live to deplore. " Where now is my cabin door, so fast by the wild- wood ? Sisters and sires did weep for its fall. Where is the mother that looked on my childhood ? And where is my bosom friend — dearer than all ? Ah ! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure ! Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure ? Tears, like the rain, may fall without measure, But rapture and beauty they cannot recall. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 31 But yet all its fond recollection suppressing, One dying wish my fond bosom shall draw ; Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing, Land of my forefathers, Erin go bragh ! Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, Green be thy fields, sweetest isle in the ocean, And the harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, ' Erin mavourneen ! sweet Erin go bragh !'." Tlie Fine Old Ix'isli GJ-eiitleintni. I'll sing you a dacent song, made by a Faddy' 8 pate, Of a raal ould Irish gintleman, who had a fine estate. Whose mansion it was made of mud, with thatch and all complate, With a hole at top, through which the smoke so grace- fully did retrate, Hurrah ! for the ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time. His walls so cold, were cover'd with the devil a thing for show, Except an ould shillelah, which had knocked down many a foe, And there ould Barney sat at ease, without shoes or hose, And quaffed his noggin of poteen to warm his big red nose, Like a line ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time. To Dennybrook his custom was to go to every fair, And though he'd seen a few score years, he still was young when there, And while the rich they feasted him, he still, among the poor Would sing, and dance, and hurl, and fight, and make the Bpalpeene roar, Like a real ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time. 32 THE SI1AMJW)CK ; OB, But och mavrone! once at a row ould Barney got a knock, And one that kilt him, 'cause he couldn't get over the shock ; They laid him out so heautif ul, and then set up a groan, Och ! Barney, darlint, jewel dear, why did you die ? och, hone ! Then they waked this Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time. Though all things in their course must change, and seasons pass away, Yet Irish hearts of oulden time were just as at this day. Each Irish boy, he took a pride to prove himself a man, To serve a friend and bate a foe, it always was the plan Of a raal ould Irish gintleman, the boy of the oulden time. The Harp that once thro' Tara's Halls. The harp that once thro' Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright, The harp of Tara swells ; The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus freedom now but seldom wakes ; The only throb she gives, Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives. SOXCS OF OLD IRELAND. 83 Dcxran's A.SS. One Paddy Doric lived in Killarney ; He courted a girl named Biddy Tool. His tongue was tipped with a bit of blarney, The same to Paddy was a golden rule : Both day and dawn she was his colleen ; When to himself he'd often say : What need I care, when she's my drolleen, A coming to meet me on the way ? Whack fol de darral ido Whack fol de darral lal la. One heavenly night in last November, Paddy went out to meet his love ; What night it was I don't remember, But the moon shone brightly from above. That day the boy had got some liquor, Which made his spirits light and gay ; Arrah ! what's the use in walking quicker. When I know she'll meet me on the way ! Whack fol de darral, &c. He tuned his pipes and fell a humming, As gently onward he did jog ; But fatigue and whisky overcame him, So Paddy lay down upon the sod. He was not long without a comrade, One that could kick up the hay ; For a big jackass soon smelt out Paddy, And lay down beside him on the way. Whack fol de darral, &c. As Pat lay there in gentle slumbers, Thinking of his Biddy dear, He dreamt of pleasures without numbers A coming on the ensuing year, lie spread his arms out on the grass, His spirits felt so light and gay ; But- instead of Biddy, he gripped the ass, lloaring out : I have her anyway. Whack fol de darral, &c. 34 THE SHAMROCK | OR He hugged and smugged his hairy messer, And flung his hat to worldly care ; Says Pat : she's mine, and may heaven bless her, But oh ! be me soul, she's like a bear. He put his hands on the donkey's nose, With that the ass began to bray ; Pat jumped up, and roared out : Who sarved me in such a way ? Whack fol de darral, &c. Pat ran home as fast as he could, At railway speed, or as fast, I'm sure. He never stopped a leg or foot, Until he came to Biddy's door. By that time 'twas getting morning- Down on his knees he fell to pray, Crying : let me in, my Biddy darling, I'm kilt, I'm murdered on the way. Whack fol de darral, &c. He told her his story mighty civil, While she prepared a whisky glass — How lie hugged and smugged the hairy divil, Go along, says she, 'twas Doran's ass. I know it was, my Biddy darling. They both got married the very next day, But he never got back his ould straw hat, That the jackass ate up on the way. Whack fol de darral, &c. Tlie "WoiiclertfYil Ii'isXiinaii. There was a lady lived at Leith, A lady very stylish, man, And yet in spite of her teeth, She fell in love with an Irishman— A nasty, ugly Irishman, A wild, tremendous Irishman — tearing, swearing, thumping, bumping, ramping, roaring Irishman. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 35 His face was no ways beautiful, For with small-pox 'twas scarred across, And the shoulders of the ugly dog Were almost double a yard across. the lump of an Irishman, The whiskey-devouring Irishman — The great he rogue, with his wonderful brogue, the lighting, rioting Irishman. One of his eyes was bottle-green, And the other was out, my dear, And the calves of his wicked-looking legs Were more than two feet across, my dear. tbe great big Irishman, The rattling, battling Irishman — The stamping, ramping, swaggering, staggering, lath- ering, swash of an Irishman. He took so much of Lundy foot That he used to snort and snuffle, 0, And in shape and size the fellow's neck Was as bad as the neck of a buffalo. the horrible Irishman, The thundering, blundering Irishman— The slashing, dashing, smashing, lashing, thrashing, hashing Irishman. His name was a terrible name, indeed, Being Timothy Thady Mulligan ; And whenever he emptied his tumbler of punch, He'd not rest till he filled it full again. Th' intoxicated Irishman — The boozing, bruizing Irishman — ■ The whisky, frisky, rummy, grummy, brandy, no- dandy Irishman. This was the lad the lady loved, Like all the girls of quality, And he broke the skulls of the men of Leith Just by way of jollity ; () the slathering Irishman, The barbarous, savage Irishman — The hearts of the maids, and the gentlemen's heads, were bothered, ["in sure, by this Irishman. 36 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, Erin is My Homo. Oh ! I have roam'd in many lands, And many friends I've met ; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget ; But I'll confess that I'm content, No more I wish to roam ; Oh ! steer my hark to Erin's isle — For Erin is my home. Oh ! steer my bark, &c. If England were my place of birth, I'd love her tranquil shore ; But if Columbia were my home, Her freedom I'd adore. Though pleasant days in both I pass'd, I dream of days to come ; Oh ! steer my bark to Erin's isle — For Erin is my home. Oh ! steer my bark, &c. 3?ixrty Molly Brallag-lian. Ah ! then, Mam dear, did you ever hear of purty Molly Brallaghan ? Troth, dear, I've lost her, and I'll never be a man again. Not a spot on my hide will another summer tan again, Since Molly she has left me all alone for to die. The place where my heart was you might easy rowl a turnip in, It's the size of all Dublin, and from Dublin to the Devil's glin, If she chose to take another, sure she might have sent mine back agin, And not to leave me here all alone for to die. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 37 Mam, dear, I remember when the milking time was past and gone, We went into the meadows where she swore I was the only man That ever she could love — yet oh ! the base, the cruel one, After all that to leave me here alone for to die ! Mam, dear, I remember as we came home the rain began, I rowl'd her in my frize coat, tho' the divil a waistcoat I had on, And my shirt was rather fine-drawn ; yet oh ! the base and cruel one, After all that she's left me here alone for to die. I went and towld my tale to Father McDonnell, Mam, And thin I wint and ax'd advice of Counsellor O'Con- nell, Mam. He towld me promise-breaches had been ever since the world began, Now, I have only one pair, Mam, and they are cor- duroy ! Arrah, what could he mean, Mam ? or what would you advise me to? Must my corduroys to Molly go ? in troth, I'm bother'd what to do. I can't afford to lose both my heart and my breeches too, Yet what need I care, when I've only to die ! Oh ! the left side of my carcass is as weak as water gruel, Mam — The divil a bit upon my bones since Molly's proved so cruel, Mam, I wish T had a carbine, I'd go and fight a duel, Mam, Sure, it's better far to kill myself than stay here to die. I'm hot and detarmined as a live Salamander, Mam ! Won't you come to my wake, when I go my long mean- der, Mam ? Oh ! I'll feel myself as valiant as the famous Alexander, Mam, When I hear yez crying round me, "Arrah, why did you die ?" THE SHAMROCK J OR, T£jitlileeii Mavourueen. Kathleen Mavourneen ! the gray dawn is breaking, The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill, The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking, Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slumb' ring still ? Ah ! hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? Oh ! hast thou forgotten this day we must part ? It may be for years, and it may be forever, Oh ! why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ? It may be for years and it may be forever, Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen ? Kathleen Mavourneen ! awake from thy slumbers, The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light. Ah ! where is the spell that once hung on my numbers, Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night, Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night, Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling, To think that from Erin and thee I must part, It may be for years and it may be forever, Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart ? It may be for years, and it may be forever, Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen ? IVorali. !Mc£SliJine. I've left Eallymornach a long way behind me, To better my fortune I've crossed the big sea ; But I'm sadly alone, not a creature to mind me, And faith I'm as wretched as wretched can be ; I think of the buttermilk, fresh as the daisy, The beautiful halls and the emerald plain, And, ah ! don't I oftentimes think myself crazy, About that black-eyed rogue, sweet Norah McShane. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 39 I sigh for the turf -pile so cheerfully burning, When barefoot I trudged it from toiling afar, When I toss'd in the light the thirteen I'd been earning, And whistled the anthem of "Erin go bragh " In truth, I believe that I'm half broken-hearted, To my country and love I must get back again, For I've never been happy at all since I parted From sweet Uallymornach and Norah MciShane. Oh! there's something so sweet in the cot I was born in, Though the walls are but mud and the roof is but thatch ; How familiar the grunt of the pigs in the mornin', What music in lifting the rusty old latch. 'Tis true Fd no money, but then I'd no sorrow, My pockets were light, but my head had no pain ; And if I but live till the sun shine to-morrow, I'll be off to ould Ireland and Norah MeShane. Tli© Cn.pt si in. [The music of this son;; is published by Oliver Ditson tc Co., Boston, by whose permission we use the words. Words and music by Mr. W . J . Flor- ence, written expressly for Mrs W. J. Florence, aud first sun? by her iu all the principal cities of the United States, Great Britain, aud Ireland.] As they marched through the town witn their banners so gay, I ran to the window to hear the band play ; I peeped through the blinds very cautiously then, Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the men ; I heard the drums beat, and the music so sweet, But my eyes at the time had a much greater treat— The troops were the finest I ever did see, For the captain with his whisker took a sly glimpse at me. 40 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, When we met at the ball, I of course thought it right To pretend that we never had met before that night, But he knew me at once, I perceived by his glance, And I hung down my head when he asked me to dance. He sat by my side at the end of the set, And the sweet words he spoke I shall never forget. Yes, the troops were the finest I ever did see, For the captain with his whisker took a'sly glimpse at me. 3X3^ IVioli-name is Barney. BY G. W. ANDERSON. Air— Flaming O'Flannagans. My nick-name is Barney — och, I'm the clivil! For teasing the girls, shure, I'm never alone ; For me and myself are always together, For plaguing the girls when I'm not at home. The girl that I had was a swate charmer, But nobody knew that she drank ; The devil couldn't make her marry me, Because I'd no money in the bank. chorus : Rum a-diddle, diddle whack ! For that was the way with Barney, the lover, Who would not he leaving the girls all alone, He took the pattern after his brother, For plaguing the girls when he was not at home. I gave her the sack, and got clear of the charmer, Divil the ha'p'orth I think of her now, Because I fell out with her beast of a mother, Who pitched me clean over the sow. The sow commenced grunting and squealing, And the old lady ran to the door ; She gave me a good smack with the poker, Which laid me flat on the floor. Rum a-diddle, diddle, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 41 Thanks be to myself, it is now I am married, Poor Barney has never led such a life ; For, bless me ! I'm always getting the divil Of a fine pounding from the hands of my wife. But, mark me, now, boys, and never get married, You always will lade a dreadful hard life ; But should you ever take hold of that notion, Take a fine girl, and make her your wife. Hum a-diddle, diddle, &c. The Patriot Motlier. [A ballad of '98.] !< Come, tell us the name of the rebelly crew Who lifted the pike on the Curragh with you ; Come, tell us their treason, and then you'll be free, Or by heavens, you shall swing from the high gallows tree." 11 Alanna ! alanna !° the shadow of shame Has never yet fallen upon one of your name, And, oh ! may the food from my bosom you drew, In your veins turn to poison, if you turn untrue. " The foul words— oh ! let them not blacken your tongue, That would prove to your friends and your country a wrong, Or the curse of a mother, so bitter and dread, With the wrath of the Lord— may they fall on your head ! " I have no one but you in the whole world wide, Yet, false to your pledge, you'd ne'er stand at my side ; If a traitor you liv'd, you'd be farther away From my heart than, if true, you were wrapp'd in the clay. •Alaneacbt signifies beauty. 42 THE SHAMROCK ; OR 1 ' Oh ! deeper and darker the mourning would be For your falsehood so base, than your death proud and free ; Dearer, far dearer than ever to me, My darling, you'll be on the brave gallows tree. " 'Tis holy, agra,* with the bravest and best — Go, go, from my heart, and be joined with the rest ; Alanna ma chree ! 0, alanna ma chree ! f Sure a ' stag ' J and a traitor you never will be." There's no look of a traitor upon the young brow That's raised to the tempters so haughtily now ; No traitor e'er held up the firm head so high — No traitor e'er show'd such a proud flashing eye. On the high gallows tree ! on the brave gallows tree ! Where smiled leaves and blossoms, his sad doom met he; But it never bore blossoms so pure or so fair, As the heart of the martyr that hangs from it there. Tlie New IPolieoiBian. Air — Nora Creina. Oh ! good evening, gentlemen, to-day, Now list awhile to me and my blarney ; I am arrived from Dublin quay, Now, sure, my name is Michael Karney. Grub was scarce and luck was bad, Hunger's rumbling ne'er did cease, man, So to this city I came, egad, And Murphy's made me a new Policeman. Banting, rollicking Irish joys, Always quarreling, ne'er at peace, man, Kissing the girls and licking the boys ; Oh ! that's the life of a new Policeman. * My love. t Beauty of my heart. % An informer. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 43 Och ! there isn't yard or garden wall, About the city but I can scale it, And if any thing I find at all, Now shouldn't I a fool be not to nail it. Next morning there's a hue and cry, There's something stolen and to be brief, man, Oh ! by the hookey, who but I, Am running about to catch the thief, man. Ranting, rollicking, &c. And then, you know, when I'm out at night, In every hole and corner peeping ; What's that I spy by the pale moonlight, Och ! by my soul, 'tis a gentleman sleeping. His pockets I grope and his money I take, And then with my staff in the ribs I'm jobbing him, And if by chance the man should wake, I tell him I thought a thief was robbing him. Ranting, rollicking, &c. Then if there isn't a row in the street, Sure, it's myself knows how to raise one, For I knock the first man down I meet, Then make a shindy fit to craze one. He resists, then loud he hollers — I lock him up and swear he's rioty ; Next morning he is fined two dollars, Just because myself couldn't murder him quietly. Ranting, rollicking, &c. I'm in with every servant maid, For mutton and love I've ever an itching, And of being caught I'm not afraid, For, sure, I'm there to guard the kitchen. And then, too, don't the Scriptures say, Multiply, too, and increase men, So if we only have our way, We'll fill the city with little policemen. Banting, lollickins;-, &c. 44 TUB shamrock ; OR, Ocli ! Norah Dear. Och ! Norah dear. I'm waiting here, I'm watching still for you, love ; And while you sleep, the flow' rets weep, All shrined in tears of dew, love. The silv'ry moon, its bright rays soon Behind the hills will fade, love ; But better there her beauties bear, For thou her beams would shade, love. Och ! Norah dear, &c. Och! Norah dear ! I'm waiting here, The stars look cold and blue, love ; Their twinkling rays have come to gaze, To see how bright are you, love. The breeze that brings such balmy things From all that's bright and fair, love, It sighs to sip from thy sweet lip The perfume that lies there, love. Och ! Norah dear, &c. Ould Ireland ! You're MIy IDarlin.'. Ould Ireland! you're my jewel, sure, My heart's delight and glory ; Till time shall pass his empty glass, Your name shall live in story. And this shall be the song for me, The first my heart was larnin' , Before my tongue one accent sung, Ould Ireland ! you're my darlin'. My blessing's on each manly son Of thine who will stand by thee ; But hang the knave and dastard slave So base as to deny thee. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 45 Then bould and free, while yet for me The globe is round us whirlin' , My song shall be, Gra Galmachree, Ould Ireland ! you're rny darlin' ! Sweet spot of earth that gave me birth, Deep in my soul I cherish, While life remains within these veins, A love that ne'er can perish. If it was a thing that I could sing, Like any thrush or starlin', In cage or tree, my song should be, Ould Ireland ! you're my darlin'. Hibernia's* Lovely Jean. When parting from the Scottish shore And the Highland's mossy banks, To Germany we all sail'd o'er, To join the hostile ranks ; At length in Ireland we arrived, After a long campaign, Where a bonny maid my heart betrayed — She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. Her cheeks were of the roseate hue, With the bright blinks of her e'en, Besparkling with the drops of dew, That spangle the meadows green. Jean Cameron ne'er was half so fair, No ! nor Jessy of Dumblane, No princess fine can her outshine — She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. This bonny lass of Irish braw, Was of a high degree, Her parents said a soldier's bride Their daughter ne'er should be. 46 THE SHAMROCK J OR, Overwhelmed with care, grief and despair, No hope does now remain, Since the nymph divine cannot he mine, She's Hibernia's lovely Jean. My tartan plaid I will forsake, My commission I'll resign, I'll make this bonny lass my bride, If the lassie will be mine ; Then in Ireland where the graces dwell, For ever I'll remain, And in Hyman's band join heart in hand, Wi' Hibernia's lovely Jean. Should war triumphant sound again, And call her sons to arms, Or Neptune waft me o'er the flood, Far from Jeannie's charms ; Should I be laid in honor's bed, By a ball or dart be slain, Death's pangs would cure the pains I bear For Hiberaia's lovely Jean. Up foi* tlie Green. [A song of the United Irishmen, 1796.] Air— Wearing of the Green. 'Tis the green— oh ! the green is the color of the true, And we'll back it 'gainst the orange, and Ave'll raise it o'er the blue ! For the color of old Ireland alone should here be seen — 'Tis the color of the martyr'd dead — our own immortal green. Then up for the green, hoys, and up for the green ! Oh ! ' tis down to the dust, and a shame to be seen ; But we've hands — oh ! we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green! SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 47 They may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose — "lis better to obey and live, than surely die as foes ; But we scorn all their threats, boys, whatever they may mean ; For we trust in God above us, and we dearly love the green. So, we'll up for the green, and we'll up for the green! Oh! to die is far better than be curst as we have been ; And we've hearts — oh ! we've hearts, boys, full true enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green! They may swear, as they often did, our wretchedness to cure ; But we'll never trust John Bull again, nor let his lies allure. No, we won't — no, we won't, Bull, for now nor ever more ! For we've hopes on the ocean, and we've trust on the shore. Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green ! Shout it back to the Sasanach, " We'll never sell the green! " For our Tone is coming back, and with men enough, I ween, To rescue, and avenge us and our own immortal green. Oh, remember the days when their reign we did dis- turb, At Limerick and Thurles. Blackwater and Benburb ; And ask this proud Saxon if our blows he did enjoy, When we met him on the battle-field of France — at Fonteuoy. Then we'll up for the green, boys, and up for the green ! Oh, 'tis still in the dust, and a shame to be seen ; But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own unsullied green! 48 the shamrock; or, Willy Heilly. " Oh, rise tip, "Willy Reilly, and come along -with me, I mean for to go with you and leave this counterie, To leave my father's dwelling-house, his houses and free land ; ' ' And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Colleen Bawn.* They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain, Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ; But her father followed after with a well-arm' d band, And taken was poor Keilly and his dear Colleen Bawn. It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound, Poor Eeilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground, 'Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand, For nothing but the stealing of his dear Colleen Bawn. "Now, in the cold, cold iron, my hands and feet are bound, I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground, But all the toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand, Still hoping to be succored by my dear Colleen Bawn." The jailor's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say, " Oh ! get up, Willy Reilly, you must appear this day, For great Squire Foillard's anger you never can with- stand, I'm afear'df you'll suffer sorely for your dear Colleen Bawn." Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suitof green, His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen ; He's tall and straight and comely as any could be found, He's fit for Foillard's daughter, was she heiresss to a crown. • Fair young girl. + Afraid. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 49 " This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear, The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you clear ; " "If that be so," says Reilly, "her pleasure I will stand, Still hoping to be succored by my dear Colleen Bawn." The Judge he said, "This lady being in her tender youth, If Reilly has deluded her, she will declare the truth ; " Then, like a moving beauty bright before him she did stand, " You're welcome there my heart's delight and dear Colleen Bawn." "Oh, gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, "with pity look on me, This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family ; And by his base contrivances this villainy was planned, If I don't get satisfaction I'll quit this Irish land." The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she — "The fault is none of Reilly's, the blame lies all on me; I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me, I loved him out of measure, which wrought our destiny." Out spoke the noble Fox,* at the table he stood by, " Oh ! gentlemen, consider on this extremity ; To hang a man for love is a murder you may see, So spare the life of Reilly, let him leave this counterie." " Good, my lord, he stole from her, her diamonds and her rings, Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things, Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hun- dred pounds — I'll have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds." * The prisoner's counsel. 50 THE SHAMROCK ) OR, " Good, rny lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love, And when we are a-parting I will them all remove, If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me." "I will, my loving lady, with many thanks to thee." 11 There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear, With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair, And as a true-love-token wear it on your right hand, That you'll think on my poor broken heart when you're in a foreign land." Then out spoke noble Fox, "you may let the prisoner go, The lady's oath has cleared him, as the jury all may know; She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name, May her honor bright gain high estate, and her offspring rise to fame ! ' ' Oolleeix Bawn. 'Twas on a bright morning in summer I first heard his voice spakin' low, As he said to a colleen beside me, Who's that party girl milking her cow ? Oh ! many times afther ye met me, An' vowed that I always should be Your darlin' a cushla, alanna mavourneen, A suilish machree. I havn't the manners or graces Of the girls in the world where ye moA r e, I havn't their beautiful faces, But oh ! I've a heart that can love; If it plaise ye. I'll dress me in satin, An' jewels I'll put on my brow, But oh ! don't be afther forgettin' Your purty girl milking her cow.. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 51 MIolly, .Ajstlioire. As down by Banna's banks I strayed, one evening in , May, The little birds in blythest notes made vocal every spray, They sung their little notes of love, they sung them o'er and o'er — Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. The daisy pied and all the sweets the dawn of Nature yields, The primrose pale, the violet blue, lay scattered o'er the fields, Such fragrance in the bosom lies of her whom I adore, Ah 1 gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. I laid me down upon a bank, bewailing my sad fate, That doomed me thus a slave to love, and cruel Molly's hate ; How can she break the honest heart that wears her in its core, Ah! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. You said you loved me, Molly, dear — ah ! why did I be- lieve ? Yet who could think such tender words were meant but to deceive, That love was all I asked on earth — nay ! heaven could give no more. Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. Oh ! had I all the flocks that graze on yonder yellow hill, Or lowed for me the numerous herds that yon green pasture fill, With her I love I'd gladly share my kine and fleecy store, Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. 52 THE SHAMROCK *, OR, Two turtle-doves above my head, sat courting on a bough, I envied them their happiness to see them bill and coo, Such fondness once for me was shown, but now, alas ! 'tis o'er, Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. Then fare thee well, my Molly dear, thy loss I e'er shall mourn, Whilst life remains in Stephen's neart 'twill beat for thee alone, Though thou art false, may heaven on thee its choicest blessings pour, Ah ! gramachree, my colleen oge, my Molly, Asthore. Tlie Dear Iirish IBo^. My Connor's cheeks are as ruddy as morn, The brightest of pearls but mimic his teeth, While nature with ringlets his mild brow adorn, His hair's Cupid's bow-strings, and roses his breath. Smiling, beguiling, cheering, endearing, Together oft o'er the mountain we've strayed, By each other delighted, and fondly united, I' ve listened all day to my dear Irish boy. No roebuck more swifter can flee o'er the mountain, No Briton bolder 'midst danger or scar ; He's sightly, he's lightly, he's as clear as the fountain, His eye's twinkling love, and he's gone to the war. Smiling, &c. The soft tuning lark it's notes shall cease to mourning, The dull screaming owl shall cease its night sleep ; While seeking lone walks in the shades of the evening, If my Connor return not, I'll ne'er cease to weep. Smilins:, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 53 The war is all over, and my love is not returning ; I fear that some envious plot has been laid, Or some cruel goddess has him captivated ; And left me to mourn here, a dear Irish maid. Smiling, &c. Terence's ITtn-e^vell to I^itli- leen. So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me, All alone by myself in this place; But I'm sure you will never deceive me — Oh, no, if there is truth in that face. Though England's a beautiful city, Full of illigant boys — oh, what then? You wouldn't forget your poor Terence — You'll come back to old Ireland again ! It's a folly to keep you from going, Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case — For, Kathleen, you know there's no knowing When next I shall see your sweet face. And when you come back to me, Kathleen, None the better will I be off then ; You'll be speaking such beautiful English, Sure I won't know my Kathleen again. Ah, now, where the need of this hurry? Don't flutter me so in this way ; I forgot, 'twixt grief and the flurry, Every word I was maning to say. Now just wait a minute, I bid you — Can I talk, if you bother me so? Kathleen, my blessings go with you, E'ery inch of the way that you go 1 64 THE SHAMROCK ; OR, 31.&L -Allieen, Astlioi'e. When waking with the rosy day, From golden dreams of thee, I watch the orient sunbeams play, Along the purple sea ; Oh ! then I could not choose hut weep, As thou were mine no more, Ah ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, Ma Ailleen, Asthore ! When twilight brings the weeping hours, That sadden all the grove, And angels leave their starry bowers To watch o'er faithful love, Thy parting words, to me so sweet, I breath them o'er and o'er, Ah ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, Ma Ailleen, Asthore ! But soon they'll lay me in the grave, Where broken hearts should be ; And when, beyond the distant wave, Thou dream' st of meeting me, My sorrows all will be forgot, And all the love I bore, Ah ! gramachree, ma colleen oge, Ma Ailleen, Asthore ! The Lass o' GoTrrie. 'Twas on a simmer's afternoon, A wee before the sun gaed down, My lassie wi' a braw new gown, Came o'er the hill to Gowrie. The rosebud ting'd wi' morning show'rs, Bloom' d fresh within the sunnie bow'rs, But Kitty was the fairest fiow'r, That ever bloom' d in Gowrie. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 66 I had nae thought to do her wrang, But round her waist my arms I fiang, And said my lassie will ye gang, - To view the Carse o' Gowrie ? I'll take ye to my fathers ha', In you green field beside the shaw And make you lady o' them a' , The brawest wife in Gowrie. Soft kisses on her lips I laid, The blush upon her cheek soon spread, She whisper'd modestly, and said, "I'll gang wi' you to Gowrie." The auld folk soon gi'ed their consent And to Mess John we quickly went, Who tied us to our hearts content, And now she's Lady Gowrie. The Irish Jaunting 1 Car. My name is Larry Doolan, I'm a native of the soil, If you want a day's diversion, I'll drive you out in style, My car is painted red and green, and on the door a star, And the pride of Dublin City is my Irish jaunting car. CHORUS. Then, if you w T ant to hire me, step into Mickey Mar's, And ask for Larry Doolan and his Irish jaunting cars. When Queen Victoria came to Ireland her health to revive, She asked the Lord Lieutenant to take her out to ride ; She replied unto his greatness, before they traveled far. How delightful was the jogging of the Irish jaunting car. 56 THE SHAMROCK J OR, I'm hired by drunken men, tetotalers, and my friends, But a carman has so much to do, his duty never ends ; Night and day, both wet and dry, I travel near and far, And at night I count the earnings of my Irish jaunting car. Some say the Eussian bear is tough, and I believe it's true, Though we beat them at the Alma and Balaklava, too, But if our Connaught Bangers would bring home the Eussian Czar, I would drive them off to biases in my Irish jaunting Some say all wars are over, I hope to God they are, For you know full well they never were good for a jaunting car, But peace and plenty — may they reign here, both near and far, Then we'll drive to feasts and festivals in an Irish jaunting car. They say they are in want of men, the French and Eng- lish, too, And it's all about their commerce now they don't know what to do, But if they come to Ireland our jolly sons to mar, I'll drive them to the devil in my Irish jaunting car. The Blarney. Air— Kate Kearney. Oh ! did you ne'r hear of the Blarney, That's found near the banks of Killamey ? Believe it from me, No girls heart is free, Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 67 For the Blarney's so great a desaiver, That a girl thinks your there — tho' you leave her, And never rinds out All the tricks you're ahout, Till she's quite gone herself, with your Blarney. Oh ! say, would you find this same Blarney, There's a castle, not far from Killarney, On the top of the wall — But take care you don't fall, There's a stone that contains all this Blarney. Like a magnet, its influence such is, That attraction it gives all it touches, If you kiss it, they say, That from that blessed day, You may kiss whom you plaze, with your Blarney. Green Grow tlie Intuslies, O! There's naught but care on every han', In every hour that passes, ! What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, ? Green grow the rushes, ! Green grow the rushes, ! The sweetest hours that e'er I spent Are spent among the lasses, ! The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, ! An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, ! Green grow the rushes, &c. Give me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms ahout my dearie, ! Then warly cares and warly men May a' gae tapsalteerie, ! Green grow the rushes, &c. 68 THE SHAMROCK | OR For you sae douse ! ye sneer at this, Ye'er naught but senseless asses, ! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, ! Green grow the rushes, &c. Auld nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, ! Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, ! Green grow the rushes, &c. Sergeant iMioITadg^in. [By permission of Thomas Dxtss English, Esq.] Air — The Flaming O'Flannigans. Whin I was a nate little bit of posterity, Runnin' about with my head full of fun, Some one exclaimed with a touch of austerity — " Who in the devil's that son of a gun ? " He saw there was fight in my eye, the rapscallion ! Picking me out from the other gossoons ; And that one day I'd be with my talents set value on, Orderly sergeant of Heavy Dragoons. Och ! gay is the life of a fighting Amerykin, Having no atin' to pay for, nor rint ; In battle, he rides to the fight like a harrykin, And when it's over sits down in his tint. When grown, I got married, and that's an apprenticeship Makes a man master of war anyway ; I soon left my colors, and fortune it sent a ship All for to carry me over the say. Five years I was here when they made me a citizen ; But wanting stripes to my owld pantaloons, And having ambition, which wasn't a bit of sin, Lifted, I did, in the Heavy Dragoons. Och ! gay is the life, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 59 Talk of your Saizars, Napoleons and Hannibals— Galyant commanders of fame and renown — A.v they werefightin' with Brigham Young's Cannibals, Wouldn't the pride of their glory come down ? 3ellony herself, who of fightin' the goddess is, Not being up to the tricks of the coons, Laving the haroes of Iliads and Odysseys, Has to depind on the Heavy Dragoons. Och ! gay is the life, &c. Now I am out where of grass is no scarcity, But there's a plentiful lacking of trees ; And I obsarve to my friends in adversity, Carry light hearts and be lively as fleas, As for you Mormons, here comes Uncle Samuel, Marching his men to the livliest tunes ; Sure every sowjer is ready to lam you well — Led to the fight by the Heavy Dragoons. Och ! gay is the life, &c. Barnaby ITineg-an. I'm a decent gay laboring youth, I was reared in the town of Dunshaughlin, I'm a widower now in Maynooth, Since I buried sweet Molly M'Loughlin ; I married but once in my life, But I'll never commit such a sin again ; I discovered when she was my wife, She was fond of one Barnaby Finegan. His father had cabins of mud That I often went to admire — They were built at the time of the flood, To keep all his ancestors drier. When he found I had Molly bespoke, He was getting quite fat, but got thin again, In the struggle his gizzard he broke, And we'd a stiff of Poor Barnaby Finegan. 60 THE SHAMROCK | OR, His corpse for convenience was put Among all his friends in the barn, sir, Some traveled there upon foot, While others came mounted on garrons, sir ; My wife for his loss cried and sobbed, Though I put her out twice she got in again, But I gave her a boult in the gob, For which I was soon attacked by the Finegans. The bed and the corpse was upset— The fighting commenced in a minute, sure, Devil a stick could they get, Till they broke all the legs of the furniture. In showers the blood flew about, Eyes were knocked out and shoved in again, But I got a so westering clout, That spilled me a top of poor Finegan. How long I was dead I don't know — I couldn't believe I was living, sir — I roused with the pain in my toes, For they had them both tied with a ribbon, sir ; I opened my mouth for to speak, But the sheets was put up to my chin again ; Molly roars out, " you know you're awake, You'll be tried with Barnaby Finegan." " You lump of deception," I cried — And I thought to bounce up to knock her about, By course as my two toes were tied, I was as fast as a spoon in thick stirabout ; I soon got the use of my toes, By a friend of the corpse, Larry Gilligan, He helped me to leap into clothes, To go spread a grass quilt over Finegan. My she devil came on the spree, Full of whisky and grief from the berrin', She showed as much mercy to me, As a hungry man shows to a herring ; SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 61 But one belly-go-fister I gave Her, that caused her to cry and to grin again, In three months I opened the grave, And threw her on the bones with poor Finegan. Now that I'm single again, I spend my time raking and battering, I go to the fair with the men, And I dance with the maids at the patthern, Then they think I am stuck to a T — They'll get shy, drop the talk, and begin again, But they shan't come the buckle at me, Foi they might be acquainted with Finegan. I'm not Miyseir at All. Oh ! I am not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear. I am not myself at all, Nothing caring, nothing knowing, tis after you I'm going Faith your shadow tis I'm growing, Molly dear, Molly dear, And I'm not myself at all. Th' other day I went confessing and I asked the fath- er's blessin' ' But says I, " don't give me one entirely, For I fretted so last year, but the half o' me is here, So give the other half to Molly Brierly ; Oh ! I'm not myself at all." Oh ! I'm not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, My appetite's so small, I once could pick a goose, but my buttons is no use, Faith my tightest coat is loose, Molly dear, Molly dear, And I'm not myself at all. If thus it is I waste, you'd better, dear, make haste, Before your lover's gone away entirely, If you don't soon change your mind, Not a bit o' me you'll find, And what 'ud you think o' that, Molly Brierly? Oh ! I'm not myself at all. 62 THE SHAMROCK J OR, Oh ! my shadow on the wall, Molly dear, Molly dear, Is'nt like myself at all. For I've got so very thin, myself says 'tis'nt him, But that purty girl so slim, Molly dear, Molly dear, And I'm not myself at all. If thus I smaller grow, all fretting, dear, for you, 'lis you should make me up the deficiency, So just let Father Taaf Make you my better half, And you will not the worse for the addition be ; Oh ! I'm not myself at all. I'll be not myself at all, Molly dear, Molly dear, 'Till you my own I call ; Since a change o'er me there came, sure you might change your name, And 'twould just come to the same, Molly dear, Molly dear, Oh ! 'twould just come to the same ; For if you and I were one, all confusion would be gone, And 'twould simplify the mather entirely, And 'twould save us so much bother, When we'd both be one another, So listen now to rayson Molly Brierly; Oh ! I'm not myself at all. I^ai'ling" Old Stick. My name is Morgan McCarthy, from Trim ! My relations are all dead except one, brother Jim — And he's now gone soulgering to Cape Hull, And I expect he's laid low with a nick in his skull! chorus : Let him be dead or alivin', A prayer for his soul shall be given, That he shall be sent home or to heaven, For he left me this Darling Old Stick ! SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 63 If this stick it could spake, it would tell you some tales, And batter the countenances of the Nales ! It has caused bits o' skull to fly up in the air ; It was the promotion of fun at every fair. The last time I used it 'twas on Patrick's Day, Larry Fagan and I jumped into a shay ; We went to a fair at the side of Athloy, Where we danced, and when done, kissed Kate Mc- Alvoy ! And her sweetheart went out for her cousin ; By the powers he brought in a dozen. What a daldum they'd have knocked us in, If I hadn't 'ave had this Darling Old Stick ! War ! was the word when a faction came in. For they pummeled me well — they stripped off to the skin ! Dike a rector I stood, watching the attack. And the first one came up I knocked on his back ! Then I poked out the eye of Pat Glancy, For he once humbugged my sister Nancy ! In the meantime Miss Kate took a fancy To me and my innocent Stick ! I smathered her sweetheart until he was black, Kate tipped me the wink, we were off in a thwack ! We went to a house at the end of the town, Where we kept up our spirits by pouring some down. When the whiskey began for to warm her, I got her snug up in a corner ; She said her sweetheart would inform on her ! 'Twas there I said praise to my Stick ! Kate she drank whiskey to such a degree That for her support she had to lean upon me ; I said I would see her safe to her abode, 'Twas there we fell in the middle of the road. Until roused by the magistrate's orders, Devil a toe could we go farther, S. - Surrounded by police for murder, | Was myself and my innocent Stick. 64 THE SHAMROCK J OR, "When I was acquitted I jumped from the dock, An' all the gay fellows around me did flock, They gave me a sore arm they shook my hand so often, It was only for fear of seeing my own coffin ! I went and I bought a gold ring, sirs, Miss Kate to the Priest I did bring, sirs— That night we did joyfully sing, sirs, The adventures of myself and my Stick ! Erin g*o Bragh. Green were the fields where my forefathers dwelt, Oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh. Tho' our farm it was small, yet comfort we felt, Oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! At length came the day when our lease did expire, And fain would I live where before lived my sire, But ah, well-a-day, I was forced to retire ; Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh. Though all taxes I paid, yet no vote could I pass, oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! Aggrandized no great man, and I felt it, alas ! oh ! Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! Forced from my home, yea, where I was born, To range the wide world, poor, helpless, forlorn ; I look back with regret, and my heart-strings are torn, Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! With principles pure, patriotic, and firm, Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! Attach'd to my country, a friend to reform, Erin, mavourneen, slan laght go biagh ! I supported old Ireland, was ready to die for it, If her foes e'er prevailed, I was well known to sigh for it ; By my faith I preserved, and am now forced to fly for it ; Ei in, mavourneen, slan laght go bragh ! SOXGS OF OLD IRELAND. 66 He Tells.; me He Loves M!e. He tells me he loves me, and can I believe, The heart he has won lie would wish to deceive ; For ever and always his sweet words to me Are aileen, mavorneen, a cnshla macrce. Last night when we parted, his gentle good-bye, A thousand times said, and each time with a sigh ; And still the same sweet words he whispers to me, My aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. The friend of my childhood, the hope of my youth, Whose heart is all pure, whose words are all truth ; Oh 1 still the same words he whispers to me Are aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. Oh ! when will the day come, the dear happy day, That a maiden may hear all a lover can say, And he speaks out the words he now whispers to me, My aileen, mavourneen, a cushla macree. Limei'icli Races. I'm a simple Irish lad, I've resolved to see some fun, sirs, So, to satisfy my mind, to Limerick town I come, sirs; Oh, murther ! what a precious place, and what a charm- ing city, Where the boys are all so free, and the girls are all so pretty. Musha ring a ding a da, Ri too ral laddy Oh ! Musha ring a ding a da, Ei too ral laddy Oh ! It was on the first of May, when I began my rambles, When everything was there, both jaunting cars and gambols ; 66 THE SHAMROCK J OH, I looked along the road, what was lined with smiling faces, All driving off, ding-dong, to go and see the races. Musha ring a ding a da, &c. So then I was resolved to go and see the race, sirs, And on a coach and four I neatly took my place, sirs, When a chap bawls out, " behind ! " and the coachman dealt a blow, sirs- Faith, he hit me just as fair as if his eyes were in his poll, sirs. Musha ring a ding a da, &c. So then 1 had to walk, and make no great delay, sirs, Until I reached the course, where everything was gay, sirs ; It's then I spied a wooden house, and in the upper story, The band struck up a tune, called " Garry Owen and glory." Musha ring a ding a da, &c. Ti.ere was fiddlers playing jigs, there was lads and lasses dancing, And chaps upon their nags, round the course sure they were prancing, Some was drinking whisky-punch, while others bawl'd out gaily, "Hurrah then for the shamrock green, and the splinter of shillelagh. Musha ring a ding a da, &c. There was betters to and fro, to see who would win the race, sirs, And one of the sporting chaps of course came up to me, sirs ; Says he, "I'll bet you fifty pounds, and I'll put it down this minute." " Ah, then, ten to one," says I, " the foremost horse will win it." Musha ring a ding a da, &c. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 67 When the players came to town, and a funny set was they, I paid my two thirteens to go and see the play, They acted kings and cobblers, queens, and everything so gaily, But I found myself at home when they struck up 11 Paddy Carey." Musha ring a ding a da, &c. Teddy O'TSTejil. I've come to the cabin lie danced his wild jigs in, As neat a mud palace as ever was seen ; And. consid'ring it served to keep poultry and pigs in, I'm sure it was always most elegant clean. But now all about it seems lonely and dreary, All sad and all silent, no piper, no reel ; Not even the sun. through the casement, is cheery, Since I miss the dear darling boy. Teddy O'Neale. I dreamt but last night — oh ! bad luck to my dreaming, I'd die if I thought 'twould come truly to pass — But I dreamt, while tears down my pillow were streaming, That Teddy was courting another fair lass ; Oh ! didn't I wake with a weeping and wailing, The grief of that thought was too deep to conceal ; My mother cried — " Norah, child, what is your ailing?" And all I could utter was— "Teddy O'Neale." Shall I never forget when the big ship was ready, And the moment was come when my love must depart ; How I sobb'd, like a spalpeen, "Good bye to you Teddy." With drops on my cheek and a stone at my heart. He says 'tis to better his fortune he's roving, But what would be gold to the joy I should feel ]( I saw hi in come back to me, honest and loving, Still poor, but my own darling, Teddy O'Neale. 68 Tiir. shamrock ; on, Widow Macliree. Widow macliree, 'tis no wonder you frown, Och hone ! widow machree, Faith it ruins your looks that same dirty black gown, Och hone ! widow machree. How altered your air, With that close cap you wear, 'Tis destroying your hair, That should be flowing free; Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl, Och hone ! widow machree. Widow machree ! now the summer is come, Och hone ! widow machree. Wken everything smiles, should a beauty look glum, Och hone ! widow machree. See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares, Why even the bears In couples agree, And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish, Och hone ! widow machree. Widow machree, and when winter comes in, Och hone ! widow machree, To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone ! widow machree. Why, the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee ; While alone with your cup, Like a hermit you sup, Och hone ! widow machree. And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, Och hone ! widow machree. But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone ! widow machree. SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 69 With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled — Could you sleep on your bed, Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying, och hone ! widow machree. Then take my advice, darling widow machree, Och hone ! widow machree, And with my advice, faith, I wish you'd take me, Och hone ! widow machree. You'd have me to desire, And to stir up the fire, And, sure, hope is no liar, In whispering to me, That the ghosts would depart When you'd be near my heart, Och hone ! widow machree. A. Sweet Xr*it>»li Oirl is tlic I>»r- ling?. If they talk about ladies, I'll tell the plan Of myself — to be sure I'm a nate Irishman, There is neither sultana nor foreign ma'mselle That has charms to please me, or can coax me so well As the sweet Irish girl, so charming to see : Och ! a tight Irish girl is the darling for me. And sing fillilloo, fire away, frisky she'll be; Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. For she's pretty, she's witty, She's hoaxing, and coaxing, She's smiling, beguiling to see, to see : Sho ratlles, she prattles, She dances, and prances, Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. 70 THE S11AMBOOK ; OR, Now, some girls the}' are little, and some they are tall, Och ! others are big, sure, and others are small ; And some that are teazing, are bandy, I tell ; Still none can please me, or can coax me so well As the dear Irish girl, so charming to see ; Och ! a sweet Irish girl is the darling for me. For she's pretty, &c. The Laud of* Potatoes, O! AiB — Morgan Rattler. If I had on the clear But five hundred a year, 'Tis myself would not fear Without adding a farthing to 't ; Faith if such was my lot, Little Ireland's the spot Where I'd build a snug cot, With a bit of garden to 't. As for Italy's dales, With their Alps and high vales, Where with fine squalling gales, Their signoras so treat us, ! I'd ne'er to them come, Nor abroad ever roam, But enjoy a sweet home In the land of potatoes, ! Hospitality, all reality, no formality, There you ever see ; But free and easy 'twould so amaze ye, you'd think us all crazy, For dull we never be ! If my friend honest Jack, Would but take a small hack, And just get on his back, And with joy gallop full to us ; He, throughout the whole year, Then should have the best cheer, SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. 71 Fur faith none so dear As our brother, John Bull, to us ! Ami we'd teach him, when there, Both to blunder and swear, And our brogue with him share, Which both genteel and neat is, ! And we'd make him so drink, By St. Patrick, I think, That he never would shrink From the land of potatoes, ! Hospitality, &e. Though I freely agree I should more happy be If some lovely she From Old England would favor me ; For no spot on earth Can more merit bring forth, If with beauty and worth You embellish' d would have her be ; Good breeding, good nature, You find in each feature, That nought you've to teach her— So sweet and complete she's, ! Then if fate would but send Unto me such a friend, What a life would I spend In the land of potatoes, ! Hospitality, &c. Tlie Croppy I5oy. [A Ballad of '98.] •' Good men and true ! in this house who dwell, To a stranger bouchaF- I pray you tell Is the priest at home ? or may he be seen ? I would speak a word with Father Green." • Boy. 72 THE SHAMROCK. " The priest's at home, boy, and may be seen ; 'Tis easy speaking with Father Green ; But you must wait till I go and see If the holy Father alone may be." The youth has entered an empty hall — What a lonely sound has his light foot-fall ! A.nd the gloomy chamber's chill and bare, With a vested priest in a lonely chair. The youth has knelt to tell his sins ; 44 Nomine Dei," the youth begins ; At " mm culpa " he beats his breast, And in broken murmurs he speaks the rest. " At the siege of Eoss did my father fall, And at Gorey my loving brothers all. I alone am left of my name and race ; I will go to Wexford and take their place. ' ' I cursed three times since last Easter day— At mass-time once I went to play ; I passed the churchyard one day in haste, And forgot to pray for my mother's rest. 44 1 bear no hate against living thing ; But I love my country above my king. Now, Father ! bless me, and let me go, To die, if God has ordained it so." The priest said nought, but a rustling noise Made the youth look up in wild surprise ; The robes were off, and in scarlet there Sat a yoeman captain with fiery glare. With fiery glare and with fury hoarse, Instead of blessing, he breathed a curse :— 44 'Twas a good thought, boy, to come here and shrive, For one short hour is your time to live. At Geneva Barrack that young man died, And at Passage they have his body laid. Good people who live in peace and joy, Give a prayer and a tear for the Croppy Boy. THE EMERALD SONGSTER PAET II. NOW CAN'T YOU BE AISY. Mickey Free's Song. From " Charles O'Malley." Aik, "Arrah, Katty, now can't you be aisy. 1 ' On I what stories I'll tell when my sodgering's o'er, And the gallant fourteenth is disbanded ; Not a drill nor parade will I hear of no more, When safely in Ireland I'm landed. With the blood that I spilt — the Frenchmen I kilt, I'll drive all the girls half crazy; And somo 'cute one will cry, with a wink of her eye, "Mr. Free, now — why can't you be aisy?" I'll tell how we routed the squadrons in fight, And destroyed them all at "Talavera," And then I'll just add how we finished the night, In learning to dance the "Bolera;" How by the moonshine we drank raal wine, And rose next day fresh as a daisy ; Then some one will cry, with a look mighty sly, M Arrah, Mickey — now can't you be aisy ?" I'll tell how the nights with Sir Arthur we spent, Around a big fire in the air too, Or may be enjoying ourselves in a tent, Exactly like Donny brook fair too; How he'd call out to me — "pass the wine. Mr. Free, For you're a man never is lazy 1" Then some one will cry, with a wink of her eye, "Arrah, Mickey dear — can't you be aisy ?" 1* TILE CHARLEY O'ilALLEY. I'll tell, too, the long years in fighting we passed, Till Mounseer asked Bony to lead him ; And Sir Arthur, grown tired of glory at last, Begged of one Mickey Free to succeed him. But, "acushla," says I, "tho truth is, I'm shy I There's a lady in Ballynacrazy ! And 1 •--•wove on the book — " she gave me a look, And jried, -'Mickey — now can't you be aisy?" OH! ONCE WE WERE ILLIGANT PEOPLE. From "Charles O'Malley." Oh ! once we were illigant people, Though we now live in cabins of mud; And the land that ye see from the steeple Belonged to us all from the flood. My father was then king of Connaught, My grandaunt viceroy of Tralee; But the Sassenach came, and signs on it ! The divil an acre have we. The least of us then were all earls, And jewels we wore without name I We drank punch out of rubies and pearls — Mr. Pefcrie can tell you the same. But, except some turf mould and potatoes, There's nothing our own we can call : And the English — bad luck to them ! — hate us, Because we've more fun than them ah ! My grandaunt was niece to St. Kevin, That's the reason my name's Mickey Free! Priest's nieces — but sure he's in Heaven, And his failing is nothin' to me. And we still might get on without doctors, If they'd let the ould island alone ; And if purplemen, priests, and tithe-proctors Were crammed down the great gun of Athlone. IRISH C0S1IC SONGSTER. 1 KILL OR CURE. Written and Composed by J. H. Ogden. I'm a roving Irish boy, I was born in Ballaraglian, And christen'd with much joy after my father Patrick Faghan ; I had a sweet-heart Katty, and I courted her so gaily, Divil a thought had I of trouble as I twisted my shillelah. Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, she's the girl for me, Whack fal the daddy, musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. Och ! 'Twas herself I courted, a girl both nate and cosey, She said she loved me in return, her cheeks were round and rosy, Of sov'reigns I had twinty, and says she I've siventeen, Faith we'll join ourselves and them together, and live like king and queen. Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, she's the girl for me, Whack fal the daddy, musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. So we both set sail for Liverpool and pack'd our kits to- gether, And married got so nate and cool in spite of wind and weather ; With our money we open'd a shop in a business not amiss, We sold oysters, haddocks, mac'rel, mussels, praties and fry'd fish. Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, she's the girl for me, Whack fal the daddy, musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. In business we did well, till one day she was taken ill, sir. And the doctor almost ruin'd me with sending in his bill, sir, So I made a bargain with him " kill or cure" for twenty pounds, so frisky, He was a decent sort so I thought I'd stand a naggin of whiskey. Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, she is the girl for me, Whack fal the daddy, musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. 8 THE CHARLEY MALLET. But she grew worse and worse, which made me quake with fear, sir, The doctor he attended her for more than half a year, sir. Till one fine morn she died, and myself it did bewilder, And the doctor wanted his twenty pounds (Spoken) says I you never cur'd her ? No says he, then says I (singing) you dar not say you kill'd her ! Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, she was the girl for me, Whack fal the daddy, Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. So gintlemen injoy yourselves, the whiskey drink like thunder. Yez cannot help but own yourselves there's mirth in an Irish blunder, But when for your wives a doctor yez want, mind and yez be sure, Make the bargain like I did myself with the doctor "kill or cure /" Musha Katty O'Shaughnessy, that's the style for me, Whack fal the daddy, musha Katty O'Shaughnessy. THE SNOB AND THE TAILOR. Eecitation. (Given with great applause, by J. II. Ogden.) Twas in ould Ireland, in Dublin's famed city, Where the girls are all fair, and the boys all witty, There were a snob and a tailor lived next-door neighbors, And they did very well by the fruits of their labors. The snob had once been a stout grenadier, And served in the anny for many a long year ; He had gained a pension, for good reason why, Because he'd blinked at his foes till he'd lost one eye. He'd lost part of his nose, which was a worse job, For the boys used to call him, " Ould Nosey, the snob." Now, the tailor used to wear a hump on his back, And the boys in the street used to call it his " son Jack." IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 9 He was little, decrepit, and besides the big hump, One leg was made like the arm of a pump; And he often would swear, by the mortal St. Mike, He'd long for the day when he could shoulder his pike. Says he, " I'd skiver the red coats, friends, brothers, and cousius. And have them hung up to dry like red herrings by dozens, For who would not fight to set Ireland free, And stand by O'Connell, and sweet liberty 1" Now, it was at the sign of the Pig and Shilalagh Where the snob and the tailor their battles fought daily ; But their weapons were satire, low and severe — But you cannot expect pearls to drop out of a pig's ear. " Now," says the tailor, " here's bad luck to every red coat, That would for a shilling a-day turn cut throat ; And every raw lobster that ever wore the cloth; I include you amongst them, old Bottle the Broth I" Says the snob, " You dare not say that again; You are not the man — you're a thing — Fit for nothing ; it's prate, sure, you can I You may toss off your porter, and act your vagaries ; Why, you was changed in the nurse by the fairies! Why, you little, decrepit, jew-looking monsieur, You'd look well with your pike and jacket of green ! But come, Mr. Tailor, and tell me the truth, How ould is a louse before it has a double tooth?" And thus they went on in jaw every night ; 'Twas all they could do, for it never came to a fight ; For the snob was a big fellow, clever and tall ; And the tailor was little, decrepit, and small. It was pride that kept the snob from resorting to blows, And it was fear that let the little man's valor repose. Now it happened one morning, both of them went out; Each, of course, took his own way, with his pipe near his snout ; Till, by chance, they met on the banks of the Liffy, When each armed his jaws for war in a jiffy. "Good morning." says the snob, "you are loaded just early — 10 THE CHARLEY O'MALLET. I'm sure before night you'll be tired out fairly: Before that big hump on my back I would trudge it. On my soul, I'd sooner carry a stout tinker's budget." That was a hard slap for poor snip ; but when ho thought on snob's eye, There was wit came in aid to the tailor's reply. Says the tailor, '' It's rather early with you, for, by the same token, You have only got one of your window shutters open ; And when you open both your shutters, friend Jack, I then will remove this large hump off my back." THE IRISHMAN. With an additional verse by J. H. Ogden. — Air, " The Englishman/ 'Tis myself that bears an illigant name, And who dare say it is not ? I was born one day when my mother was out, In a nate little mud-built cot. My father was the broth of a boy, And my mother was the same, — The reason, my jewels, do you hear, That I bear such an illigant name. CHORUS : I'm the broth of a boy, deny it who can, And my mother's a true-born Irishman ! I'm the broth of a boy, deny it who can, And my mother's a true-born Irishwoman! There's the English, the Irish, the Scotch, and the Welcl And success to them all jolly four ; And bad luck to me if one of them will flinch, If there was but one to a score. For John Bull's cold steel will make them freeze ; Paddy's shillelah will warm them enough ; Taffy will choke them with red-hot toasted cheese ; And Scotchey will blind them with snuff. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 11 CHORUS : Tis a glorious army, deny it who can, John Bull, Tally, Scotchey, and an Irishman 'Tis a glorious army, deny it who can, John Bull, Taffy, Scotchey, and an Irishman! At the city of Delhi we gave them cayanne, And our sojers they fought first-rate ; And with determination went in every man, When they blew up the Cashmere gate. The word of command from our Generals did fly, And lion-hearted fought officers and men, Blood for blood, was our country's cry, And we'll never trust the Indians again 1 CHORUS : For our country can conquer by land or sea ; On, boys, for death or victory I On, brave army 1 on, my boys 1 One Irishman can lick ten Sepoys ! PAT'S CURIOSITY SHOP. A New Comic Song. You've heard talk of Paddy's museum, Its modern and ancient antiques, If not, when you listen you'll hear 'em, Of their fame all ould Ireland speaks. I was ever looked on as a lover Of ancient antiques from my birth, So I thought I'd a right to discover, "What nobody else could on earth. chorus: Oh, a fig for your Barnum's Museum, When you can, at my house you may stop, You'll be split like a stone when you see 'em, At Pat's curiosity shop. 12 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY. I've bolted ten times through the globe, sir, To bring all my wonders away ; I have borrowed the patience of Job, sir, To keep me awake night and day ; With politeness, oh ain't I been treated, Never kilt — though thrice cut in two — But you'll stare at me when I've repeated, My string of antiquities through. Oh, a fig, &a I've two, more than all I take pride in, One's old mother Shipton's birch broom, On which the old gal would fly striding — And the watch of the man of the moon. I've a frozen, flame from Mount Etna, Caught by a man passing by : A sly Cupid's dart forged at Gretna, With the lash of Pope Gregory's eye. Oh, a fig, &c I ve got a full grown alligator, That in sleep turned himself insido out ; The tail of the great Agitator, With a knot of the first Russian Knout. I've a pair of kid shoes made of satin, A nutmeg as big as your head ; The chair that old King Canute sat in, And a cobweb as heavy as lead. Oh, a fig, &c. I've a walking stick thick as my arm, That belonged to O'Brien, the brave, I've got mother Hubbard's great charm, Drowned sailors from shipwreck to save, I've the bustle of Jupiter's mother, With Mercury's grandmother's stays ; And I've got the steel pen cf my brother, With which he wrote all Shaksneare's plays. Oh, a fig, &?. IRISH COMIC SOXGSTER. 13 I've got Dr. Bushby's old table, The cap of Bill Soiners the fool, The roof of the tower of Babel, With prince Donohoe's three-legged stool. I've a beetle as big as a bowl, That would hold twenty gallons or more, And the very identical roll The baker gave Mrs. Jane Shore. Oh, a fig, &c. I've the snout of old Whittington's cat, Patched coats without any stitches ; Adam's spade, and his four-and-nine hat, With a pair of King William's breeches. I've got the snuff-box of Mahomet, An Irish nobleman's wig ; And Miss Queen Elizabeth's bonnet, And the brain of the famed learned pig. Oh, a fig, &c. I've the bone of the shoulder of mutton, That was roasted at Anthony's least, And a beautiful pearly white button, Off the coat of an old Druid priest. I've got, too, the harp of Timotheus, That played Alexander to sleep. The poker with which he killed Clytus, Which caused all the country to weep. Oh, a fig, &a I've got his great horse's tail too, Domitian's long baccy pipe, Cleopatra's purple silk sail too, And a bee twice the size of a snipe. I could tell — but the doctors declare More singing would soon turn my brain, But some other time I don't care, When yon drop in, to sing 'em again. Oh, a fig, &c. 14 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY. PADDY CONNER. As sung by J. H. Ogden.— Are, Judy Kalligan. 'TWAS on last Sunday morn, the news to me was carried, That Paddy and Judy Conner had trotted away to be married ; I saddled my donkey quick, I gave him such a whack, sir, With my shillelah stick, I was after them in a crack, sir. chorus : Och ! what joy, nothing we was dreading, Roaring boys, at Paddy Conner's wedding. Then we gallop'd away, till we came to Mother Miles's And there I heard them say they were gone up to Saint Giles's ; I flew there in a trice, and there was such a rout, sir, Together they were spliced, and all came tumbling out, sir. Och ! what joy, &c. Then we went away to Judy Conner's mother, And into the door we rolled on top of one another ; There was Larry, Kate, and Peg, and about a dozen more, And Conner with his leg he broke the cupboard door. Och ! what joy, &c There we sat on the ground drinking altogether, The whiskey it went round, our hearts as light as fea- thers ; We had rum, beer, ale, and toast, and butter to put on the crumpets, And a little pig to roast, the women all to comfort. Och! what joy, &c. The supper it was done, 'twas break of day in the morn- ing, We swore we'd have some fun, all fear and danger scorn- ing ; I went" and hit Conner a blow because he struck my mo- ther, IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 15 And all at once, you know we were walloppi ng one another. Och! what joy, &c. Just like a lump of lead, we both came tumbling down, sir, And against the bedstead leg, I cracked his collar bone, sir; Then Connor, out of spite, to please his own desire, Went out and got a light, and set the place on fire. Och ! what joy, ic. And then they went away frightened out of breath. The goods and every feather and all was burnt to death ; Then I went away, the divil a word I said, I saw no more of the fun, but tumbled into bed. Och ! what joy, &c. THE REAL IRISH STEW. With an additional verse by J. II. Ogden.— Air, Eed, "White and Blue. Some like herrings red from the ocean, And others like a lump of pig's fry ; Some like pig's cheek, I've a notion, Others dine oft* puddings and pies ; In the cook shops there's thousands assemble, And they relish stew made out of glue, . But to me there's nothing can resemble A blow out of real Irish stew. Three cheers for some real Irish stew, Three cheers for some real Irish stew, And to me there's nothing can resemble A blow out of real Irish stew. When the potato blight spread desolation, And threatened our land to deform, Old Nicholas insultod our nation, But he never got over the storm; 16 THE CHARLEY O'M ALLEY. For our soldiers and sailors were ready, And to the devil his granite walls they blew, And the fact that kept our Britons steady, Was having their ribs lined with stew. Three cheers for some real Irish stew, &c. At Alma, Inkerman, arid Sebastopol, Our troops they fought like men, And Raglan sent despatches to England That for our noble queen they'd do the same again ; Then the English and the French they assaulted, And the Russians from the Malakoff they flew, And the banner of our allies was planted, And each man had a barrel full of stew. Three cheers for some real Irish stew, &c. Then the stew, boys, the stew, boys, bring hither, And we'll sup it till we're full up to the brim, May the stew of St. Patrick never wither, Nor the name of old Murphy grow dim ; May the onions and the spuds never sever, Whilst there's good country beef brought in view, Here's our army out in India for ever, And three cheers for an Irish stew, Three cheers for an Irish stew, &c. THE LAND OF OULD EREST. Sung by J. n. Ogden. The land of ould Erin's the land of delight, Where the women can love, and the men can all fight ; We have hearts for the girls, and arms for our foes, And they both are triumphant, so all the world knows. You may talk of politeness — we beat them at that, For when the Frenchman came courting, a rival of Pat, Says he, my dear jewel, you're quite at a stand, So take hold of my foot, it will lend you a hand, IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. lif So let us be frisky, and tipple the whiskey, Long life to ould Erin and liberty's joys ; No country whatever hath power to sever The shamrock, the rose, and the thistle, my boys. They may talk of their living, it's blarney and stuff, For when a man's hungry he can eat fast enough, As for teaching a live man to live, it's my eye, Let him go over to Ireland and they'll teach him to die ; Their frogs and soup maigre, it's nothing but froth, When compared with our praties and Scotch barley broth, What land like ould Erin for living so fit, Hospitality's home, and the birth-place of wit. So let us be frisky, &c. They may talk of their wonders as long as they please, By St. Patrick, their swans are nothing but geese ; They talk about fighting, it's all they can say, For as soon as we charg'd they all ran away. Then long life to our land, that grows out of the sea, May it flourish in prosperity, happy and free ; For England and Ireland can prove, That we beat them in courage, in beauty, and love. So let us be frisky, &c. THE IRISHMAN'S WAGER. Sung by J. H. Ogden. Two Paddies one day on a common had met, with some of their friends rough and hearty, They challenged each other, and two made a bet, Paddy Rourke could'nt carry Macarthy, By jabers, says Paddy, give your hand but I will, I'll carry him like a young donkey, To the top of the ladder, if he will sit still, on the hod which they call my monkey. 18 THE CHARLEY O'.M ALLEY. CHORUS : Singing philliloo Pat, Paddy Neale, Padd} whack, Irish buttermilk, herrings, and whiskey, You divels, come eat, fight, and drink, till ye crack, By the powers St. Patrick was friskey. Then they all marched in order, and bold Paddy Rourke fetched his hod out in a minute, And he shoulder'd Macarthy, who said, with a look at the hod, "by the powers I'm in it;" Then the people all round hail'd them both with a shout, to the ladder as they were advancing ; Some cried to him, Paddy, mind and don't spill him out, and others were laughing and dancing. Singing philliloo Pat, Paddy j eale, Paddy whack, &c. At the end of the common new houses were built, and each of them stood ten stories, The women cried out, Macarthy '11 be kilt ; but Macar- thy in the hod was in glory, When O'Rourke up the ladder a few steps had trod, Ma- carthy cried out "you will lose it;" "Shall I," says Paddy, "I've holt of the hod, you're in it, fall out if you choose it." Singing philliloo Pat, Paddy Neale, Paddy whack, &c. Then Pat stepp'd it out till he came to the top, and there for his friends was waiting, They all took a bottle of whiskey up the ladder to stop to have a day on the new slating; When Pat got to the top the house it was crammed, and they cheer'd him when he crossed it, But Macarthy said, when half way up, " I'll be damn'd, I was in good hopes Paddy Rourke would have lost it." Singing philliloo Pat, Paddy Neale, Paddv whack, &c. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 19 The houses were finish'd, and ten stories high, some drunk on the roof were strolling-. The weight of the lot made the rafters to fly, and some down below were seen rolling ; Norah and Judy, and the rest of the squad, they fell into a cistern of water, And O'Rourke and Macarthy fell down in the hod, and were smothered completely in mortar. Singing philliloo Pat, Paddy Neale, Paddy whack, &c. PADDY'S WAKE. Sung by J. H. Ogden. — Air, Bay of Biscay. Loud bawl'd each Irish mourner that went to Paddy's wake, The house in every corner began to twist and shake ; To view Paddy in his shroud The neighbors all did crowd, 'Mid shouts and cries that reached the skies, Paddy, what the devil made yez die, och hone ! Then the house began to shiver, and the stacks of chim- neys bent, And the rain, like a thundering big river, through every tile-hole went ; Then they sat down upon the floor, And Paddy was placed before ; And each one did mourn, Paddy you're dead and gone, "What the devil made yez die, och hone I Then the time it came for starting to lay Paddy in his grave, And each took a great big parting, and Peter sang a beautiful stave ; Then they screwed Paddy down in his shell, And gave him tobacco and snuff as well, And each did cry, Musha, Paddy, goodbye. What the devil made yez die, och hone! 20 THE CHARLEY O'HALLEY. Then with Paddy on their shoulders, off to the grave they flew, And all the near beholders kick'd up such a philliloo, Then they down'd Paddy with a whack, And made the coffin crack, And each one said, tell the truth, Paddy, are ye dead ? What the devil made yez die, och hone I LEAVE US A LOCK OP YOUR HAIR. As sung by J. H. Ogden. — Aik, Low-Backed Car. 11 The stars are brightly shining, the birds are in the bowers, The holy light of the moon shines bright on the beautiful sleeping flowers; Then, Norah, are yez sleeping, or cannot you hear me speaking ? You know that my heart is breaking, for the love of you, Norah, dear! Why can't you speak to me, darling mavrone ?— : are ye made of stick or stone ? — Or, like Venus of ould, so bright and so bould, are ye without a morsel of flesh or bone ? " There's not a star abroad, love, no sound comes on the ear, Save that rogue of a breeze, that whispers the trees, till he makes them shake with fear ; And the flowers are gently creeping to the window where you're sleeping, And they are not kept from peeping at your beauty, my Norah dear : But it's yourself that's the hard-hearted soul, to keep mo out here like an owl : Sure, it's treatment too bad, for a true-hearted lad, to be served like that desolate fowl. "You know the vow we made, love; you know we named the day ; IRISII COMIC SONGSTER. 21 Here I am now to keep the vow, and carry my love away. Then. Norah, why be staying, for weeping or for praying ? There's danger in delaying : for, may he, I'd change my mind ; And yez know, I'm a bit of a rake, and a trifle would make me mistake ; And, but for your blue eye, I've a notion to try what sort of an ould maid you'd make." " Dermot, do not teaze me to be your bride to-night ; How could I bear my mother's tears, and my father's scornful slight? Then, Dermot, cease your wooing, or you'll really be my ruin ; You'll be my life's undoing, if you're caught at the lattice- gate!" " Oh ! for shame, with your foolish alarms ; throw your- self into my arms- Don't be waiting at all for your bonnet or shawl, they were made but 10 cover your charms. Just then a cloud arising across the moon was cast : The casement opes, and anxious hopes make Dermot's heart beat fast; And then a form entrancing, half sinking, half advanc- ing, "With her arm and bare neck glancing, she appears at the lattice-gate ; — "When a terrible arm in the air, seized the head of the lover, quite bare, And cried with a scoff, as Dermot ran off, ""Would yez leave us a lock of your hair?" THE IRISH LOVE-LETTER. Odil Judy, dear creature, she has won my sowl — The thoughts of her eyes puts my heart in a flliloo; By the side of my donkey I lay, cheek by jowl, On a sheet of brown paper to write her a billy doo. I TILE CHARLEY OM ALLEY. I had no pen, so made shift with a skewer, And thus I began all my mind to reveal : — Och ! Judy, says I, I've a mind to be sure, That you should become lovely Mistress O'Neal. Whack fal lal, fal, de ral, whack fal lal. My father's a sempstress, makes clothes for the army, My mother's a coalman on Dublin quays ; And if you were with us, I know it would charm ye To see all our dacent and illegant ways. Each day, for dinner, we've herrings or salmon — We eat our potatoes without any peel ; And so you may, Judy, without any gammon, If you will but become lovely Mistress O'Neal. Whack, Ac. Though my skewer's a bad pen you may judge of my knowledge, My penmanship, spelling, and books that I read; I was brought up next door to great Trinity College, And learnt mathematical French and the creed. If you can't read this letter the parson will do it, Och! Oommong voo polty voo madamoyselle ; I can fight like the divil, and faith yon shall know it 1 If you will but become lovely Mistress O'Neal. Whack, &c. I love you, my jewel, although you are after That white headed Barney, the plasterer's son ; I'll show him my fist — that will show him his master, If you ever think of you two making one. Och! if you but have him, by Jove he will catch it! I'll write him a challenge, though he be in jail ; And I'll break his nose so that he never will match it — Now won't you beccome lovely Mistress O'Neal ? Whack, &c. Then, if you won't have me, I'll lisht for a sodger, I'll be kilt and be prisoned, — och ! then how will vou feel? xRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 23 sure whether you be a housekeeper or lodger, That you were not born to be Mistress O'Neal. With my wounds and my wooden legs how I will haunt you. About twelve at midnight, — "Och murtherl" you'll squeal, When I tell you that ghosts and hobgoblins do want you, So no more at present, from Phelim O'Neal. Whack, &c BRYAN O'LYNN. Bryan O'Lynn was a gentleman born, He lived at a time when no clothes they were worn, But as fashions walked out of course Bryan walked in, Whoo ! I'll soon lead the fasliious, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn had no breeches to wear, He got a sheep skin for to make him a pair, With the fleshy side out, and the woolly side in, Whoo! they're pleasant and cool, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn had no shirt to his back, He went to a neighbor's and borrowed a sack, Then lie puckered the meal bag up under his chin, Whoo ! they'll take them for ruffles, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn had no hat to his head, I le st uck on the pot being up to the dead, Then he murdered a cod for the sake of its fin, Whoo ! 'twill pass for a feather, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn was hard up for a coat, Hi- borrowed a skin of a neighboring goat, With the horns sticking out from his oxters, and then, Whoo ! they'll take them for pistols, says Bryan O'Lynn. 24 THE CHARLEY O'M ALLEY. Bryan O'Lynn had no stockings to wear, He bought a rat's skin to make him a pair, He then drew them over his manly shin, "Whoo ! they're illegant wear, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn had no brogue to his toes, He hopped in two crab-shells to serve him for those, Then he split up two oysters that matched like a twin, Whoo! they'll shine out like buckles, says Bryan O'Lynn. j Bryan O'Lynn had no watch to put on, He scooped out a turnip to make him a one, Then he planted a cricket right under the skin, — Whoo ! they'll think it's a ticking, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn to his house had no door, He'd the sky for a roof, and the bog for a floor : He'd a way to jump out, and a way to swim in, Whoo ! it's very convaynient, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn, went a courting one night, He set both the mother and daughter to fight : To fight for his hand they both stripped to the skin, Whoo ! I'll marry you both, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn his wife and wife's mother, They all lay down in the bed together, The sheets they were ould and the blankets were thin, Lie close to the wall, says Bryan O'Lynn. Bryan O'Lynn, his wife and wife's mother, They all went home o'er the bridge together, The bridge it broke down, and they all tumbled in, Whoo 1 we'll go home by water, says Bryan 'OLynn. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 25 BLACK TURF. Air — " Buy a Broom." Through Dublin, sweet city, I ramble my hearty, With my kish of black turf for cold wintry noon, They're cut from the bog of one Felix McCarthy, Arrah, now buy a cushla from your own Jack Muldoon. Black turf, black turf, &c. en — Will you buy a mock ? I will give you twenty- four black sods for one penny ; devil the like of them ever was burnt before for heat, or boiling your pot ; just take one of them in your hand, troth I am selling four pinnerth to Mistress Toole, of Coal Alley, and her decent husband, who is a knife grinder, declared to me that he can work without the dispensation of a candle, since he began to burn my black turf. Will you buy, Misther ? do a-cushla. Will you, Mistress? do mam; don't be foolish to be spending your good looking money for coals ; in troth, there wasn't luck nor grace in this country since the invention of coals, or any ill-lookin chimmistical commodity like them — will you buy a mock ? Orra buy of Jack Muldoon his flaming black turf? When your feet is all snow, and your toes are frost bitten, Arrah then you'll discover my turf is your friend, There's such light from the blaze that a letter I've written, To my sweetheart Moll Grogan, for Christmas to spend. Black turf, black turf, &c. Spoken — Come now, girls, I am just come out, and the first that hansels me will get a fine sod over, orra jewels if you was after seeing the big boat-load I got consigned to myself, by my father-in-law, Mnrty Grogan. millia inurt her! this is the lucky turf, the quality of Dublin shud be fond of; for the very bog it was cut from, moved hall' way to Dublin to see you, and only the polis overtook it, and wouldn't let it come any further that my father-in- law's it would be living in Dublin now. and all the young bogs would be Dublin people — this is the reason, I tell yez, 3 26 THE CHARLEY O'jfALLET. that all yez should lose no time to buy as much as you can. Will you buy, Misther ? I can only give twelve sods for a penny of this turf, for you may depind on it, the parents for them are well known ; the devil fire the sod of this turf, but after its burnt, will walk out of the grate and get themselves blackened over and over again, fit for use, and ready to boil any kittle, saucepan, or any of that family, every bit as weU as before, so that you see plainly you will never have the same 'otunity any more of buying such lucky turf. So yez won't buy — do you want any, my chap ? Is that a penny in your hand? Come and buy, now, avic ; rista ! crista ! what bad times it is, they don't know the vartue of the turf from the moving bog. Black turf, black turf, &c. Orra gramachree avourneen, avourneen, avourneen, Will you buy, avourneen, my moving black turf? I am now nearly broke, to the bog I must hurry, And to Jim Casey's berrin I'll be in time for to go, Och, he died t other day, and many he's left sorry, For he was a good hearted fellow (cries), but now he's laid low. Black turf, black turf, &c. Spoken — Och ! och 1 och ! what sundry times those are the world, in troth, is nothing but a boat-load of deceit, and the honest people from the great gunchability of sick- ness, are leaping up out of the world just like young trout of a summer's day. Orra. Jim Casey, avic, you've gone without as much as bidding one of us good bye, (cries). Och! heaven be j^our bed, Darby Quinn, if you war alive, its yourself that would cry millia murther after poor Jim. I would be on the vartue of my oath, if Moll Casey took my advice, Jim would be at work to-day, the dirty sutrican, I tould her to give him a little buttered punch, which would be the means of conglomerating his bowels ; but stid of that, she gives him a skillet full of mouldy colcan- non — Will you buy, &c. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 27 BIDDY MAGEE. Am. — "Rattlin 1 , Rovin 1 Blade." I was born in the town of Tip, so gay, "Where the boys they welt the flure away; Faith, I fell in love, my boys, d'ye see, An' the girl I lov'd was Biddy Magee. I wint to the fair one summer's day, Dress'd in my Sunday frieze so gay, An' in a tint I wint so free ; And there I met with Biddy Magee. I call'd for a naggin of the old ding dong, Jist to give a polish to the song, T paid for the same frank an 1 free ; And the first toothfull I gave was to Biddy Magee. I gave her a chuck under the chin, My blarney tale I did begin : To be my wife she did agree, So condescending was Biddy Magee. Thin, my boys, a week after that, Biddy she married her darlin' Pat ; The boys I invited to join in the spree, Of the wedding of Pat an' Biddy Magee. There was tall Maguire and Dinny O'Moore, Phaly an' Tim to welt at the flure ; M'Gorman, the fiddler, who never could see ; He came to squint at Biddy Magee. The whiskey wint round in quarts galore, Those who were knocked up fell on the flure ; Thin Phaley an' Tim to kick up a spree, Swore by dad, they'd have the first kiss from Biddy Magee I bate the devils that very night, And put the company all to flight ; 28 THE CHARLEY O'JI ALLEY Sis I, " My boys, you shall see "What a kiss you'll get from Biddy Magee." We finished the row as it did begin, Thin Biddy an' I put out the glim ; "We wint to bed quite drunk, d'ye see — An' there I 'gan huggin' Biddy Magee. THE WIDDY McGINNESS'S BAFFLE. Air — " The Ould Leather Breeches." One Saturday night we'd a bit of a fight, I was dressed in my best, so genteehy ; "While for company's sake in my fist did I take My ould-couutry blackthorn shillaly. Going through Cherry street, there who should I meet But my countryman, Larry McGaffle ? " Arrah, Mickey!" says he, "will you take, do ye see, A ticket to go to a raffle?" Fal lal de ral lal, etc. Says I, "Larry, begor, would ye tell me whot's for, Nor my mind with false fancies bewildher?" "It's to bring out," says he, "from the ould counthry, W r iddy McGinness and fourteen small childher. The prize, you must know, is a fiddle and bow — 'Twas presented by Mister Tim Wbaffle ; The chairman is he of the grand com-mit-tee On the Widdy McGinness's raffle." The quarter I spint, and with Larry I wint — From Oak street we turned to Cherry ; At each shebeen we'd stop for to take a small drop, By the time we got there we were merry. As the dure we passed through, what a sight met my view I All my powers of description 'twould baffle : In all sorts of dress, full three hundred — or less, Were at Widdy McGinness's raffle! There was Teddy McVay, and Barney McShay, Larry Brogan and Mickey McConnell ; IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 29 There was Long Jerry Ryan and Pether O'Briau, Mike Faygan and Patsey O'Donnell; There was big Biddy Burke and Miss Judy McGurk, Widdy Casey and Kitty McGraffil ; There was Molly Mulvany, Miss Flynn and her granny, At Widdy McGinness's raffle. There was Murty McGool, there was Paddy O'Toole, Conny Regan and Malachi Keller; Moll Lynch and her brothers, wid twenty score others, In Michael McLaughlin's cellar. Whin the dice were brought on, then the rattling begun, Till Barney McShay took a shuffle: "Two sixes, a five! be the powers alive, I've all soorts of good luck at the raffle!" Says Teddy, "That's mine! faix, I bate you that time." Says Barney, "You lie like the divil!" But Judy in haste then jumped up to make pace, Saying, "Ochl Barney, dear, don't be oucivil." But Teddy stepped out and hit him a clout, Saying, " My luck you've been trying to baffle." From Barney he quick got a belt of a stick, And the ructions comminced at the raffle. Soon each faction enraged were in battle engaged, And the blood it began to How freely: But the whole of the crew couldn't lather us two — That's meself and my blackthorn shillaly. My stick got excited, it wanted to fight, It longed to take part in the battle; It hit Shaughnessy's Ted such a belt on the head, That it knocked him stone bliud at the raffle. But soon the polace for keeping the pace, To the sate of war marched in a body : I] very poor divil they caught, to the station they brought, Blind drunk and brim full of the toddy. To the justice we wint, and for tin days he sint L'p to prison meself and McGaffle; a* 30 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY But a vow now I'll give, that aslong as I live — I'll be damned if I go to a raffle ! Pal lal de ral lal, etc. CORPORAL CASEY. When I was at home I was merry and frisky, My dad kept a pig, and my mother sold whiskey, My uncle was rich, but could never be aisy, Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey. Spoken. — The Corporal was an odd sort of a man, and he came every morning into my mother's house, and take his drops of calamity water, as he used to call it ; and then he drew up a long big form before the fire, and he'd sit himself down, and take me upon his knee, and tell me of all the Spanish generals he killed, and all the French bat- tles that he'd won. Now, you must know, that I felt a sort of sneaking kindness to a red coat; so says I to the corporal one morning, would you have any objection to make me a bi t of a soldier ? Musha avourneen, says the corporal, I don't care if I do. So with that he tips me a bright shilling and away I goes to his Rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, Oh, rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, My dear little Sheelah, I thought would turn crazy, Oh, when I trudged away with tough Corporal Casey, I marched from Kilkenny, and as I was thinking, On Sheelah, my heart in my bosom was sinking ; But soon I was forced to look fresh as a daisy, For fear of a drubbing from Corporal Casey. Spoken. — "Well, there we were, all drawn out upon the parade, rank and file, as they call it — so says I to myself, Patrick, my honey, the best thing you can do is, to make friends of the corporal. Now, I knew if anything could get oi-er him at all at all, 'twould be the thoughts of the ouneen. ^ ?-ver I goes to him — Morrow to you, Mr. Corp^r*;, says IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 31 I, speaking very dignified to him, would your honor's rev- erence and glory like to take a drop of anything to drink this morning? By the powers, says he. I don't care if I do. So over I goes to the sign of the Sack and Water — just such another little hole in the wall as my poor ould mother kept in her time — God rest her soul she's dead and gone — well, there I calls for three naggins of whiskey, and the devil burn me if 1 ever get one drop of it. "Well, over we comes again upon the parade, rank and file, as they call it — so, right about left, says the corporal. Now you must know that my left arm was hanging over my right shoulder that morning. So over the Corporal comes to me, and he gives me such a loudogue under the ear, that och, by the powers, it made me caper to his Rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, Och, rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, The devil go with him, I ne'er could be aisey, He stuck in my skirts so, ould Corporal Casey. We went into battle, I took the blows fairly, That fell on my pate, but they bothered me rarely ; And who should the first be that clropt, who ain't plase ye, It was my good friend honest Corporal Casey. Spoken. — When the corporal fell, he was down — there he lay superficiary on the broad of his back, like a half- crown; hurrah, corporal! says I, are you dead? — spaking low and aisy for fear of waking the poor cratur, are ye dead? says I, are ye dead, an' be damned, says I — will ye speak ? Then I thought he was dead, sure enough — then I listened a bit awhile, and I thought I heard the corporal snore. Are ye dead ? says I, again. Ah, no, says he, I'm not dead, but I'm kilt and speechless; but if you had any regard for me in my lifetime, be after looking for my head, and place it between my shoulders ; as it is my only wish that I should be buried in a Christian-like sort of a manner. Then says I, as it is your only request, it shall be done. So away I trots all over the field in search of his Dapper, bui the devil a head could I find of the corporal's at all at 32 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY. all. So I was just returning with the good news to inform him that I couldn't rind it — when where the devil do you think I saw it ? why between the tall legs of a grenadier who'had just fell before him. Now you must know I had a pretty decent knowledge of the corporal's head, for in his days he wore a large red-raw pimple on the top of his nose; here Mr. Corporal, says I, here's your head. Ramnation seize your soul, don't ye know your own nose? Ramnation seize your soul, says he, 'tis no head of mine. Head or no head, says I, no other head you'll get from me ; so I threw his head in his face, and away run from his Rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, Och, rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey, And now my dear friends, I come here for to })lase ye ! After eight years campaigning with Corporal Casey THE HARD-HEARTED MOLLY CAREW Written by S. Lover, Esq. Och hone ! Oh, what will I do ? Sure my love is all crost, Like a bud in the frost, A.nd there's no use at all In my going to bed ; For 'tis dhrames, and not slape That comes into my head 1 And 'tis all about you, My sweet Molly Carew, And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame You're complatur than nature In every feature, The snow can't compare To your forehead so fair, And I rather would spy Just one blink of your eye, IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 33 Than the purtiest star, That shines out of the sky, Though by this and by that, For the matter o' that, You're more distant by far than that same. Och hone! wirasthrewl I am alone In this world without you J Och hone ! But why should I speak Of your forehead and eyes, When your nose it defies Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, To pu t it in rhyme ? Though there's one Burke, he says Would call it a snub-lime. And then for your cheek, Troth, would take him a week Its beauties to tell, As he'd rather ; Then your lips, oh, machree ! In their beautiful glow, They a pattern might be, For the cherries to grow 1 Twaa an apple that tempted Our mother, we know — For apples were scarce, I suppose, long ago, But at this time of day, 'Pon my conscience I'll say, Such cherries might tempt A man's father. Och hone! wirasthrcw I'm alone In the world without yoi Och hone ! By the man in the moon ! You teaze me all ways. That a woman can plazc; 34 TUE CHARLEY O'MALLEY. For you dance twice as high, With that thief, Pat Magee, As when you take share Of a jig, dear, with me Though the piper I hate , For fear the old chate Wouldn't play your favorite tune And when you're at mass, My devotion you crass, For 'tis thinking of you I am, Molly Carew ; While you wear on purpose A bonnet so deep, That I can't at your swate Pretty face get a peep. Oh, lave off that bonnet, Or else I'll lave on it, The loss of my wandering sowl Och hone! like an owl! Day is night, Dear, to me without you! Och hone ! Don't provoke me to do it, For there's girls by the score, That love me, and more — And you'd look very queer, If some morning you'd meet My wedding all marching In pride down the street, Troth ! you'd open your eyes, And you'd die of surprise, To think 'twasn't you Was to come to it, And faith ! Katty Neale, And her cow, I'll go bail, Would jump, if I'd say, "Katty Neale, name the day/' And though you're fair and fresn As the blossoms in May IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 35 And she's short and dark, Like a cowld winter's day; Yet if you don't lepent Before Easter — when Lent Is over, I'll marry For spite. Och hone ! and when I die for you, 'lis my ghost that you'll see every night. THE COBLER. I'm a roving sporting blade, Likewise a jolly young fellow, My spirits they are sunk, And I wish to keep thorn mellow. Kantana, Slc. I went to her father's house, Of him I asked a favor ; He gave me his consent, And told me I should have her. Rantana, &c. He gave me fifty guineas in gold, Likewise a stock of leather, And a lot of old shoes, And I stuck them all together. Rantana, &c Come Sal, wax me up this thread, You are my dearest Sally, Pay will come duo next week, And we'll blot the huckster's tally. Rantana, &a If my wife should prove with child, Surely it would be my ruin, For then I must lay down, My own two hands a sewing. Rantana, &c 36 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY But stop, I've lost my wax, And I don't know what's become of it, And worse than all I've got tho tax, Oh, I believe this is some of it. Ran tana, &,. Bad fortune to staggering Bob, The plague light on him for ever, I'd rather have a largo sheep's nob, "With a good sound heart and liver. Rantana, &c. DENNIS M'CASTER, THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. Then Dennis M'Caster the Irish schoolmaster, No one could teach faster the English tongue ; He was poet and punster, and by every youngster, O'er the province of Munster his praises were sung. Rare scholars had Denny, from Cork and Kilkenny, From Kilbrain sure many did flock to his school, Where he o'er the sly ones, the Neills and O'Brians, And wild Irish lions, triumphant did rule. Spoken — Doctor Dennis M'Caster neither taught on Bell's nor the Lancasterian system. Faith, they were both one to him, but on a plan of Ms own, which he called the Munsterman's, or the true Irish system. Master Felix 'Brian, said he, before you do go down, come up and say your lesson, for you are my best scholar. Now, what's the first figure of your ABC? I don't know, sir. You don't Know. For shame, Felix ; what does my donkey often get to eat? Nothing, sir. Nothing, and what else ? Water, sir. Arrah, does he get nothing but water to eat. Yes, sir, pitatee pails. Pitatee-pails, and what else ? Hay. That's a good boy ; go on. I can't sir. You can't ! remember you're my head scholar, and tell me what bird is it that lays the honey? Bee. B, that's right; then be a good boy, my honey, and go on. I can't, sir. You can't! a IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 37 pretty tale will be made of my head scholar, and I can make neither head nor tail of him. Can't you tell me where all the salt fish comes from ? Yes, sir, from Judy Donovan, the fishmonger, sir. And where else? From the salt sea, sir. Arrah ! can't you say C without the salt, as it should be. Yes, sir, sea without salt, as it should be. Go on, you bogtrotter. I can't sir. You can't, tell me, my jewel, how often do I flog you ? Every day, sir. Can't you say day alone. Yes, sir. Go on. I can't, sir. Arrah, what sex am I of? Faith, sir, I don't know; } T ou know better than I, why do you ask? Because I want to know. She sex, sir? No. He, sir. E, that's right, my boy. "What's next ? I can't tell — yes, sir, I can, F. Bravo ! go on, I can't, sir. What does carman Pat say to his horse ? Gee, Thunder, now. Can't you say G without thunder, now ? Yes, sir; Gee an' no thunder now. Goon. I can't, sir. Now, tell me how many of you learn at my academy? Aich one of us. Can't you say H, and not one of us. Yes, sir, aich and not one of us. An' by the holy poker, 111 make aich of you remember it, like the great actor on the stage used to say to the Munster man. I'll fill your bones full of H's (aches), and by the powers, that will be or way to make you a man of letters. Then success to M'Caster, the Irish schoolmaster, For sure such a pastor the world never saw ; And long life to the dry land of th' Emerald island — Faith, but I love you ! och, Erin-go-bragh. Though Dan was a gen'us, I must say between us lie was not a Yenus in shape or in air ; For Mrs. Nature, when she made me the teacher, Did not for each feature take at all any care ; Ilis eye was a skew one, his nose was a blue one, iiis mouth was a true one from ear to ear.; Yet vanity drove him — like many above him, If folks did not love him, he would make them fear. Spoken, — Come and go on with your lesson. What's next toH? I don't know. You don't know. Can't you tell me what your old aunt's got by the side of her nose ? A 4 38 THE CHARLEY O'MALLET carbuncle, sir. And what else ? A long bristle, sir. "What else ? Oh, it's an eye, sir. Aye that's right ; go on. I can't, sir ? Can't you tell me how your mother opens the door ? Puts her finger in the hole, sir. Arrah ! what does she lock it with ? A kay with a lucky stone tied to it. Can't you say K without lucky stone ? Kay, and no lucky stone. Go on. I can't, sir. What measure is that next the yard ? Yard, sir, the pig-stye, sir. Arrah, what letter's that a yard and a quarter long ? An' ell, sir. L, an by the hoakey! such a decent sized one required a whole sheet to write it upon. Go on: what's next toL? Hell, a school, sir. Nonsense, what letter? I don't know, sir. Can't you tell me what your mother does with your shirts? Shirts, I've got none, sir. What does she do with your father's then? Pawn them, sir. For shame, Felix, don't expose your relations ; she only lends them to your uncle. What does she do when she makes them ? Hem, sir. M, that's true ; go on. I can't. Which of my fowls lays the large duck eggs ? The-cock-a-doodle-doo, sir. But who's cock-a-doodle's wife ? Hen, sir. X, good ; go on, what's next? I can't say that, sir. You can't! I'll bring it out of you, my boy ; take that thump. (Oh !) 0, I thought I could bring it out; now wipe your nose, and tell me what's the next one ? P, Q, sir. That's right, my boy ; always mind your P's and Q's, and then you may go and sit down to sing Success to M'Caster, &c. Our hero, M'Caster, the wise Irish pastor, A shocking disaster did meet in his youth, For, fighting a duel with Paddy O'Trowel, A shillelah so cruel knocked out every tooth. Their shillelahs were oaken a word was not spoken, Till one leg was broken by Paddy to two ; Pat then beat no further, for Dan halloed murther ! And swore he was kilt from his hat to his shoe. Spoken. — Master Felix 'Brian, come and begin the end of your lesson. Where did I leave you ? At the P's and Q's, sir. Well, now come back and go forward: that's the way to get on, my boy. What's next to Q? P, sir. What IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 39 else? I don't know, sir. "What did the justice put your father in? The stocks, sir. And what else! The array, sir. And what's the first letter of army? Ar, sir. Good; so on. I can't, sir. "What is that like a pot-hook and hanger? That's your left-hand leg, sir. Left-hand leg, arrah ! then what is my left-hand leg like ? A crooked S, sir. Go on. I can't sir. "What does your mother drink out of the tea-pot on a morning ? Whiskey. "What else at breakfast ? Tea dust, sir. Arrah ! can't you say tea, without dust, as it should be. Go on, you devil of a dust- man, and tell me what's next ? I can't sir. You can't — who struck you just now ? Your mutton fist, sir. Mutton fist I and who does my mutton fist belong to ? You, sir. U, go on. I can't sir. What did the pig say to the Frenchman ? "We, sir. Och 1 faith, 'twas a learned pig. Go on. I can't, sir. What does your uncle knock the trees down with ? With an axe, sir. X, go on. What's next ? I can't say that, sir. Why can't you say it ? I can't say why, sir. Go on ; perhaps you'll remember the last letter first. Yes, sir, Y, sir. Hoi you've remembered the first at last; now what's next? I don't know, sir. You don't. Can you tell me what part of Paddy's body I knocked a hole in? His head, sir. Z, that's right, my boy, you'll make a clever man. Now go home, and write upon your paper skull, a wise head (Y Z), whilst you sing. Success to M'Caster, &c. FROM MUNSTER I CAME. Am. — "Patrick's Day in the Morning." From Minister I came, and I went into Leinster, I met with a dame, and they called her a spinster, I sat down on a stool in the corner fornenced her, On Patrick's day in the morning. Rays I, my dear jewel, I'm the boy that has plenty Of praties and cabbage, and all other dainties, I'm comely and clane, and just turned one and twenty ; 40 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY. I've bullocks and cows, and things worth your attention, I've great things, and small things, and things I won't mention, Arrah, my darlint, I'll treat you with all condescension, On Patrick's day in the morning. Ah, aheagar, says she, though I'm not in a hurry, If along with yourself a short time I would tarry, Then what d'ye think if myself you would marry, On Patrick's day in the morning ? For I've two hundred guineas, a two-year old heifer, A pig and a goat, that's both comely and clever; On a Sunday I ride with my new coat and beaver — Arrah, boy, will you have me, but will you remember To use me genteel, for you know I'm but tender ? She was threescore and ten long after November, On Patrick's day in the morning. Now she had but one tooth, and that same was quite rotten, We struck up the match, and to church we went trotting. Sure we vowed and we swore things that shant be forgot- ten, On Patrick's day in the morning, But just coming home, as you know it's our nature, We went into a shebeen house to get a drop of the crea- ture, My wife then she swigged it, bad luck to the neater ; But you see on the road home we met with a river, I forgot my politeness, and jumped it quite clever. My wife tumbled in, and I lost her forever, On Patrick's day in the morning. I COME FROM THE LAND OF THE PATS AND PITATEES. I come from the land of the pats and pitatees, Tidhery idhery tow row row, Where we're fond of good things, and of coorse, love the ladies, Tid, &c. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 41 But I was unlike every boy of my nation, Resisting forever love's fatal temptation, In the noise of the dhrum drowning love's botheration. Tid, &c. Till one day I discovered a lady like Venus, Tid, Ac. Her eyes like the stars in King Charles' wain is Tid, Ac. On the head of my dhrum down she sat on a large hill, And I courted her there till she vowed she was partial, Can I ever forget that sweet dhrum-head court-martial. Tid, Ac. Then come with vour soger, my own little charmer, Tid, Ac. To keep us from sorrow, good humor's the armor, Tid, Ac. TVio' poor, T am merry, l never '.ook gium — We shall never want bread if with me you will come — When your hungry I'll give you fresh rolls on my drum I CAME FROM THE ROAR. Ant. — "Kitty's Rambles from Youglial." I came from the Roar, in the county Kilkenny, Not a rag on my back ; in my purse not a penny ; At handling the boulthaun I was counted with any That ever came down from the Colliery Hills. The girls all pressed me, hugged, and caressed me, Peelers would chase me, proctors would trace me, I drank; but that's all that could ever disgrace me; And still I'm pursued with all kinds ot ills. I went to the Guards, and ax'd them to bind me Awhile to the Queen, as poor Jude was behind me; They swore that they would, if in sound wind they'd me, So off to the doctors they trudged my own self. 4* 42 THE CHARLEY O'lIALLEY " Come, peel off your duds, sir I here, corporal, the suds, sir! "Wash him down from the crown; he's wild from the woods, sir. Then give him a dose for to scour his blood, sir : And take him to drill — the unfortunate eh." They hoist me away, ogh murder I to swear me, They gave me the book, shure I swore d 1 tare me, If ever I thought 'twas so hard to prepare me, To handle the gun in defence of the queen. " Her majesty's heirs then," said sarjeants in pairs then, "You'll swear to maintain, over field, flood and main, then—' " Ogh, for sartain," said I, " and 'twill give me no pain, then, If you maintain Judy at home on the plain." They dressed myself out as clean as a whistle, My livery the shamrock, the rose, and the thistle ; My prayer book was neither the Path, Key or Missal ; But the gun I must live with in place of my wife. They drilled me, half killed me, they learned me to march so; They stocked me, they knocked — I swore that was no go — I up with my fist, then a regular brain blow, Brought down the sarjeant most short of his hfe. They hoist me away to the guard house next minute, And never cried crack till they lodged me safe in it, Ogh ! the mischief take grief on the wings of the linnet, If ever I learn such tricks any more. So a fig for your laws, your starved Johnny Raws, I'm shot, but you gave my lashing, and cause No longer to earn such bloody applause — So hurra for my own native cot on the Roar. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 43 IRISH ENGLISH SCOTCHMAN. Air— Push about the Jorum. My father was an Irishman, And born in sweet Kilkenny, My mother was in England born, In Lincolnshire so funny; In Scotland they were put to bed, Nine months ere they saw me, sir, And as for Ireland home they sailed, Myself was born at sea, sir. chorus : My country so, I cannot know. So comical my lot's man, I'll prove myself where'er I go, An English Irish Scotchman. English independence with My mother's milk imbibed, sir, And gen'rous Irish principle, My father's rules prescribed, sir; Ere I was born, I got a stock Of honest Scottish pride, too— My heart's as free as my native sea, Eor friendship just as" wide too. My country though, &c. A soldier marshalled in the ranks, 'Twas on a grand review day, Our captain stepped up to me— " What countryman are you, pray ?" " What countryman— why would you know, D'ye think it values much, man? With you I'll go to fight the foe, Or Spaniard, French, or Dutchman." My country though, <£c From war returned, and having saved A competence for life, sir, 44 THE CHARLEY O'MALLET To share it and enjoy it too, I needs must take a wife, sir. " Your parish, friend, I first must know " The cautious parson cried, sir : " As I for all fought 'gainst the foe, My parish pays no tithe, sir." My country though, &c May Irish, English, Scottish hearts, Be linked to one another ; The shamrock, rose, and thistle, too, Be blended altogether. May Victoria's kingdom never fall, Supported long by such men ; And may her subjects, one and all, Be Irish English Scotchmen. My country though, &c. PADDY HEGARTY'S LEATHER BREECHES. It was at the sign of the Bell, on the road to Clonmel, Paddy Hegarty kept a neat shebeen ; He sold pig's meat and bread, kept a good lodgin' bed, And so well liked round the country had been ; Himself and his wife both struggled thro' fife, In the week days Pat mended the ditches, But on Sunday he dressed in a coat of the best, But his pride was his old leather breeches. Pol de rol, &c For twenty-one years at least, so it appears, His father those breeches had run in — The morning he died he to his bedside Called Paddy, his beautiful son, in 1 Advice then he gave ere he went to the grave — He bid him take care of his riches — Says he it's no use to pop into my shoes, But I wish you'd step into my breeches. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 45 Last winter, the snow, left provisions so low, Poor Paddy was eat out complately; The snow coming down he could not go to town, Thoughts of hunger soon bothered him greatly. One night as he lay dreaming away, About creedougs, frogs and witches, He heard an uproar just outside of the door, And he jumpt to streel on his ould breeches. Says Bryan M'Quirk, with a voice like a Turk, Paddy come get us some eating, Says big Andy Moore, I'll burst open the door, For this is no night to bo waiting; Scarce had he spoke when the door went in broke, And they crowded round Paddy like leeches, By their great mortal gob, if he didn't get them prog, They'd eat him clean out of his breeches. Now Paddy in dread slipt into his bed, That held Judy, his darling wife in, And there he agreed to get them a feed — He slipt out and brought a big knife in ; He took up the waist of his breeches — the beast, And cut out the buttons and stitches, He cut them in stripes by the way they were tripes, And boiled them, his ould leather breeches. "When the tripes were stew'd on a dish they were strew'd, The boys all cried out, Lord be thanked, But Hagerty's wife was afraid of her life, She thought it high time for to shank it. To see how they smiled, for they thought Pat had boiled Some mutton and beef of the richest, But little they knew it was leather burgoo. That was made out of Paddy's ould breeches. They wollip'd the stuff, says Andy, it's tough. Says Paddy you're no judge of mutton ; When Bryan M'Quirk, on the point of a fork, Lifted up a big ivory button ! 43 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY Says Darby, what's that ? sure I thought it was fat, Bryan leaps on h:3 logs, and he screeches, By the powers above, I was trying to shove My teeth through the flap of his breeches ! They made at Pat, he was gone out of that, He run when he found them all rising — Says Bryan, make haste, and go for the priest, By the holy saint Jackstones I'm poisoned! Revenge for the joke they had, for they broke All the chairs, tables, bowls and dishes; And from that very night they will knock out your day- light, If they catch you with a pair of leather breeches. JOHNNY M'CLUSKY. Air—" Savourneen Dheelish." The moments were happy when we got married, Johnny M'Clusky and Sweet Molly Crow, 'Twas in a neat sedan to church I saw my Molly carried, Johnny, &c. What a happy moment when first I saw your face, love, When I stooped down in the puddle to hand you up your lace glove, I stepped up so genteelly, and bowed with such a grace, dove, Johnny, &c. What a handsome leg you had the night you danced at tb« ball, Johnny, &c. 'Twas then I felt love's fatal darts, as you danced down with Johnny Hall. Johnny, &c. When you were tired dancing, 'twas on ray arm you re- clined, When I opened the window, to let in the gentle wind, IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 41 You looked at me so lovingly, and spoke so sweet and so refined. Johnny, &c. "When first we set up house-keeping, 'twas in Dirty-lane, dear; Johnny, &c. "We sold butter, turf, freestone, and pins, and kept a cellar clean, dear, Johnny, &c. And with our little profit it's we that lived contented, Till a storm blew down the house that we so lately rented, Besides seven and twenty pounds, but hang it mam you spend it. Johnny, &c. KATTY MOONEY. I courted Katty Mooney dear, A girl so nate and cosie, Her eyes they were both bright and clear, And her cheeks were red and rosy. I bought a pig to five with us, I got a stick to mind it ; 'Twas a clever pig, but like the rest, It carried its tail behind it, Oh, hubbuboo, &c. When we were wed, and soon made one In love we made a dozen, Until she brought to town with her Her thirty-second cousin ; I made him eat, I made him drink, "With compliments he lined me, But the reason why I never could find, Till one day he stayed behind me. Oh, hubbuboo, &c I don't know what, when I came back, I wish I had not seen thorn, 48 THE CHARLEY O'JIALLEY For there they were giving smack for smack And the pig was sitting between them ; He ran away, och och hubbuboo ! May the devil catch and bind him, And my wife may go to the devil too, If they'd left the pig behind them. Oh. hubbuboo, &c. MOLLY MALONE. By the big hill of Howth, That's a bit of an oath, That to swear by it I'm loth, To the heart of a stone, But be poison my drink, If I sleep, snore, or wink, Once forgetting to think, Of your lying alone, Sweet Molly, Sweet Molly Malone, Sweet Molly, sweet Molly Malone. Och 1 its how, &c. Och! it's now I'm in love, Like a beautiful dove, That sits cooing above, In the boughs of a tree ! It's myself I'll soon smother, In something or other, Unless I can bother Tour heart to love me, Sweet Molly, sweet Molly Malone, Sweet MoDy, sweet Molly Malone. Och 1 its how, &c I can see if you smile, Though I'm off half a mile, For my eyes all the while, Keep along with my head ; And my head you must know, IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 49 "When from Molly I go, Takes his leave with a bow, And remains in my stead. Och ! its how, &c. Like a bird I could sing, In the month of the spring, But it's no such a thing, I'm quite bothered and dead. Och ! I'll roar and I'll groan, My sweet Molly Malone, 'Till I'm bone of your bone, And asleep in your bed. Ochl its how, &c. MEET ME, MISS MOLLY MALONE. Meet me, Miss Molly Malone, At the grove at the end of the vale ; But be sure that you don't come alone, Bring a pot of your master's strong ale ; With a nice bit of beef and some bread, Some pickled or cucumbers green, Or a nice little dainty pig's head, 'Tis the loveliest tit-bit e'er seen, Then meet me Miss Molly Malone. Pastry may do for the gay, Old maids may find comfort in tea; But there's something about ham and beef, That agrees a deal better with me. Remember my cupboard is bare, Then come, if my dear life you prize, I'd have lived the last fortnight on air, But you sent me two nice mutton pies, Then meet me, Miss Molly Malone. 6 60 THE CHARLEY O'MALLEY PAT AND HIS LEATHER BREECHES. Although a simple clown, My life pass'd sweet as honey, 'Till daddy died in town, And left me all his money ; Some twenty pounds or more, With harrows, ploughs and ditches, "With grunters half a score, And a pah of leather breeches. Rumpty, bumpty, &c. As pleased I was as fun, And dressed myself up natty ; Thinks I, the girls each one, Must think I very pretty; "With fortune quite content, Grief gave my heart no twitches ; To church on Sunday went, To sport my leather breeches ! Rumpty, bumpty, &c. But coming home, oh 1 dear, Some lads did jeer and flout me, They filled my mind with fear, As they all flocked about me ; They 'gainst me did conspire, Soused me in ponds and ditches, And soon with mud and mire, They daubed my leather breeches. Rumpty, bumpty, &c I next did go to woo A damsel young and dapper ; But she at I looked blue, And ding dong went her clapper. Says she, " I hate your plan, My heart agin your riches, 'Cause I can't bear a man, As wears them leather breeches." Rumpty, bumpty, &c. IRISH COMIC SONGSTER. 51 To Dublin I went off, My spirits just to rally, But each one did me scoff, In street, and lane, and alley. My woes came on by halves, I got insulting speeches, One fellow bawled out " calves !" Another "twig his breeches 1" Rumpty, bumpty, &c. A lass I met one night, As I for fun was dodging, I thought myself all right, And with her took my lodging. Next morn how I did curse, The girls and all such witches, When I found she'd boned my purse, My watch, and leather breeches. Rumpty, bumpty, &c. I left the house quite hurt, It rained and blew together; Exposed all in my shirt, I were to wind and weather. The woman from me fled, I did not rue my riches, But I'd have given my head, To have my leather breeches. Rumpty, bumpty, &c. A poliss man past by, On duty never dozing, And off to quod hiked I, My person for exposing 1 The justice spoke his will, And with upbraiding speeches, He sent me to the mill, All through my leather breeches. Rumpty, bumpty, THE SHAMROCK; OR, SONGS OF OLD IRELAND. contents : Aggie Asthore. Pretty Maid Milking Her Cow. Angel's "Whisper. Purty Molly Brallaghan. A Sweet Irish Girl is the Darling. Savourneen Deelish. Barnaby Finnegan. Sergeant McFadgin. Colleen Bawn. Teddy O'Neal. Darling Old Stick. The Blackbird. Doran's Ass. The Blarney. Erin go Bragh. The Captain. Erin is My Home. The Croppy Boy. Green Grow the Bushes, ! The Dear Irish Boy. Heigh for the Petticoats. The Exile of Erin. He Tells me He Loves Me. The Fairy Boy. Hibernia's Lovely Jean. The Fine Old Irish Gentleman. I'd Mourn the Hopes. The Four-Leaved Shamrock. I'm Leaving Old Ireland. The Gray Mare. I'm Not Myself at All- The Green Bushes. Irish Post-Boys' Song. The Green Linnet. [Halls. Irish Tinker's Lament. The Harp that Once Thro' Tara's Kathleen, Mavourneen. The Irish Brigade, ! Katty, Avourneen. The Irish Jaunting Car. Kitty Tyrrell. The Land of Potatoes, ! Lament of the Irish Emigrant. The Lass o' Gowrie. Limerick Baces. The Low-backed Car. Ma Alliecn, Asthore. The New Policeman. Molly, Asthore. The Old Country Party. Molly Bawn. The Patriot Mother. My Heart's in Old Ireland. The Boad of Life. My Nick-name is Barney. The Shan Van Vogh. Norah McShane. The "White Cockade. Norah the Pride of Kildare. The "Wonderful Irishman. Och ! Norah, Dear. Up for the Green. Ould Ireland ! You're My Darlin'. "Widow Machree. Paddy Goshlow. "Willy Beilly. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt of ten cents. 1 _ . ^ Contents of Dick & Fitzgerald's Dime Song Books. 5 FRED MAY'S COMIC IRISH SONGSTER. CONTENTS : Beor, Boys, Beer. Sal Sly and Billy Snivel. Biddy Mag< Simon the Cellarer. lage Green. Smuggler King. Comic Medley. [Him. St. Keren and King O'Toolo. Don't Speak of a Man as You find Teddy O'Neil. Dublin Bay. The Black Flag floating gallantly. / Encore verses to Biddy Magee. Fred May's New Medley. The Gay Girls of New York. The Irish Janius. I Likes a Drop of Good Beer, The Land of My Birth. (music.) The Learned Man. I'm a Ranting, Roaring Blade. The Old Farm Gate. 1 was the Boy for Bewitching them. The Old Maid and her Tom Cat. Judge not a Man. The Old Musqueteer. Hatty Mooney. The Pope He leads a Happy Life. Larry Morgan. The Rambling Boy. Larry O'Brien. The Rambling Boy of Dublin. Limerick Races. The Workhouse Boy. One Bottle more. Toasts and Sentiments. Paddy Miles. True-born Irishman. Paddy's Visit to the Theatre. Very Polite of Her. Poor Old Sailor. Watchman. Priest of the Parish. What are You Crying for, Nelly. Quiet Lodgings. With a Jolly Full Bottle. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt of ten cents. ♦ ♦ ♦ WOOD'S MINSTREL SONG BOOK. CONTEXTS I Aunt Dina Roe. Katy Darling, (music.) Brudder Bone's Love Scrape. Listen to the Mocking Bird. Charleston Gals. Lubly Colored Dine. Colored Fancy Ball. Lubly Dinah. Colored Orphan Boy. Nancy Till. Cynthia Sue. New York by Moonlight. O'er the Hills, Bessie. De Old Jaw Bone. De Singing Darkey ob de Ohio. Poor Uncle Tom. Dina's "Wedding. Romping Nell, (music.) Ellen Bayne. Rosa May. Emma Snow. Rosy Anna. Female Slave's Lament. Sally White. Fireman's Death, (music.) Susey Brown. Forty. five Jokes and Conundrums. The Age ot Humbug. Gal from the South. The Locust Hum. 1 Ginger's "Wedding. Uncle Gabriel ; or, Sandy Point. Good Old Hut at Home "Wake Up. Mosc. Guinea Maid. "We are gwan to de Shucking. Hail ! All Hail ! Where is the Spot that we were I wish I was in Old Virginia. Born on. Jane Munroe. Where is my Fompey Gone 1 Jolly Old Crow. Would I were a Boy again. Julius Caesar Green. Wood's Delineators. Julius' Bride. Young Folks at Home. Kate Loraine, (music.) Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, on receipt often cents. 6 Contents of Dick & Fitzgerald's Dime Song Books. THE FRISKY IRISH SONGSTER. CONTENTS I An Irishman's Excuse for a Fight; Petticoat Lane. or, Thread on the Tail of my Robinson Crusoe. Coat, Sheelah O'Neal. A Tight Irish Heart for the Ladies Soldier's Dream. Ballinamana Oro. Sprig of Shillelah. Barrel of Pork. Summer Hill Courtship. Batch of Cakes. The Anchor's "Weighed. Biddy Maguire of Ballinaclash. The Bells of Shandon. Bryan O'Lynn. The Freemason. Cruiskcen Lawn. The Great, Big, Ugly Irishman. Lolly Dunn of Lonnyhrook. The Guager's Slip. Don't You Think She Did. The Humors of Passage. Friend, by my Sowl, I'll "Whisky The Hungi-y Army. Drink. The dolly Beggar. Gaffer Gray. The Land of Shillelah. Going Home with the Milk in the The Man in the Moon. ^ Morning. The Miller's Song. Handy Andy. The Muleteer. Hoppy Hoolahan's Lament on the The New York Volunteer. Death ©f His Duck. The Pirate Crew. Horticultural "Wife. The Stars and Stripes. Jeff Davis. The "Wedding of Ballyporeen. Larry McHale. The Widow that Keeps the Cock Murrough O'Monahan. Inn. Murthough Delany's Birth. The "Wild Irishman. Nell Flaugherty's Drake. There's Room for All. Paddy Goshlow. Useful Knowledge. Paddy's Grave. What an Illigant Life a Friar Leads Pat and the Priest. Young Volunteer. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt of ten cents. . A « GUS SHAW'S COMIC SONG BOOK. CONTENTS I Alonzo, the Brave. Rat Catcher's Daughter. Shells of Oysters. Larboard "Watch. The Bill-Poster. Larry O'Brien. Mr. and Mrs. Snibbs. The irishman's Shanty. Nora Daley. New York in Slices. St. Patrick's Birth-Day. Hamlet— A Tragedy. The Female Smuggler. Nonsense. The Lively Flea. Bumper of Lager. Sights for a Father. Brogue and Blarney. Nepoletaine. My Mary's Nose. My Mother was a True Born Fair of Clogheen. Irishman. Billy Nutts, the Poet. Paper Song. In the Days when I was Hard Up. Mr. and Mrs. Bone. The Irish Jaunting Car. Robin Ruff and Gaffer Green. "Wooden Leg Sailor. Root, Hog, or Die. The Sicilian Maid. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt of ten cents. WOOD'S NEW PLANTATION MELODIES. rO.N'TK.VTS Belle of Alabama. Belle of Baltimore. Belle of Tennesee. Conic Darkies, Listen to Bis Song. Chorus from Somnambula. Dandy Broadway Swell. Dearest Mae. De Corn Top Blossom. De Purty Yellow Gal am a "Warn- ing. De Skeeters do Bite. Do Yellow G-al wid a Bloomer on. De York River by Steamboat. Eighty-one Conundrums and Jokes Eph Horn's Celebrated Story of the Misfortunes of his Lady Love. Ephriam's Lament. False Hearted Clementina. Fare Thee Well, Kitty Dear. Gal wid de Blue Dress on. Gwine to Run all Night. Hark, 1 Hear an Angel Sing. Have a Little Dance. Hoe On. Hop Light, Loo. Jordan is a Hard Road V> Travel. Julia is a Beauty. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, on receipt of ten cents. Life by the Galley Fire. Lubly Rosa. Louisiana Bell. Mary Blanc. New Darkey Medlev. Oh ! Silber Shining" Moon. Oh, Lud Gals. Oh, Susannah. Parody on the Lady of Lyons. Pirate's Chorus. Hide on, Darkies. Rosa Lee. Sally Weaver. See ! Sir, See ! Somebody's in do House wid Suswy. Swash Shaw, Hands Across. Sweep oh ! Sweep oh ! The Celebrated Black Shaker Song. The Merry Sleigh Bells. The Little Nigger Sweep. The Possum's Retreat. Tread Lightly. Uncle Ned. Way Down on the Old Pee Dee. Whar is de Spot. Yes, 'Tis True, Thy Katy Now is Sleeping. HARRISON'S COMIC SONGSTER. CONTENTS Bachelor Management. Courting Two Sweethearts at Once. Did You Ever 1 Doctor Brown. Hymen's Court. If it Wasn't for Rain. If You Think You've Many Friends. Dm a ('unstable. I'm a 'Prentice Boy. Joy.s of Winter. Mankind are all Birds. Miseries of an Omnibus. One Suit Between Two. Provided You've Money to Pay for it. Raspberry "Wine. Rural Felicity. Steamboat Excursion. The Boarding-house Keepker's Keeper's Miseries. The Doctor's Boy. The Lazy Family. The Litt'le Man. The Model Artist. The Very Singular Man. Very Polite of Her. Whiskers. Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt of ten cents. r , 8 Contents of Dick & Fitzgerald's Dime Song Books. TONY PASTOR'S UNION SONG BOOK. CONTENTS : " Any other Man" The Monitor and Merrimac As I went "Walking on ; or, a Trip The New Ballad of Lord Lovell through Broadway The New England Boys A "Warmer The New "Whack Row de Dow Couldn't see the Point The Peaceful Battle of Manassas " Freemen, Bally" The Poor Old Worn-out Traitor How are you, " Hold ITingland ?' The Standard of Freedom Hunkey Boy is Yankee Doodle The Union Big Thing on Ice March for the Union The Union Bridge MoFay on McClellan The Union Train Oil England's Position The Union Volunteers Old Johnny Bull has raised his Ire The Yankee's Escape from Secesh Onward March to Victory Things I Do Like to See Our Four-and-Thirty Stars Tony's Great Union Speech Sumter, the Shrine of the Nation To the Girl I left Behind That Southern Wagon Uncle Sam in for the Union, and out That's what's the Matter, No. 1 against Disunion " " No. 2 Uncle Sam " Under Weigh" The Confederate Carnival Union Speech, No. 2 The Pall of Lander We are Marching to the War The Fishball Musketeer Whack Row de Dow, (new version) The Irish Volunteer When this Old Hat was New The March of the Union Ye Sons of Columbia Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage upon receipt of ten cents. BOB HART'S PLANTATION SONGSTER. CONTENTS : African Statues Hart's "Original Burlesque Speech" Adventures on Staten Island Jeff Davis's Dream Adolphus Snow Joe Bowers Around the Horn Little Pie;s Abraham Brown Mount Vernon Bride of Rinaldo Mickey's Gone Away Bryan O'Lynn, (new version) Negro Lecture Come Jeff, Come " Stump Speech Cruelty to Johnny Private Maguire Con Donahue Patriotic Song Charcoal Man Peter Gray Can't Stand the Press, (new version) Peanut Girl Deceitful Maiden [Speech" Putting on Airs Dat's What's the Matter. " Stump Rip, Tare, my Johnny Disappointed Lovyer Radish Girl Down the lliver Row the Boat Dutchman's Shanty Soap- Fat Man Encore Verses, '• Sally, come Up" Sally come Up Freezing Bed-Fellow The Three Black Crowa Farmer's Daughter The Gabble Family Gr.iv Mare The Dog is Dead Get "Up and Git The Grocer) man Gay Cavalier Uncle Snow Goose Hangs High, (new version) Union Song Gay City Conductor Young Bob Ridley Ham Fat Man Young Volunteer Happy Contraband Van Amburgh's Menagerie; Home in Kentuck Copies mailed to any address in the United States, free of postage, upon receipt often cents. GOOD BOOKS SENT UPON RECEIPT OF THE PRICE. *+4 Parlor Tricks with Cards, Containing Explanations of all the Tricks aad Deceptions with Playing Cards ever invented, em- bracing Tricks with Cards performed by Skillful Manipulation and Sleight of Hand ; by the aid of Memory, Mental Calculation, and the Peculiar Ar- rangement of the Cards ; by the Aid of Confederacy and Sheer Audacity, and Tricks Performed by the Aid of Ingenious Apparatus and Prepared Cards. The whole illustrated and made plain and easy, with Seventy en- gravings. By the author of " Book of Riddles and Five Hundred Home Amusements," " The Book of Five Hundred Puzzles," etc. Price 25 cents. Book of Riddles and Five Hundred Home Amusements, containing a Choice and Curious Collection of Piddles, Charades, Enigmas, Rebuses, Anagrams, Transpositions, Conundrums, Amusing Puzzles, Queer Sleights, Recreations in Arithmetic, Fireside Games, and Natural Magic, embracing Entertaining Amusements in Mag- netism, Chemistry, Second Sight, and Simple Recreations in Science for Family and Social Pastime, illustrated with Sixty engravings. By the author of ** Fireside Games," " Book of Five Hundred Puzzles," "Parlor Tricks with Cards," etc. Price, 25 cents. The Parlor Magician ; or, One Hundred Tricks for the Draiv- ing Room, containing an Extensive and Miscellaneous Collection of Con- juring and Legerdemain ; Sleights with Dice, Dominoes, Cards, Ribbons, Rings, Fruit, Coin, Balls, Handkerchiefs, &c, all of which may be Per- formed in the Parlor or Drawing Room, without the aid of any Apparatus ; also embracing a Choice Variety of Curious Deceptions which may be Per- formed with the aid of Simple Apparatus ; tbe whole illustrated and clearly explained with 121 engravings. By the Author of "Parlor Tricks with Cards," etc., etc. Price, 25 cents. Frank Converse's " Old Cremona " Songster ; Containing a Choice and Popular Collection of Banjo Songs, Stump Speeches, Sentimetal Billads, Comic Songs, Comic Quartettes, Walk Arounds, Songs and Dances, 4c, &c, with Music to each Song, so that the tunes may be played upon any Instrument. Compiled and arranged by Frank B. Con- verse. Price, 13 cents. The Convivial Songster ; or, Lyrics for the Social Hour. Containing a Collection of Eighty-four Popular and Rare Old Drinking Songs, Glees and Catches, to which are added Forty Toasts for Convivial Occasions. Price 10 cents. Fattie Stewart's Comic Songster. Containing a Valuable Collection of Comic and Patriotic Songs never before Published, written by John F. Poole, Esq., and sung by the Popular Comedian and Comic Vocalist, J. C. Stewart. Price, 10 cents. George Christy's Essence of Old Kentucky. Con- taining a Choice Collection of New and Popular Songs, Interludes, Dia- logues, Funny Speeches, Darkey Jokes, and Plantation Wit. By George Christy, the Popular Ethiopian Comedian and Vocalist. Price, 10 cents. The Knapsack Fllll Of Fun ; or, 1000 Rations of Laugh- ter. Illustrated with over 500 Comic Engravings. Price 25 cents. fSSf Copies of the above, books sent to any address in the United States free of postage. Send cash orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 Ann Street, N. Y. Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the prices annexed. The Sociable; or, One Thousand and One Home Amusements. Con- taining Acting Proverbs, Dramatic Charades, Acting Charades, Tableaux Vivants, Parlor Games, and Parlor Magic, and a choice collection ol Puzzles, Dick . gilt side and back. Tins work, which is su- perbly gotten up, so as to fit it for holiday souvenirs, contains over Five Hundred Engravings, Pattern Plates, &c, and besides, embraces minute instructions for the execution of every known species of needle-work. No family should be without it Price $1.00. Anprrlotes of Love. Being a true account of the most remarkable events connected with the History of Love in all Ages and among all Nations. Bv Lola Montez, Countess of Landsfeldt. Large 12mo, cloth. ' Price $1.00. "Send cash orders to Dick r old, married or single, in the United States ' Price $1 00. Richardson's Monitor of Free-Masonry: A Complete Guide to the virions Ceremonies and Routine in Free-Masons' Lodges, Chapters, Encampments, Hierarchies, &c, A:c, in all the Degrees, whether Modem, Ancient, Ineffable, Philosophical, or Historical. Containing, also, the Sijrns, Tokons, Grips, Pass-words, Decorations, Drapery. Dress, Regalia, and Jewels, in each Degree. Profusely illustrated with Explanatory Engravings, Plana of the Interior oi Lodges, &c, By Jabez Richarpson, A. M. A book of 185 pages. Bound in paper covers Price 30 Cts. Bound and gilt Price 50 cts. This is the only book ever written which gives a detailed description of all the doings inside a Masonic meeting. The Manufacture of Liquors, Wines, and Cordials. Without the aid of Distillation ; also, the Manufacture of Effervescing Beverages, and Syrups, Vinegar, and Bitters. Prepared and arranged expressly for the Trade. Py Pibreb Lacour. Procure a copy of ■' Lacour on the Manufacture of Liquors," or if you do not wish to purchase, look through the book for a few moments as a matter of curiosity. Phy- sicians' and Druggists' pharmaceutical knowledge cannot be complete without a copy of this work. 12mo, cloth Price SI. 50. Mrs. Partington's Carpet-Bag of Fun. A Collection of over one thou- sand of the most comical stories, amusing adventures, side-splitting jokes, oheek-extending poetry, funny conundrums, QUEER SAYINGS OF MKS. PARTINGTON, heart-rending puns, witty repartees, etc., etc. The whole illustrated by about 150 comic wood cuts. 12mo, 300 pages, cloth, gilt Price 75 Cts. Ornamented paper covers Price 50 cts. Sam Slick in Search of a Wife. l2mo, paper Price 50 cts. Cloth Price 75 cts. Everybody has heard of" Sam Slick, the Ciockmaker," and he has given his opinion on almost everything. Sam Slick's Nature and Human Nature. Large i2mo. Paper Price 50 cts. Cloth Price 75 cts. The Attachee : or, Sam Slick in England. Large 12m o. Paper ". Price 50 cts. Cloth Price 75 cts. Sam Slick's Sayings and Doings. Paper Price50 cts. Cloth Price 75 cts The Game of Draughts, or Checkers, Simplified and Explained. With Practical Diagrams and Illustrations, together with a Checker board, numbered and printed in red. Containing the Eighteen Standard Games, with over 200 of the best variations, selected from the various authors, together with many original ones never before published. By D. Scattergood. Bound in cloth, with flexible cover Price 38 cis. Sen 1 cash orders to Dick «fc Fitzgerald, 18 Ann St., N. V. Popular Books sent Free of Postage at the prices annexed. The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles, Containing a large collection of Entertaining Paradoxes, Perplexing Deceptions in Numbers a nil Amusing Tricks in Geometry. By the author of '' The Sociable." Illustrated with a great variety of engravings. 12mo. fancy paper cover -Price 25 cts. The Book of Fireside Games : A Repertory of Social Amusements. Containing an Explanation of the most Entertaining Games, suited to the Family Circle as a Recreation. By the Author of 'The Socia- ble," " The Secret Out,"