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CONTENTS.

Whoa, Emma! (New Version).
Ten Minutes Too Late........
Miss Gruber’s Boarding House
See That My Grave’s Kept
Green «-....
The Man in the “Moon : is Look-
ing, Love
“oDwixt Two Stools a Man
Goes to the Ground”’.......
Let the Girls Alone......
They All Do It ...........
My Pretty Red Rose......
Rose of Killarney...
Johnny You’ve Been a Bad Boy
Whoa, Emma! (Original Ver-
sion). . ap ee aes
Angel Gabriel. TRE OS
Come, Gang Awa’ Wi’ Me...
The Railroad oe. 8 aes
Molly Bawn... ......:
Cheer, Boys, Cheer reopen
I Knew that I Was Dreaming.
Auld Lang Syne..............
“Clicquot ’.... -
Landlord, Fill Your See
BOM ats steeper ies
A Good Time Coming..... ...
The Nightingale’s Trill......
Co-ca-che-lunk......... ... +5.
Poor Jack... .
Hoop-la!....
Under the Willow ‘She’ 8 : Sleep-
ing..
They Borrow, but Never Re-
Siti). FS. Op eta tere

 

PP PR oo

 

 

ADAMI AAT PL

OO PATT-I

 

8

(> Sixty Songs in Number One!
Embracing the best new and Most
Popular Songs of the Day—Copy-
rights, Pavorites, Standards—Com-
ic, Sentimental, ‘Vernacular—mak-
ing it a complete Cyclopedia of |
Song, adapted alike to the Parlor,
Stage, Club and Street,

 

te The Songs of the Best |
Writers will be given in each is- |
sue of the Sivarr’s Liprary, viz:
Danks, Foster, Russell, Hays, Skel- |
ly, Newcomb, Work, Frank How- |
ard, Nash, Paul, ‘Turner, Harri- |
‘an, John Reed, Rexford, Straight,
Jexter Smith Cooper, Dempster,
Hood, Tom Moore, Dibdin, Corn-
wall, Morris, Byron, Burns, Sep
Winner, Rollin Howard, Larry
Tovley, Skelley, etc., ete,

(" Singers, Amateurs and Ar-
tistes having Songs that are popu-
lar, which they wish to appear in
print, will confer a favor by sub- |
mitting them to the publishers of |
the Siverr’s Lisrary, which it is
their purpose to make a Perfect
Repository of the Best Songs, Old,
Wew, Copyrights, and Originals.

SS

= =
ao © &ND SENTINES

QO gi
es. di SONGS cs :

| CONTENTS.

 

 

 
 

  

  

 

 

 

GE.
| | Sweet BYAAnd By 25... 8
| Land of My Birth......... ... 8
Why Can’t I Have a Beau?. 9
Roll Out! Heave Dat Cotton. 9
| The Butcher Boy .............
Waiting for ial
| Gay and Happy.. a
|The Hazel Dell... .......... 10
The Vacant Chair. ............ 10
Tom Bowling .. 10
| I Muse on Thee . FEE EN Ss 10
| Pull Down Your Vest!....... ii
| Rhine Vine Sharley.......... ll
|'Who Will Care for Mother
BOE Yad aise yh Caged lL
Heather Jock .. . bk
“ Crooked Whisky !” son eee
French and ee Pr ieee ss 12
Juliana Jones.. Jag
| Barbara Allan oie
Son of a Gambolier... sae
The Midnight Bugle......... 18
Sing, Birdie, Sing............ 13
The. Tempest...) si25. es 13
Call Me When Breakfast is
Meany a). eit. oad
Jim, The Carter Lad . SVB 14
The Drunkard’s Raggit
Weed fe a en
| Twinkling Stars igo Tadiee | Op eae
| The Marseilles Hymn ....... 14
‘| | Put Me in My Little Bed.... 14
The Old English Squire...... 15
Lord : Loveline sipes ses teaaae 15
| Billy GAPE. 256 secs ses Pee . a6

te The most “taking” Songs
of Gus_ Williams, Tony Pastor,
Lydia Thompson, E. H. Harding,
Lotta, D.S. V fambold, Dave Reed,
| Billy Emerson, Vivian, Lingard,
Frank Wilder, Annie Louise Kel-
logg, Adah Richmond, Edward
Harrigan, etc., ete., and all of the
best minstrel and: variety troupe
SRecieltien, as sung throughout the
United States, will be included in
the Hate Dive SINGER’s LIBRARY,

te The Leading Music Publish-
ers in America ‘and England will
supply their newest and choicest
Songs to the Har Dime Sineer’s
Liprary—which thus becomes the
only publication in America that
rs ens their splendid repertoire to

the public, at a nominal price.

|
|

 

 

FIFTY OR MORE SONGS IN EACH ISSUE.

 

English, Dutch, Soldier, College, ee
Irish, Negro, Comic, Sentimental, ker The HALF DIME SINGER’: ‘Ss
is , Liprary is the cheapest Song Publi-
Scotch, Sailor, Humorous, And Social. | cation in America. It is sold by all

| newsdealers at a half-dime’ for
each issue, or is sent, post-paid, by
the publishers to any address for
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plied to subseribers—ten consecu-
tive numbers for fifty cents, post-
paid. This brings if within’ the
o0st-paid, to any address, on receipt Hiss ae h of every lover of Song in the
ers, 98 ‘William St., N.Y. d.

For the Parlor, the Home, the Street and the Club.
Going in the Wor. Id of Song.
| Ine Act enon f the ¢ when est, Most Convenient, and Delightful Collection of New and
| Old, Popular and Standard Songs ever presented the American public! |

| Each and Every Number Only One-Half Dime.

| Sold by all newsdealers, five cents each; or, sent

of six cents per copy. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publis

| The very Choicest of Everything
oN by

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE SINGER'S LIBRARY.

 

 

WHOA, EMMA!
NEW VERSION.

Copied by permission of Freprrick Buume, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents,

SUNG BY TONY PASTOR,

I took my girl one day,
A-sailing down the bay,
And Emma was the darling creature’s name,
While standing on the pier,
Some chaps at her did stare; :
And one and all around her did exclaim:

CHorus—Oh! Emma, whoa! Emma,
Emma, you put me in quite a dilemma,
Oh! Emma, whoa, Emma,
; That’s what I hear wherever I go!
I ask’d them what they meant?
When some one at me sent
An egg, which nearly struck me in the eye.
Emma began to scream!
‘Oh, Fred, what does this mean?”
Lasked again, and this was their reply: (CHO.)

I thought they’d never cease,
So shouted out ‘ Police!”
And when he came he looked at me so sly,
The crowd then at me laugh’d, ae
And said I must be ‘‘daft;”
And once again they all commenc’d tocry: (CHo.)

An old man said to me,
‘‘ Why, young man can’t you see
The joke?” and I looked at him with surprise!
He said ‘‘ Don’t be put out, <«
It’s a saying’s got about;”
And then their voices seem’d to rend the skies! (CHO.)

 

TEN MINUTES TOO LATE.

Published by E. H. Harpine, wera hs New York. Music and words,
cents,
Certain fidgety folks we have all of us met,
Who are famous for being “ too soon,”
For a two o’clock dejeuner a la fourchette,
They are safe to turn up about noon.
Punctuality’s all very proper I know,
But all hurry and worry I hate,
So it always occurs wherever I go,
I’m exactly ten minutes too late.

Cuorus—Punctuality’s all very proper I know,
But all hurry and worry I hate,
So it always occurs that wherever I go,
I’m exactly ten minutes too late,

When I jump in a Hansom, or climb on a Bus,
To be nicely in time for a train,

I am half in a fever and quite in a fuss,
Tho’ I feel that my efforts are vain;

When I find myself safe in the station at last,
And believe it’s five minutes to eight,

I observe with a sigh that it’s five minutes past,
So I’m only ten minutes too late! (CHorvs.)

I was once ona time very deeply in love, é
And I courted in ver'se, and in prose,

I obtained a big lock of her hair, and a glove,
So I made up my mind to propose;

But a cab drove away as I knock’d at her door,
And her answer decided my fate,

For my rival had called there a little before,
So that I was ten minutes too late! (CHorvs.)

I should sing for a month if I told in a song,
The misfortunes I have to endure, .
From this habit that’s haunted me all my life long,
“ And will haunt me till death, I am sure;
When my fitful career is approaching its end,
And I lie in a critical state,
It’s no matter what physics my Doctor may send,
I shall take them ten minutes too late! (CHoRUS.)

 

 

Miss Gruber’s Boarding: House.

WORDS AND MUSIC BY GUS WILLIAMS,

Copied by permission of Freprrick Buumn, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 35 cents.

Miss Gruber kept a boarding house,
About two blocks from here,

Und alvays round at dinner time
She vould drink lager beer;

She vos a lady ev’ry vay,
Could sing just like a cat,

She veigh’d two hundred eighdy pounds,
But den she wasn’t stout.

Oh! Miss Gruber vos a gread lady, and so vos her farder, und
dey dought a good deal of me, so did de oder boarders; dere vos
Mr. Kebler und Mr. Vollendorf, Mr. Helvendahl, Mr. Flechtmann,
und Miss Kinkel, Miss Nollmeyer und Mrs. Hildebrand; one night
Mygel Snyder gavea barty, und ve vasall invided to sday avay, but
ve didn’t care, ve vasn’t consulded a bit, but gave a barty of our own,
und by eight o’clock dot evening all de belite of de city vos dere,
und sdyle, too, ’dwas splendid. I dell you dere vosa lively dime
dot night at—

CHoRUS—Miss Gruber’s boarding house,
Miss Gruber’s boarding house,
I can’t forget de fun, you bet,
Vile I lived at dot house,
Miss Gruber’s boarding house,
Miss Gruber’s boarding house,
I can’t forget de fun, you bet,
Vile I lived at dot house.

De dable it vos loaded down
Mit every ding dot’s nice,

Und lager beer vos flowing round
Like rivers full of ice;

Jake Speigelberg vos called upon
To speak vot he knew most,

He filled his glass full up of beer,
Und den gave us a roast.

De roast vos, De ladies—may Heaven bless dem, und may dey—
T forged de resd; anyhow I vos called to despond, und I said, oh!—
vot’s de use anyhow?~—I said something, und dot seddles id. Den
after subber ve played hund de snipper, und I stand on my head
in de vell, how many miles deep, und vot do I hold over your nose,
fine or superfine? und den dere vos some nice singing—Mr. Kebler
sang ‘“‘Silver Dreads among de Hash,” Mr. Vollendorf san
““Wride me two Ledders from Home,” den an invided vest got uw
und gave a recitation dot vent like dis, ‘‘ Who kissed Cock Robin?
I, said de fly, mit my little eye, I vosn’t dere;” he was kicked out
-de room rite avay,so dat broke up de barty at—(CHorRUvs.)

. Miss Hildebrand who did board dere
(But I said so before),
Vone day asked me to mind her child
Vile she vent to de sdore;
De day it vos an awful vone,
*Dwas raining cats, you bet,
Und if she took de child out,

/ She vos ’fraid it vould get vet.

Vell, I said ’'d mind de child. Miss Hildebrand vos a glass vidow,
und she loved dot little child. Ven she vent oud de child vos
asleep, und aboud dwo minudes after id commenced to ery; id
kicked de blanket skyhigh, und sat ub, und looked at me. I said,
‘Polly vant a fire-cracker?”’ und_ dwo or dree oder words, but id
vouldn’t sdop crying. I found de sugar bowl—I gave id a lump
of sugar; it looked at id, und den howled dill a picture of George
Washington fell offde wall. I got a basin und an old stove leg, und
Sg avay on de basin, but id vos no novelty for dot child,

or it yelled all de harder. I got a picture book and showed id
William Penn, etc. I offered id ten dollars to keep sdill undil its
mother vould get home; ’dwas no use dough. I gave id apples,
fried cakes, raisin cakes, pickled peaches, nothing would sdop him.
He kicked in de crystal of my vatch, tore my necktie off, pulled
enough hair out of my head to stuff a sofa, but vouldn’t sdop cry-
ing. At last I got an ax, a butcher knife, a revolver, und a ham-
mer, und I had just raised de ax over de baby’s head to make id
sdop crying, ven ids moder come in. She dinks I had de dings
dere to amuse de child, but if she had vaited five minutes longer,
she’d have found oud de truth; but sdill, for oll dot, dere is some-
ding sweet to remember ven I vos at—(CHoRUs.)

——-—_~——-

 

 

 
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loan aman

 

 

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THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. y 3

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See that My Grave’s Kept Green.

WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY GUS WILLIAMS.
Copied by permission of Freperick Buume, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 40 cents.
When I’m dead and gone from you, darling,
When I’m laid away in my grave,

When my spirit has gone to heaven above,
To Him who my soul will save;

When you are happy and gay once more,
Thinking of days that have been;

This one little wish I ask of you,
See that my grave’s kept green.

Cxorus—Oh, the days will come to you, darling,

‘When on earth no more I’ll be seen;

One sweet little wish, darling, grant me—
See that my grave’s kept green.

Oh, the days will come to you, darling,
When on earth no more I’ll be seen;

One sweet little wish, darling, grant me—
See that my grave’s kept green.

Tho’ the hours of joy now are passing,
‘Yet how soon, alas, they will fade;

Tho’ your glances of love are meeting my own,
Fair sunlight will turn to shade;

When from the world and its hopes I go,
Leaving forever this scene;

Tho’ others are dear, ah, will you then—
See that my grave’s kept green? (CHoRUus.)

Will you keep me, love, in remembrance,
Tho’ the voice of chiding be heard;
And while others may speak in censure or blame,
Yet breathe no unkindly word?
Tell me you'll think of the happy past,
Think of the joys we have seen;
This one little promise keep for me—
See that my grave’s kept green. (CHORUS.)

 

The Man in the Moon is Looking, Love.

Published by E. H. Harpine, 229 Bowery, New York.

You all know what this feeling is,
When at some quiet spot,

All around you may be ice,
But the love’s burning hot,

Of course her hand so tight you squeeze,
As you both gaze afar,

Yes, while the moon is laughing at you,
Knowing what fools you are.

SpoxEN—When you are in loye—and sitting on some romantic
cliff, by the light of the moon you gaze in the girl’s face, and
imagine how much powder and rouge she has been putting on, and
she’s thinking at the same time what expressive eyes, how his
nose turns up, and I think I should love him a little more if it was
a Roman, and the moon is winking at you and seems to say—

CHoRUS—The man in the moon is looking, love,
He’s winking, love, he’s blinking, love,
And each little star can tell where you are,
The man in the moon is looking.

The other night on Dover cliffs,
A girl sat there with me,

The moon above kept peeping out,
With look of naughty glee;

I whispered tales of love, and said,
Don’t be a timid miss,

But while the moon’s behind a cloud,
Just one sweet little kiss,

SpokEN—Not now, don’t you see the man? Whatman? Why
the man in the moon! He’s laughing at us. But just one, dear!
No, no!—(CHorvs.)

As we sat gazing at the moon, *
Like spooney lovers do,
My arm of course was round her waist,
Nigh squeezing her in two;
I heard the moon say to the stars,
That pair ll go and wed,
And as the moon came from above,
I rolled clean out of bed.

SPpoxkEN—It was a dream; I was not on Dover cliffs sitting with a
by moonlight, I was in bed at Brixton with a rushlight shin-

g upon me, and dreaming it was the moon, and my darling
Matilda saying—(CHoRvs.)

 

@ Whate’er you may do, where’er you may be,

 

“Twixt Two Stools a Man Goes to
the Ground.”

Published by E. H. Harding, 229 Bowery, New York.

There’s one thing in life of which men should be proud,
As along the world’s highways they move,

To stand boldly out from those hearts in the crowd
That fail their own firmness to prove,
That fail their own firmness to prove.

On one side or t’other be found;
In life’s calculations how oft you may see,
*Twixt two stools you may come to the ground.

wR ee er ee SS te er

Cxorus—One side or t’other, boys, don’t be afraid,
Stick to your colors and call a spade a spade;
In blowing hot and cold, boys, nothing good is found,
’Twixt the two stools you may come to the ground.

The stone that goes rolling no moss ever bears,
If steadfast, what friends round you grow!
If you lose one to-day, soon another appears,
The fickle, fast friendship ne’er know.
If you’d prosper in life, when you run with the hare,
Be sure you don’t hold with the hounds;
Of the hat that’s placed over two faces beware,
’*Twixt two stools a man comes to the ground. (CHORUS.)

The maid who delights in two strings to her bow,
Has one beau too many to wed,
She may be very nice for a ramble or so,
But give me the true heart instead.
In youth, as in age, we shall find it the best,
When in life we the right one have found,
Clinch the bargain at once, never mind all the rest,
*Twixt two stools we may come to the ground. (CHO.)

 

LET THE GIRLS ALONE.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.
I’m in a heap of trouble now,
I don’t know what to do,
I’m spooney on a pretty girl
That walked the avenue. j
While Cupid lives within my heart
My will from me is flown,
T'll never heed that good advice,
To let the girls alone.

Cxorvus—Let the girls alone, boys,

Let the girls alone,

Don’t ask them out fo take a walk,
But leave them safe at home.

They'll grieve you, and deceive you,
And make of you a drone,

You’d better change your way of life,
And let the girls alone.

Of course in fashion I must keep,
And live beyond my means,
With no one but myself to see
The wreck behind the scenes ;
To meet a smile I’d walk a mile,
Or jump a wall of stone;
Ob! gentlemen, keep out of love,
And let the girls alone. (CHORUS.)

I lie awake the whole night long,
And think of some fair maid ;

Like Silas Wegg, the muse I beg
To lend me friendly aid.

I walk the streets with absent mind,
My wits all overthrown ;

I wish I could forget such things,
And let the girls alone. (CHORUS.)

Pve tried to keep away from them,
But find it’s all in vain ;
T can’t resist the smile so sweet
Of Maud, or Mary Jane.
They’re all as dear as life to me,
I call each one “ my own!”
Then how can I contented be
To let the girls alone. (CHORUS.)

RN Sp OOO, ON OO LO OOO OO PG LON OO OO AL OO ONL IORI NA NN NN ma a Ne

 

 

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4. THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

oie -AE -DO. TE!

TONY PASTOR’S ORIGINAL VERSION.

Copied by permission of Oxtver Dirson & Co., 451 Washington street,
Boston, owners of the copyright.. Music and words, 30 cents.

Some folks will cry: Oh! shame, Mrs. Jones, you are to blame—
I never should have thought it, ma’am, of you!
When if they’d look at home, before abroad they roam,
I’m positive they’d have enough to do!
Mister Smith thinks it’s a sin for Brown to drink his gin,
And roam around the ‘‘ bar rooms” night and day; e
When Mister Smith was caught, drinking what he hadn’t ought,
Then he, in self-defense, was heard to say:

SpokEN—If you’re a married man and find any fault, your wife
will say:
Cuorus—They all do it, they all do it, they all do it,
And sometimes they rue it!
Yet they all do it, they all do it,
And so it will continue to the end of the world.

Old ladies will declare: Girls should never bleach their hair;
And then, again, they say it’s very nice:

Without the least restraint, to use up so much paint,
And rob the cats and dogs of all their mice!

Each one a little puff, has, inside her seal-skin muff,
She’s never seen without it night or day;.

If a moment is allowed her, her little turn-up nose she'll powder,
If you laugh, she’ll ever innocently say: (CHoRus.)

Then what does most impress, is the style in which they dress;
’T would make you Jaugh, I’m sure, if them you see—

With a hat upon their heads, large enough to make up beds
For a pussy cat, or kittens two or three;

In their panniers, too, well lined, if examined you will find
The most important papers of the day:

The weeklies if you choose, the dailies full of news,
Or anything that chance puts in their way. (CHoRUS.)

For hours, three or four, lovers spooning at the door,
On any pleasant morning may be seen,
And if they steal a kiss, 1’m sure it’s not amiss,
They ‘* enjoy it,” though they say they “didn’t mean!”
When creeping down the stairs, comes the father unawares,
And kissing, catch the couple in the act!
Then the mother from ¢ oove, says ‘‘ Don’t interfere, my love,
You can’t dispute the most important fact.” (CHORUS, )

 

MY PRETTY RED ROSE.

° SUNG BY D. 8. WAMBOLD.

Copied by permission of Freprrick Biume, 861 Broadway, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 40 cents.

He gave me a pretty red rose,
While rambling to-night o’er the lea;
And suid as he kiss’d me good-by,
Wear this in your breast, love, for me.
"Tis fading and falling apart,
But close t2 my heart it will cling;
While lonely I sigh for my darling’s bright eye,
Of my pretty red rose I will sing!
My pretty red rose, my pretty red rose,
Tis a sweet little token, my pretty red rose.
While lonely I sigh for my darling’s bright eye,
Til sing of my pretty red rose.

' CHorus*—My pretty red rose, my pretty red rose,
Tis a sweet little token, my pretty red rose.
While lonely I sigh for my darling’s bright eye,
Pll sing of my pretty red rose!

’Tis a dear little mem'ry of love:
How sad that it soon must decay!
But fondly I'll treasure its leaves
Tho’ their beauty may vanish away.
Sweet moments of joy it recalls,
And lulls ev’ry sigh to repose.
Though now we’re apart, still my true lover’s heart
Seems to dwell in my pretty red rose}!
My pretty red rose, my pretty red rose,

Tis a sweet little token, my pretty red rose.
While lonely I sigh for my darling’s bright eye,
Tl sing of my pretty red rose! (CHoRUvs.)

*This Chorus may be omitted at pleasure.

 

SSS TES

 

i eg re

ROSE OF KILLARNEY.

Copied by permission of Oxrver Drrson & Co., 451 Washington street,
Boston, owners of the copyright. Music and words, 40 cents.

Oh, promise to meet me when twilight is falling,
Beside the bright waters that slumber so fair;

Each bird in the meadow your name will be calling,
And ev’ry sweet rosebud will look for you there;

It’s morning and evening for you I am sighing,
The heart in my bosom is yours evermore;

Pll watch for you, darling, when daylight is dying—
Sweet rose of Killarney, Mavourneen Astore!

My heart is a nest that is robbed and forsaken
When gone from my sight is the girl that I love!
One word from your lips can my gladness awaken—
‘Your smile is the smile of the angels above!
Then meet me at twilight beside the bright waters,
The love that I’ve told you, I'd whisper once more;
Oh, sweetest and fairest of Erin’s fair daughters—
Dear rose of Killarney, Mavourneen Astore.

 

DON’T GET WEARY:

oR,
“Johnny, You’ve Been a Bad Boy.”

Copied by permission of Freprrick Biumn, 861 Broadway, New Yorz,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents,
Oh Johnny, you’ve been a bad boy,
For to treat your true love so,
And if you don’t stop your nonsense,
I’m gwine to let de old folks know;
When de sun rise in de mornin’,
Down by de yellow corn,
Dat’s de time de larks take warnin’,
When Dinah blows de horn!

CHorus—Oh, don’t get weary, don’t get weary, children,
Don’t get weary, bekase I’m gwine home.—(Repeat.)

Yes, Sally, I’ve been a bad boy,
And I ain’t gwine to bother you no more,
If you'll give your hand to me,
We'll float to old Virginny shore;
When de sun rise in de mornin’, ,
Down by de yellow corn,
Dat’s de time de larks take warnin’,
When Dinah blows de horn. (CHoRUvs.)

 

WHOA, EMMA!
ORIGINAL VERSION.
Published by E. H. Harprna, ae New York. Music and words,
cents,

I don’t mind telling you
I took my girl to Kew,

And Emma was the darling creature’s name.
While standing on the pier,
Some chaps at her did leer,

And one and all around her did exclaim:

CHoRUs—Whoa, Emma! Whoa, Emma!
Emma, you put me in quite a dilemma!
Oh, Emma! Whoa, Emma!
That’s what I heard from Putney to Kew.

I asked them “ what they meant?”
- When some one at me sent
An egg which nearly struck me in the eye;
The girl began to scream,
Saying, ‘Fred, what does this mean?”
Tasked again and this was their reply: (CHoRUS.)

I thought they’d never cease,
So shouted out, ‘ Police!”
And when he came he looked at me so sly.
The crowd they then me chaffed,
And said “I must be daft!”
And once again they all commenced to cry: (CHo.)

An old man said to me, .
“Young man, can’t you see
The joke?” And I looked at him with surprise, \
He said, ‘Don’t be put out,
It’s a saying got about,”
And then their voices seemed to rend the skies. (CHO.)

 

nana Seer

 

 

 
 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

ANGEL GABRIEL.

AS SUNG BY CALLENDER’S JUBILEE MINSTRELS.

Cre by permission of Otrver Drrson & Co., 451 Washington street,

Boston, owners of the copyright. Music and words, 30 cents.

Ob! my soul, my soul am a-gwine for to rest,
In de arms of de angel Gabriel,
And I climb on a hill and I look to de west,
And I cross over Jordan to de Lam’;
And [ll sit me down in de old arm-chair,
Oh! brudders, I will never tire,
And old Satan may sneeze, but I will take my ease,
And V’ll warm myself at de holy fire.

‘Yworus—I will shout, and I’ll dance,
And I’ll wake up early in de morn;
And I will arise, and rub my sleepy eyes,
When old Gabriel am blowing his horn.

Oh! my soul, my soul am a-gwine for to rest,
Gwine to rest just as sure as I am born,
And [ll look like a blackbird a sitt’n on a nest,
When old Gabri’l am blowing on de horn;
And [ll leave my clothes safe upon de shore,
For I’ll have new garments for to wear;
And I'll have bran-new shoes, and never get de blues,
And de angels dey will come and curl my hair. (CHO.)

Oh! I skan’t weep when I’m gwine for to leave,
So Tl pack up my band-box and I’ll go,

And my brethren, oh! barken and don’t ever grieve,
For I’m gwine up to glory very slow;

And Ill eat my meals, yes, three timesa day,
Oh! you bet your life I won’t be late,

And I’! have lots of fun, when you, my brethren come,
For I’m gwine to take de tickets at de gate. (CHo.)

 

COME, GANG AWA’ WI? ME.

Copied by permission of Firtu, Ponp & Co., Music Publishers, New York.

owners of the copyright.

Oh! come, my love, the moon shines bright,
Across yon rippling sea,

Come, let thy heart be gay and light,
And hasten, love, wi’ me.

*Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood tree,

Then let thy heurt be lighter yet,
Come, gang awa’ wi’ me.

"Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood tree,

Then let thy heart be lighter yet,
Come, gang awa’ wi’ me.

Oh! tarry not, my only love,
I’ve pledged myself to thee,

And by yon stars that shine above,
Forever thine I’ll be;

‘Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood tree,

Then say, ere yonder stars have set,
Thou'lt gang awa’ wi’ me.

"Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood treo,

Then say, ere yonder stars have set,
Thow’lt gang awa’ wi’ me.

Thy features are so fair, my love,
Thy mind is ever free,

Ob! let thy willing heart still prove
The love thou bear’st to me.

"Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood tree,

Then say, ere yonder stars have set,
Till gang awa’ wi’ ye.

*Tis mony a night sin’ first we met
Beneath the greenwood tree,

Then say, ere yonder stars have set,
Tll gang awa’ wi’ ye.

 

 

The Railroad Engineer’s Song.

I love—oh, how I love to ride

The Iron Horse in his fiery pride!

All other joys seem dull and vain,

When I lay my hand on his misty mane.

Fear him not! with his ribs of steel,

His flaming throat, and his crushing wheel;
And his smoky crest, so black and tall,
Like a pillar cover’d with a funeral pall.

Though his stamping shakes the solid ground,
And he scatters fire-flakes all around,

He’s gentle as jennet in lady’s rein

When he feels my hand on his misty mane,

Set me astride of the Iron Horse!

Full of fierce fury, speed, and force;

And hark how he pants, and blows, and snorts,
While my skill his eager bounding thwarts.

But when I’m mounted on his back,

And you see him coming—clear the track!
Nothing can check him on his course,

As he thunders along—my Iron Horse!

Then huzza! the Iron Horse for me!

The eagle scarce flies as fast as he;

He skims the valley and scours the plain,
And shakes, like a cloud, his misty mane.

He tracks the prairie, climbs the hill,

The wild woods echo his neighing shrill;

And when the fierce tempest lashes the shores,
Louder than even the storm he roars.

MOLLY BAWN.

Oh, 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.

Cuorus—Oh, Molly, etc.

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 maybe you were made for mine.

The wicked watch-dog here is snarling—~
He takes me for a thief, d’ye see?

For he knows Id steal you, Molly, darling,
And then transported I should be. (CHorus.)

 

CHEER, BOYS, CHEER.

Cheer, boys, cheer, no more of idle sorrow,
Courage, true hearts shall bear us on our way,
Hope points before, and shows a bright to-morrow,

Let us forget the darkness of to-day.
Then farewell, England, much as we may love thee,
We'll dry the tears that we have shed before;
‘We’ll not weep to sail in search of fortune,
Then farewell, England, farewell evermore.

 

Caorus—Then cheer, boys, cheer for England, mother England,

Cheer, boys, cheer for the willing strong right hand,
Cheer, boys, cheer, there’s wealth for honest labor,
Cheer, boys, cheer for the new and happy land.

Cheer, boys, cheer, the steady breeze is blowing,
To float us freely o’er the ocean’s breast,
And the world shall follow in the track we’re going;
The star of empire glitters in the West,
We've had a toil, and little to reward it,
But there shall plenty smile upon our pain,
And ours shall be the prairie and the forest,
And boundless meadows ripe with golden grain.

CHorus—Then cheer, boys, cheer for England, mother England,

Cheer, boys, cheer, united heart and hand; .
Cheer, boys, cheer, there’s wealth for honest labor,
Cheer, boys, cheer for the new and happy land.

\

 

 

 

 

—_—__—~

 

 

err

 
 

~~~

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

NINN

 

a

 

 

 

 

Poteet tage ae Fem. aides ae Maho OE as Sok dae oe oe

 

tnd

 
 
   
    
 
  
 
   

 

I Knew that I Was Dreaming.

Published by E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New York,
Music and words, 10 cents,

Dreams are the strangest things in life,
So fanciful, yet real,
Sometimes depicting scenes of strife,
In others they reveal
Such happiness, that were it not
Some sign the spell was breaking,
That we were sleeping we’d forget,
And tancy we were waking.
Some strange dreams I have had of late,
My brain with thoughts been teeming,
And if you'll listen I will state
What I’ve seen when I’ve been dreaming,

I dreamt I saw a race-course
And a crowd assembled there;

To watch each noble race-horse
As toward the Post they tear;

I dreamt there was no welching—
But all were acting fair;

And I thought there was no filching
Or card sharping I declare;

Well, soon the race it did begin,
The colors they were streaming,

And I thought each jockey tried to win,
Then I knew I must be dreaming.

I dreamt I saw a Postman
Who was hurrying on his rounds,
Of letters he’d a host, man,
And so nimbly on he bounds;
I thought it just struck eight o’clock,
The maid the steps was cleaning,
And I thought he gave a gentle knock,
Then I knew I must be dreaming; .
He was so curiously arrayed,
The buttons bright were gleaming,
And some one said he was well paid,
Then I knew I must be dreaming.

I dreamt I saw an area gate,
And a Bobby standing near,
A servant maid with mincing gait,
Come forth to fetch some beer;
I saw him kiss her on the sly,
So lifelike it was seeming,
But when he refused some rabbit pie,
Then I knew I must be dreaming;
A row commenced close by there when
For Police they were screaming,
He came when he was wanted,
Then I knew I must be dreaming.

I dreamt I saw a music hall,
And a waiter on bis way
To serve some gent within the stalls
With something on a tray.
I saw him hand politely
The glass with liquor streaming,
But he went away without the fee,
Then I knew must be dreaming;
I thought that every comic song
Was full of wit and meaning—
I felt convinced that I was wrong
And knew I must be dreaming,

 

AULD LANG SYNE.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of Auld Lang Syne ?

Cuorus—For Auld Lang Syne, my dear,
For Auld Lang Syne;

‘We'll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
For Auld Lang Syne.

 

We twa ha’e run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;

But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
Sin Auld Lang Syne. (CHoRUS.)

We twa ha’e paidlet i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid ha’e roar’d,
Sin Auld Lang Syne. (CHoRUvs.)

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
An’ gie’s a hand o’ thine;

An’ we'll tak’ a right gude willie waug ht,
For Auld Lang Syne. (CHORUS.)

And surely you'll be your pint stoup,
And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
For Auld Lang Syne. (CHORUS.)

 

“ CLICQUOT.”

Published by_E. H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, New York.
Music and words, 10 cents.

Some like Seltzer mixed with sherry,
Others nothing but Moselle;
Some on bitter beer get merry,
All those things are very well;
Some drink anything that’s handy,
Wine, Ale, Spirits or all three;
They may keep their beer and brandy,
Clicquot is the drink for me.

SpokEn—Yes, Clicquot is the wine forme. Pop goes the cork,
and as the light golden nectar sparkles in the glass I sing—

CHorus—Clicquot, Clicquot, that’s the stuff to make you jolly!
Clicquot, Clicquot, soon will banish melancholy!
Clicquot, Clicquct, drinking other wine is folly!
Clicquot, Cliquot, that’s the drink for me!

Tom, an ancient pal of mine, sirs,
Dines with me three times a week
Where they bring the list of wine, sirs,
Well he knows the one I’ll seek,

Past the Clarets do I scurry,
Down the list I quickly go,
Number forty, waiter, hurry,
Bring me quickly Veuve Clicquot.

oa waiter, you ought to know that I always drink—
HORUS.

When we drive down to the races,
P’rhaps we do, folks often do,
Then of course we pull long faces
As the numbers come in view;
But I soon dispel the damper,
Joy usurps the place of woe,
When I pull out from the hamper
Brilliant, sparkling, gay Clicquot.

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
   
 
 
 
  

Spoxmn—And I say to them all, never trust to horses again, but
lay all your money out on—(CHORUS.)

At a picnic, tho’ the custard
Gets mixed up with pigeon pie;
Tho’ the tarts be full of mustard,
Is the wine all right? I cry!
Clicquot quickly makes us jolly,
Lovely eyes still brighter grow;
‘ Who would then be melancholy?
Fascinating, bright Clicquot.

Sroxen—And what a splendid ee to pop the question,
amid the popping of corks; and, if you don’t know what to say,
whisper in her ear—(CHORUS.)

Should I wake up in the morning
Wond’ring how I got to bed,
Choicest food at breakfast scorning,
Feeling boil’d about the head;
Then I call for my restorer,
And I drink—while bubbles glow,
To the widow—lI adore her,
And her wine, the bright Clicquot. (CHoRUS.)

 

 
 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

ORONO

Landlord, Fill your Flowing Bowl.

Come, landlords, fill your flowing bowl
Until it doth run over,

Come, landlords, fill your flowing bowl
Until it doth run over.

For to-night we’ll merry, merry be,

For to-night we’ll merry, merry be,

For to-night we’ll merry, merry be,
To-morrow we'll get sober.

The man that drinks good whisky punch,
And goes to bed right mellow,

The man that drinks good whisky punch,
And goes to bed right mellow,

Lives as he ought to live,

Lives as he ought to live,

Lives as he ought to live,
And dies a jolly good fellow.

The man who drinks cold water pure,
And goes to bed quite sober,

The man who drinks cold water;pure,
And goes to bed quite sober,

Falls as the leaves do fall,

Falls as the leaves do fall,

Falls as the leaves do fall,
So early in October.

But he who drinks just what he likes,
And getteth ‘ half-seas over,”

But he who drinks just what he likes,
And getteth ‘“ half-seas over,”

Will live until he dies, perhaps,

Will live until he dies, perhaps,

Will live until he dies, perhaps,
And then lie down in clover.

 

A GOOD TIME COMING

There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;

There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer;

We may not live to see the day,

But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming;

Cannon-balls may aid the truth,
But thought’s a weapon stronger;

We'll win our battles by its aid,

% Wait a little longer.

There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming,

There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer.

There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;

There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer;

The pen shall supersede the sword,

And right, not might, shall be the lord,
In the good time coming;

Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged. stronger,

The proper impulse has been given,
Wait a little longer.

There’s a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming,

There’s a good time coming, boys,
Wait a little longer.

 

THE NIGHTINGALE’S TRILL.

Nightingale, nightingale, trill thou thy lay,

Shadows are stealing o’er the bright day; ‘
Nightingale, nightingale, why is thy voice

Ne’er in the sunshine heard to rejoice?

CHorus—But be it by day, or at eve, as you will,
Song-bird of night, I would hear thy sweet trill.

Nightingale, nightingale, lov’st thou eve’s star,
Shining so brightly in regions so far?
Nightingale, nightingale, for its pure ray,
Pour forth thy praises till dawn of day. (CHo.)

 

~~

 

on neg

 

 

 

aan

CO-CA-CHE-LUNK.

Copied by permission of Wa. A. Ponn, Music Publisher, New York, owner
of the copyright.
When we first came on this campus,
Freshmen we, as gréen as grass;
Now, as grave and reverend seniors,
Smile we over the verdant past.

Cxorvus—Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk -che-la-ly,
Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk-che-lay,
Co-ca-che-lunk-che-lunk-che-la-ly,
Hi! ob chick-a-che-lunk-che lay.

We have fought the fight together,
We have struggled side by side;
Broken is the bond that held us—
We must cut our sticks and slide. (CHoRUS.)

Some will go to Greece or Hartford,
Some to Norwich or to Rome;
Some to Greenland’s icy mountains—
More, perhaps, will stay at home. (CHORUS.)

When we come again together,
Vigintennial to pass,
Wives and children all included—
‘Won’t we be an uproarious class? (CHORUS.)

 

POOR JACK.

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d’ye see,
*Bout danger, and fear, and the like;
A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me,
And it ain’t a little I'll strike:
Though the tempest top-gallant-masts smack smooth should
smite;
And shiver each splinter of wood,
Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouze every thing
tight,
And under reef-foresail we'll scud;
Avast, nor don’t think me a milksop so soft,
To be taken for trifles aback:
For, they say, there’s a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

Why, I heard the good chaplain palaver, one day,
About souls, heaven, merey, and such;

And, my timbers, what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, ‘twas all one to me as high Dutch:

But he said how a sparrow can’t founder, d’ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And many fine things that prove clearly to me,
That providence takes us in tow;

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms e’er so oft
Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft;
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

I said to our Poll, for you see, she would cry,
When last we weighed anchor for sea,

What argufies sniveling and piping your eye?
Why, what a blowed fool you must be!

Can’t you see, the world’s wide, and there’s room for us all,
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to Old Davy I should go, friend Poll,
Why you never will hear of me more.

What then? all’s a hazard—come, don’t be so soft,
Perhaps I may, laughing, come back;

For d’ye see, there’s a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

D’ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship; ; o

And with her brave the world, without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor’s atrip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, tides, and ends,
Naught’s a trouble from duty that springs;

For my heart is my Poll’s, and my rhino’s my friend’s,
And, as for my life, ’tis the king’s.

Even when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback;

That the same little cherub that sits up aloft,
Will look out asnug berth for poor Jack.

 

 

 

 
 

 

00

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

HOOP-LA!

Published by E. H. Harpine, 229 Bowery, New York
Music and words, 10 cents.

Listen to my tale of woe:
At a circus long ago,
Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!
Round the ring there used to ride,
One who was my joy and pride,
Hoop la! Hoop-la: Hoop-la! ho!
“Ma’m’selle de Cherrytoes,” that’s what the bill said,
Encore a hundred times, I with a will said;
Such beauty ne’er was seen,
All red, and blue, and green,
Outside a piebald, spotted steed.

Cxorvus—Round the ring she used to go,
Like an arrow from a bow,
Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!
And my head was in a whirl,
Thro’ this darling little girl,
Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!

Pretty was the little head,

Musical was the voice that said,

Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!

And I thought I’d make my bride,

Her who in the circus cried,

Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!

I bought bouquets for her, eighteen or twenty,
And at the stage-door left presents in plenty;
Kid gloves and pretty rings,

Pit stalls and other things,

Took all my quarter’s salary. (CHORUS.)

I was mad, beyond a doubt,
In my dreams I shouted out:
Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!
Said the doctor that they called,
“What's the matter?’ and I bawled:
Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!
Said I ‘‘ I'll speak to her, tell her I love her,
And if she cares for me, soon I’ll discover.”
So to the circus I rushed off, and presently
Out stepped the fair Miss Cherrytoes. (CHORUS.)

“Darling, dearest one,” said I,

“iver since I heard you cry:

Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!

I have been in love with you,

Fly with me this instant, do,”

Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Hoop-la! ho!

‘Sorry am I,” said she, ‘‘ that you adore me,

For I’ve my husband here, now waiting for me.”

Up stepped the brutal clown and quickly knocked me down,
My dream has flown for ever. (CHORUS.)

 

ane ee A a a eg RP tee gE ge ag et la NS a i pb oR Sigh ee Se onl ape orn an te A EN Se Se

Under the Willow She’s Sleeping.
Copied by permission of Firru, Ponp & Co., owners of the copyright.

Under the willow she’s laid with care—
Sung a lone mother while weeping,
Under the willow, with golden hair,
My little one’s quietly sleeping.

Cuorus—Fair, fair, and golden hair,
Sung a lone mother while weeping;
Fair, fair, and golden hair,
Under the willow she’s sleeping.

Under the willow no songs are heard,
Near where my darling lies dreaming;
Naught but the voice of some far-off bird,
Where life and its pleasures are beaming. (CHO.)

Under the willow by night and day,
Sorrowing ever I ponder;
Free from its shadowy, gloomy ray,

Ah! never again can she wander. (CHORUS.)

Under the willow I breathe a prayer,
Longing to linger forever 3
Near to my angel with golden hair
In lands where there’s sorrowing never. (CHO.)

HT

 

 

 

They Borrow, but Never Return!

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprna, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.
As we pass, day by day, thro’ life’s busy highway,
There are many strange people we see; j
And the worst, I conclude, are the ones who intrude
On our charity, be it so free
For they seem to depend upon what we will lend,
Not a dollar they honestly earn;
Yet they prosper and thrive, and the way they survive
Is, to borrow and never return!

Cuorus—yYes, they borrow but never return,
So of course it is easy to learn.
There are some folks that live, not to spend or to give,
But to borrow and never return!

If you lay up in store a few dollars or more,
Upon this you can truly depend,

They will sure find it out, and they’ll chase you about
Till they foree you your money to lend.

If you doubtingly say, ‘‘I’m afraid you won’t pay,”
Such ideas of course they will spurn;

And you'll find out some day, I am right when I say,
That they borrow, but never return! (CHORUS.)

In the fashion they dress, and their manners express
They have plenty to eat and to wear;

But they’d be in the shade if their bills were all paid,
And the poorhouse would have them in care.

*Tis no wonder they smile when they pass you in style,
It is better to beg than to earn,

While it’s true, as a rule, they will deem you a fool,
‘When they borrow, to never return. (CHORUS.)

——_+ « —__

SWEET BY AND BY.

Copied by permission of Oviver Dirson & Co., 451 Washington street,
Boston, owners of the copyright. Music and words, 40 cents.
There’s a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar,
For the Father waits over the way,
To prepare us a dwelling-place there.

CxHorus—In the sweet by and by, ;
We shall meet on that beautiful shore,
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore,

We shall sing on that beautiful shore,
The melodious songs of the blest,
And our spirits shall sorrow no more—
Not a sigh for the blessing of rest. (CHORUS.)

To our bountiful Father above,
We will offer the tribute of praise,
For the glorious gift of his love,
And the blessings that hallow our days! (CHorvus.}

ti

LAND OF MY BIRTH.

Farewell to the home of my childhood,
Farewell to the cottage and vine,
I go to the land of the stranger,
Where pleasure alone will be mine.
When life’s fleeting joy is o'er,
And earth again mingles with earth,
I can rest in the land of the stranger,
As well as in that of my birth.

Yes, these were my feelings at parting,
But absence soon altered their tone,
The cold hand of sickness came o’er me,
And I wept o’er my sorrow alone,

 

No friend came near me to cheer me,

No parent to soften my grief,
Nor brother, nor sister were near me,

And strangers could give no relief.
‘Tis true, that it matters but little,

Tho’ living, the thought makes one pine,
Whate’er befall the poor relic,

When the spirit has flown from its shrine;
But, oh! when life’s journey is over,

And earth again mingles with earth,
Lamented or not, still my wish is,

To rest in the land of my birth. '

 

 

 
 

   

 

—_—_~_—_

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. 9

 

 

|
|

 

Why Can’t I Have a Beau?

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, New York,
owner of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents,

I think it’s very cruel—
Now here I'm seventeen,
And have not got a lover,

A “beau” of course I mean.
There’s lots of handsome fellows,
Who smile and flirt with me;
But mamma says, when older,
Tis time enough you see!

CHorus—Why can’t I have a beau?—
I’m sure I’d like to know!
I’m sure it’s wrong to wait so long—
Why can’t I have a beau?

I never go to parties
Without papa, you know,
Who watches me so closely,
Oh! ain’t it awful slow ?
He takes me home so early,
While other girls they stay,
And with some charming fellow
They pass the hours away. (CHORUS.)

 

If I should go a-walking

And meet some une I knew,
And he should see me safely

At home, then say, adieu!
If I should ask him kindly

A moment to come in,
Papa would say ’twas awful !

And mamma, such a sin! (CHORUS.)

I’m growing quite discouraged,
I am, upon my word;
I won’t be any longer
Kept shut up like a bird.
This world was made for pleasure,
Then I am bound to try
( And see a little of it,
| That some folks would deny.

++

Roll Out! Heave Dat Cotton.

Copied by permission of J. E. Drrson & Co., Philadelphia, owners of the
copyright. Music and words, 30 cents,

I hear dat bell a-ringin’,
I see de Captain stand,
Boat done blowed her whistle,
I know she’s gwine to land;
I hear de mate a-callin’,
“ Go git out de plank,
Rush out wid de head-line,
And tie her to de bank.”

CxHorus—Roll out! heave dat cotton,
Roll out! heave dat cotton,
Roll out! heave dat cotton,

Ain’t got long to stay.

It’s early in de mornin’

Before we see de sun,
* Roll aboard dat cotton,

An’ git back in a run.”

De Captain’s in a hurry,
I know what he means,

Wants to beat de Sherlock,
Down to New Orleans.

(CHoRUS.)

 

 

(CHORUS.)

I hear dat mate a-shoutin’,
An’ see him on de shore,

Hurry, boys! be lively,
Ain’t but fifty more;

We ain’t got time to tarry
Here at dis cotton pile,

We gwine to git another,
Below here forty mile,

We done took on de cotton,
Shove out from de shore,
Sailing down de river,
We gwine to land for more;
When you hear de whistle,
An’ de big bell ring,
‘We gwine to land for cotton,
Roll out, boys, an’ sing. (C#HORUS.)

(Cuorvs.)

 

a

 

 

 

 

TE .

THE BUTCHER BOY.

WRITTEN BY F.C. PERRY,
ArRn:— Susannah, don’t you cry.”

Iam a merry butcher boy, with sleeves and apron blue,

I sell my chops and lick my own, when pretty maids I view,
And often like the gamester, I when dealing, cut away;
For if I haven’t got a deuce, I’ve mostly got a tray.

Spoxen— Buy! buy!” “Tsay, Mister Butcher, have you got
a spare rib?” ‘No: I haven’t got one to spare. » “Well, y
needn’t be so sharp, Mister Sharpskins. Have you a pig’s head?”
“You are not in want of that.” “ Why, sir?’ “Because you have
one already.” “‘ Thank you, sir.” ‘Oh, you’re very welcome.”

CHoRUS—So, good people, the truth to you I'll tell,
If you call at our shop, we’re sure to use you well,

‘Tis true, I stick the lambs and sheep, and blink at master’s
niece;

The ladies I supply with skirts, and bone my master’s grease;

And Bull, my master, wears the horns, for Missus, by the by,

At Mister Veal, the slaughterman, ‘throws a nice ‘sheep's eye.’

Spoken—‘‘ Well, Mister Horseback, my jockey, what's for you?”
“Well, I want a nice saddle.” ‘“ There youare, sir.” ‘‘ Well, to
tell you the truth, Mister Butcher, I don’t like the look of ie” =
“Then, sir, you are no judge of horseflesh, if you are a jockey:
but if you want a good steak, here you are.” “« ‘What the deuce
do you think I want a steak for?” * Because, you jockeys are often
running for one. That's all, sir.” (CHORUS.)

My life is hanging on a hook, that’s coming to the point,

For the ladies say I have no ‘pluck, tho’ I so often leave a joint.
But I think I will a soldier be, and join the foremost ranks,
For I understand the sticking ‘part, and cutting up the flanks.

Spoxen—‘‘ Well, Missus Rolls, what’s for you, this morning?”
“ Well, I hardly know, for my husband’s a baker.” ‘‘ Well then,
you can’t do better than have this sweet-bread. Cook it nicel
with a few floury potatoes, and if he’s nearly a dead man he'll
make a hearty meal. There you are, marm; sold again, and got
the money.” (Cuorvs. )

I produce, like authors, many tails, and with ribs I often part;
With my kidneys I often stray, and with them leave my heart.
I chop my joints and knuckles too, and if people saucy speak,

I bid them leave the meat alone, and go on with their cheek,

Spoken—“ Well, Mr. Frenchman, what’s for you?’ “TI shall
so vant de lump of ‘meat, fine beef, all solid flesh.” ‘‘ The devil you
will; why I should have thought that being a Frenchman, you’d
fancy a Bony part.” “Vary good, vary good, Mistere Bull, but I
like the meaty part to eat, and the bony part to look at.” (Cuo. )

The lame I serve with tidy legs, which look well when they’re
drest;

To tongues I often help the dumb, and part with my last breast.

Besides, I'm of the fleshy kind, and a killing chap I know;

My bratin is good, and Shakspeare says, ‘’Tis meet it should be

Suieeeds really I must ‘cut my _stick,’ for perha
master is cutting about ater me. Theref fore I must cut off, or os
might cut acquaintance; and such a cut in these cutting times
would be the cut direct, ‘Therefore, good-bye, bye, bye. (CHORUS.)

 

WAITING FOR PAPA.

Copied by permission of O, Drrson & Co., Music Publishers, 451 Wash-
ington street, Boston, owners of the copyright.
We have put away the playthings,
Cleared the trinkets from the floor,
Mamie’s doll is in the cradle,
My old horse behind the door;
With our tidy bands and faces,
All impatiently we wait,
For the sound of papa’s coming,
And his footsteps at the gate.

CHoRUS—We have put away the playthings,
Cleared the trinkets from the floor,
Mamie’s doll is in the cradle,
My old horse behind the door.

Little ones, when all the luster
Of your locks shall change to snow,
When the light shall all be faded
From those eyes that sparkle so,
May you lay your every idol,
All earth’s playthings gladly by,
And as fondly greet our Father,
When he cometh in the sky. (CHoRUS.)

 

 

=

 

 
 

 

 

410 : THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

RIBS RGR LRPSI AS

GAY AND HAPPY.

—- IIa

Copied by permission of Hunry McCarrrey, Music Publisher, Baltimore

Md., owner of the copyright.

I’m the girl that’s gay and happy,
Wheresoe’er I chance to be,

And V’ll do my best to please you,
If you will but list to me:

So let the wide world wag as it will,
Vl be gay and happy still,

Gay and happy, gay and happy,
T’ll be gay and happy still.

Cuorvus,—So let the wide world wag as it will,
We'll: be gay and happy still,
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
We'll be gay and happy still.

Ienvy neither great nor wealthy,
Poverty I ne’er despise
Let me be contented, healthy,
And the boon I’ll dearly prize:
So let the wide world wag as it will
I'll be gay and happy still,
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
Tl be gay and happy still. (CHoRus.)

The rich have cares we little know of,
All that glitters is not gold,
Merit’s seldom made a show of,
And true worth is rarely told:
So let the wide world wag as it will,
Till be gay and happy still,
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
Vl be gay and happy still. (CHorus.)

If the President should sit beside me,
I’d sing my song with usual glee;
Fools might laugh and knaves deride me,
Still ’'d gay and happy be:
So let the wide world wag as it will,
Pll be gay avd happy still,
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
Pll be gay and happy still. (CHorvs.)

Icare for all, yet care for no man—
Those that do well need not fear;
I love a man and like a woman—
What else makes this life so dear?
So let the wide world wag as it will,
Dll be gay and happy still,
Gay and happy, gay and happy,
TU be gay and happy still. (CHorvs.)

 

THE HAZEL DELL.

Copied by permission of Ww. Hatt & Son, 543 Broadway,
publishers of the music and owners of the copyrigh

In the Hazel Dell my Nelly’s sleeping,
Nelly loved so long,

And my lonely, lonely watch ’m keeping,
Nelly lost and gone;

Here in moonlight often we have wandered,
Through the silent shade,

Now where leafy branches drooping,
Downward little Nelly’s laid.

CHorus—AIl alone my watch I’m keeping,
In the Hazel Dell,
For my darling Nelly’s near me sleeping,
Nelly dear, farewell,

In the Hazel Dell my Nelly’s sleeping,
Where the flowers wave,

And the silent stars are nightly weeping
O’er poor Nelly’s grave.

Hopes that once my bosom fondly cherished,
Smile no more for me,

Every dream of joy, alas, has perished,

_ Nelly dear, with thee. (CHoRvs.)

Now I’m weary, friendless and forsaken,
Watching here alone,

Nelly, thou no more wilt fondly cheer me,
With thy loving tone.

Yet forever shall thy gentle image,
In my memory dwell,

And my tears thy lonely grave shall moisten,
Nelly dear, farewell. (CHoRus.)

 

gree York,

 

 

Oe

THE VACANT CHAIR.

Copied by permission of Roor & Capy, Music Publishers, Chicago, own

ers of the copyright.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him,
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him,
While we breathe our evening prayer;
When a year ago we gathered,
Joy was in his mild blue eye;
But a golden cord is severed,
And our hopes in ruin lie,

CuoRUS—We shall meet, but we shall miss him,
There will be one vacant chair;
We shall linger to caress him,
When we breathe our evening prayer.

At our fireside, sad and lonely,
Often will the bosom swell,

-At remembeance of the story,
When our noble Willie fell;

How he strove to bear our banner,
Through the thickest of the fight,

And uphold our country’s honor,

In the strength of manhood’s might. (CHoRUS.)

True, they tell us wreaths of glory
Evermore will deck his brow,
But this soothes the anguish only,
Sweeping o’er our heart-strings now;
Sleep to-day, oh, early fallen,
In thy green and narrow bed,
Dirges from the pine and cypress

Mingle with the tears we shed. (CHoRvs.)

TOM BOWLING.

Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew,

No more he’ll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broached him to.

Tom’s form was of the manliest beauty,
Tom’s heart was kind and soft,

Faithful below he did his duty,
But now he’s gone aloft.

 

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare;

His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he’d sing, so blithe and jolly,
Ah! many’s the time and oft!

But mirth is turn’d to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,

Shall give, to call life’s crew together,
The word to pipe all hands.

Thus death, who tars and kings dispatches,
In vain Tom’s life has doffed,

For though his body’s under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

 

I MUSE ON THEE.

Copied by permission of Firrn, Son & Co., Music Publishers, owners of

the copyright.

I muse on thee when morning springs
Upon the purple hills,

Or when the summer twilight brings
The music of the rills.

And thou art present in my dream,
Though sundered from me far,

Till fades away the weary beam
Of evening sentry star.

I scarcely tell my soul the tale,
That I have dared to love,

I trust it not upon the gale,
Nor breathe it to the grove.
‘Yet com’st thou ever in the dream, .

Where holier musings are,
Till prayer and praise to heaven but see
To seek love’s brighter star.

 

 

; an

 

 
 

 

 

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

44

 

 

PULL DOWN YOUR VEST!

Published by E, H. Harprne, 229 Bowery, New York.
Music and words, 10 cents.

I’m a gay married man, I’ve a nice little wife—
The days I went courting were the happiest in life;
We would kiss and caress, our hearts full of love,
While the old folks lay sleeping, in bed up above.
One night as we sat talking sweet, in the dark,
My arm round her waist, feeling gay as a lark—
She said, don’t go, darling, you’re really divine!

I pulled out my watch and said, dearest, it’s time.

SpokEN—When, laying her hand on By pronleer, and looking
me he in the face, with a merry twinkle in her eye, she re-
marked:

Cxorvus—Pull down your vest, pull down your vest—
Papa is coming and you know the rest!
Altho’ we’re engag’d, I think it is best,
Before he comes in, love, to pull down your vest!

Young lovers will sigh, they will bill, and will coo—
Just like their ancestors once used to do;

They will swear by the stars and the heavens above,
That naught in this wide world can equal their love!
But, oh, gentle maid, when enraptur’d in bliss,

In the arms of your lover, just bear in mind this:

As you stand in the door ’neath the moon’s gentle ray,
At his last parting kiss—just remember to say: (CHO.)

My life has been checker’d by joy and by woe,
But I look on the bright side wherever I go!
Down life’s rugged stream I cheerfully glide,
And court my dear wife at our own fireside;
And then of a night when I go for a stroll,

She gives me a parting embrace as of old;

As I put on my hat she comes to the door

And says, full of mischief, the same as of yore:

Cxorvus-—Pull down your vest, pull down your vest,
Somehow it gets rumpled whene’er we caress!
And people will notice and talk, at the best,
So before you go out, love, just pull down your vest!

 

RHINE VINE SHARLEY.

SUNG BY SOL SMITH RUSSELL WITH BERGER FAMILY.

Copied by permission of O. Drrson & Co., Music Publishers, 451 Washing-
ton street, Boston, owners of the copyright.

Vat gare I for a den-cend pie,
No madder of id’s made oud of cheese,
So long vat I have mine goot Rhine vine,
Vl laugh und do just vat I blease;
Never gare I how de dimes may go,
Zinzinnati, ob, hi-o!
Bully goot Rhine vine does freely flow,
Oh, I oh, I oh.

Cuorus-—Rhine vine Sharley vas my name,
Und from Germany I game;
Ven I go oud obon a spree,
Drinking Rhine vine yust suids me.

De beoples may of lager dalk,
Und dold you dot it vill make you stoud,
Venever I drink a keg of id,
Id makes me sick of my stomach oud;
Down at a pank vat dey gall ‘‘ Faro,”
Ob, I oh, oh, I oh,
Bully old Rhine vine is dere I know,
Oh, I oh, I ob.

 

(CHoRvs.)

Vite vines are vite, pegause dere vite,
De red indeed is alzo red,

But Rhine vine is de sduff, you know,
Pegause id don’t fly indo your head;
Some beoble god drunk on visky I know,

Oh, I oh, oh, I oh,
Next day to de station house dey go,
Oh, I oh, I oh. (CHoRus)

Ve SSS Oe OT™r>’?vwOWwO820 0 0 ao

 

Who Will Care for Mother Now ?

Copied by permission of Sawyer & THompson, Music Publishers, owners

of the copyright.

Why am I so weak atid weary,
See how faint my heated breath,
All around to me seems darkness,
Tell me, comrades, is this death?
Ah! now well I know your answer;
To my fate I’ll meekly bow,
If you'll only tell me truly,
Who will care for mother now?

Cxorus—Soon with angels I'll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow,
Ihave for my country fallen,
Who will care for mother now?

Who will comfort her in sorrow,
Who will dry the falling tear,
Gently smooth her wrinkled forehead,
Who will whisper words of cheer?
Even now I think I see her
Kneeling, praying for me—how
Can I leave her in her anguish?
Who will care for mother now? (CHorus.)

Let this knapsack be my pillow,
And my mantle be the sky,
Hasten comrades to the battle,
I will like a soldier die.
Soon with angels I’ll be marching,
With bright laurels on my brow,
I have for my country fallen,
Who will care for mother now? (CHORUS.)

 

HEATHER JOCK.

Heather Jock’s noo awa,

Heather Jock’s noo awa,

The muircock noo may crously craw,
Since Heather Jock’s noo awa.

Heather Jock was stark and grim

Fought wi’ a’ would fecht wi’ him,

Swank and supple, sharp and thin,

Fine for gaun against the win’.

Tawnie face and tousie hair,

In his cleading unco bare,

Curs’d and swore whene’er he spoke,

Nane could equal Heather Jock. (CHorvs.)

Jock kent. ilka bore and bole,

Could creep through a wee bit hole.

Quietly pilfer eggs and cheese,

Dunts 0’ bacon, skeps 0’ bees;

Sip the kirn, and steal the butter,

Nail the hens without a flutter;

Na! the watchful wily cock

Durstna craw for Heather Jock. (CHORUS.)

Eppie Blaikie lost her gown,

She coft sae dear at borough town;

Sandy Tamson’s Sunday wig

Left the house to rin the rig;

Jenny Baxter’s blankets a’

Took a thocht to slip awa’,

And a’ the weans’ bit prited frocks—_

Wha was thief but Heather Jock. (CHoRUS.)

Jock was nae religious youth,

For at the priest he thraw’d his mouth;
He wadna say a grace, nor pray,

But played his pipes on Sabbath-day;
Robb’d the kirk o’ bane and book,
Everything would lift—he took;

He didna leave the weather-cock,

Sic a thief was Heather Jock. (CHoRUS.)

Nane wi’ Jock had ony say

At the neive or cudgel play,

Jock for bolt nor bar e’er stayed,

Till ance the jail his courage laid;

Then the judge, without delay,

Sent him off to Botany Bay, :

And bade him mind the laws he broke,

And never mair play Heather Jock. (CHorvs.)

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

nae

 

 

 

42 THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

 

“CROOKED WHISKY”

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprine, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.
Last night I went out with an ould friend of mine,
To have little fun and divarsion,
Our humor was good and the weather was fine,
And we both were dress’d out in the fashion;
We met ould McGee and he axed us to take
A dhrop at his house, and we took it—
But I very soon found as I staggered around
That the murtherin whisky was crooked.

Corvus - The whisky was crooked, and sure when I took it
I thought it was lovely and some of the best,
But it soon made me stumble and take a grand tumble,
That crooked ould whisky that’s made in the West.

Our heads they grew dizzy, our feet very busy,
And soon I got very excited;
I lay on the flure with me back to the dure,
While McGee danced around me delighted;
I wanted to fight with the divil himself,
I up with me fist and I shook it,
But all { could do was to shout ‘‘ hip huroo!”
For meself and the whisky was crooked. (CHORUS.)

I thought I was dead when I picked up me head,
And I shouted for something to cheer me,
But I shouted in vain and I groaned with the pain—
There was nobody ‘round for to hear me;
With a run and a jump sure I wint for the pump,
And me head I stuck into the bucket,
When | vowed and I swore that thro’ life evermore,
I would shun all the whisky that’s crooked. (CHORUS.)

 

FRENCH AND ENGLISH.
T. Hoop.

Never go to France,
Unless you know the lingo—
If you do, like me,
You will repent, by jingo!
Staring like a fool,
And silent as a mummy,
There I stood, alone,
A nation with a dummy.
Never go, etc.

Chaises stood for chairs,
They christen letters Billies,
They call their mothers mares,
And their daughters fillies,
Strange it was to hear,
Vl tell you what’s a good ’un,
They call their leather queer,
And half their shoes are wooden.
| Never go, etc.
Bigns I had to make,
For every little notion—
Limbs all going like
A telegraph in motion. '
For wine I reel’d about,
To show my meaning fully,
And made a pair of horns,
To ask for “‘ beef and bully.”
Never go, etc.

Moo! I cried for milk;
I got my sweet things snugger—
When | kiss’d Jeannette,
’Twas understood for sugar.
If I wanted bread,
My jaws I set agoing;
And usk’d for new-laid eggs
© By clapping hands and crowing.
Never go, etc,
If I wish’d to ride, :
T'll tell you how I got it—
On my stick astride,
I made believe to trot it.
Then their cash was strange,
~ It bored me ev'ry minute,
Now here’s a hog to change,
How many sows are in it?
Never go, etc. “

 

See

 

 

JULIANA JONES.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harprne, 220 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.

Her name was Juliana Jones—
I never shall forget her,

She was a most bewitching girl,
I thought there was no better;

Of course I fell in love with her,
And in the sweetest tones,

I vowed I could not live without
My Juliana Jones!

Cxorvus—Oh! Juliana, Juliana Jones,
Why did you go and leave me all alone?
Here I’m sighing, and with love I’m nearly dying,
All because I fell in love with Juliana Jones.

I met her in the park one day,
Along with her young sister—
We rambled in a friendly way,
And parting, then I kissed her!
The kiss was like a thrill of love
All running through my bones,
It won my heart and made me dream
Of Juliana Jones. (CHORUS.)

I call upon her twice a week,
And occupied the parlor;

I asked her hand and she replied:
You’d better talk to father.

Her parents both my wish denied,
Their hearts were hard as stones,

And now I’m here lamenting for
My Juliana Jones. (CHOoRUS.)

agen ead a

BARBARA ALLAN.

It was in and about the Martinmas time,
‘When the green leaves were a-fallin’,

That Sir John Graham, in the west countrie,
Fell in love wi’ Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town,
To the place where she was dwallin’,

Ob, haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan!

Oh, hooly, hooly, rase she up
To the place where she was lyin’,
And when she drew the curtain by,
‘Young man, I think ye’re dyin’.

It’s oh, I’m sick, ’'m very, very sick,
And it’s a’ for Barbara Allan.

Oh, the better for me ye’se never be,
Though your heart’s blude were a-spillin’,

Oh, dinna ye mind, young man, she said,
When ye was in the tavern a-drinkin’,

That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slichtit Barbara Allan ?

He turned his face unto the wa’,
And death was with him dealin’:

Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a’,
And be kind to Barbara Allan.

And slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly, slowly left him,

And sighin’, said she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She hadna gane a mile but twa,
‘When she heard the deid-bell ringin’,
And every jow that the deid-bell gied,
It cried, Woe to Barbara Allan.

Oh, mother, mother, mak’ my bed,
And mak’ it saft and narrow,
Since my love died for me to-day,

I'll die for him to-morrow.

SESS eee>sess—= a se aeaeeaennn sO ay»y»> Ee

 

 
b.

 

 

ee

 

SS

THE SINGER’S LIBRARY. ~48

 

 

 

 

SON OF A GAMBOLIER.

Oh, Mary had a little lamb
Whose fleece was white as snow,

And every where that Mary went,
The lamb was sure to go. |

It followed her to school one day,
Which was against the rule,

For it made the children laugh and play

a To see a lamb at school.

CHorvus—Come, join my humble ditty,

From Tippery town I steer;

Like ev’ry honest fellow
I take my lager beer;
Like every honest fellow

I drink my whisky clear,

I'm a rambling rake of poverty,

The son of a Gambolier, the son of a, son of a, son
of a, son of a, son of a Gambolier, the son of a,
son of a, son of a, son of a Gambolier.

Like every honest fellow,

I drink my whisky clear,

Pm a rambling rake of poverty,

The son of a Gambolier.

And so the teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near, ;
And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appear.
* What makes the lamb love Mary so?”
The eager children cry;
“Cause Mary loves the lamb, you know,”
The teacher did reply. (CHORUS.)

 

THE MIDNIGHT BUGLE.

Copied by permission of 8S. Bramyarp & Son, Music Publishers, Cleveland,
owners of the copyright.
Tis night! the sun has sunk to rest
Beneath the western hill,
The stars, like thoughtful eyes look down
And all is calm and still;
The soldier, weary with his march,
Lies sleeping on the ground,
But waking from his dreams he hears
The midnight bugle sound.

Cxorvs — Rouse ye, rouse, warriors in your might,
Hark! hear the bugle! hark! hear the bugle!
Hear the sound, ’tis the signal for the fight.

The stillness breaks—the very air
Seems bursting into life,

And warriors brave and prancing steeds
Are marshaling for the strife;

By countless thousands, rushing like
Some wild impetuous wave,

In answer to that warning note,
The midnight bugle sound. (CHORUS.)

The morrow’s sun shall light the field
Where friend and foe must fall,

To-morrow’s evening stars shall weep
Above the sulphury pall;

While many brave hearts, cold and still,
Lie sleeping on the ground,

Who ne’er again shall wake to hear
The midnight bugle sound. (CHoRUus.)

SING, BIRDIE, SING.

Sing, birdie, sing, and let thy song
Be of this earth, so bright, so bright;
\ Sing, birdie, sing, thy notes prolong
Till day glides into night, till day glides into night.

CHorus—Be, birdie, thy lays, in sweet nature’s praise;
Sing, birdie, sing; sing, birdie, sing.

 

Sing, birdie, sing, where the mountains glow
With blushes to meet day’s king, day’s king,
Sing, birdie, sing, where the waters flow,
And murmuring praises ring, and murmuring praises ring.
(CHORUS. )
Sing, birdie, sing, till time’s no more,
Sing until thy little life ends;
Thou never canst give to nature’s store

 

Meet praise for the gifts, for the gifts she sends. (CHo.)

 

 

 

(Ve

 

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,
It was midnight on the waters,
And the storm was o’er the deep.
‘Tis a fearful thing in winter ~
To be shatier’d by the blast,
And to hear the trumpet thunder,
“Cut away the mast!”

We shudder'd there in silence,
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talk’d with death;
Sad thus we sat in silence, :
All busy with our prayers,
“We're lost!” the captain shouted,
As he stagger’d down the stairs.

But his little daughter whisper’d,

As she took the icy band,
“Ts not God upon the waters,

Just the same as on the land?”

Then he kiss’d the little maiden,
And we spake of better cheer,

As we anchor’d safe in harbor,
Where the sun was shining clear.

Cuorus—And a shout rose loud and joyous,
As we grasp’d the friendly hand,
God is on the waters,
Just the same as on the land,

+> +—_—

Call Me When Breakfast is Ready.

Copied by permission of Root & Capy, Music Publishers Chicago,
owners of the copyright.

THE TEMPEST.

 

Call me when breakfast is ready,

Oh, mother don’t call me before,
Do not deny me the pleasure

Of moderate rest, I implore;
Eight hours of sieep is too little,

For delicate maidens like me,
Dearer by far is my pillow,

Than cups of the daintiest tea;
Mother, I cannot endure it,

This getting up early’s a bore,
Call me when breakfast is ready,

Oh, please do not call me before,

Call me when breakfast is ready,
Oh, mother, don’t call me too soon,
Shopping of course needs attention,
But this can be done before noon;
Why talk of the folly of fashion,
I do not consider it so,
Parties must not be neglected,
And style is important, you know:
Mother, it makes me so nervous,
To think of your step at my door,
Call me when breakfast is ready,
Oh, please do not call me before,

Call me when breakfastis ready,

Oh, don’t call me early, I pray,
Doctors advise to be quiet,

My spine is affected, they say;
Sleep is a potent elixir,

And better than drugs or the knife,
Why then so much in a hurry,

Since rest is the solace of life;
Mother, do have com ion,

And chide my late rising no more,
Call me when breakfast is ready,

Oh, please, do not call me before.

Call me when breakfast is ready,
Oh, mother, I think I’ve been told,
Multitudes struggle for riches,
And barter their comfort for gold;
Hypocrites often rise early,
Their motives are perfectly plain,
Sundays they always sleep later,
Because they have nothing to gain-
Mother I cannot endure it;
This getting up early’s a bore,
Call me when breakfast is ready,
But please do not call me before.

 

nee

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

qa

14 THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

JIM, THE CARTER LAD.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harpine, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.

My name is Jim, the Carter Lad, a jolly chap am I,

I always am contented, be the weather wet or dry.

I snap my finger at the snow, and whistle at the rain,

I’ve braved the storm for many a year, and can do so again.

Cuorus—Crack, crack, ¢oes my whip, I whistle and I sing,
I sit upon my wagon, I’m as happy as a king,
My horses always willing, as for me, I’m never sad,
None can lead a jollier life, than Jim, the Carter Lad.

My father was a carrier, many years e’er I was born,

He used to rise at daybreak, and go his rounds each morn.

And then he’d take me with him, especially in the spring,

I'd love to sit upon the cart, and hear my father sing.
(Corus. )

I never think of politics, or anything so great,

I hate to hear their fly-blown talk, about the church and state.

I act upright to all men, and that’s what makes me glad,

You'll find there beats an honest heart, in Jim, the Carter Lad.
(CHORUS.)

I think I will conclude my song, ’tis time I was away,

My horses will get weary if I much longer stay.

To see your smiling faces, it makes my heart feel glad,

So, drivers, treat your horses kind, like Jim, the Carter Lad.
(CHORUS. )

The Drunkard’s Raggit Wean !

Published by E, H. Harpine, -~ oer New York. Music and words,
cents.

A wee bit raggit laddie gangs wan’ren thro’ the street,

Wadin’ ’mang the snaw wi’ his wee hackit feet,

Shiv’rin’ i’ the cauld blast, greetin’ wi’ the pain,

Wha’s the puir wee callan’? he’s a drunkard’s raggit wean.

He stan’s at ilka door, and he keeks wi’ wistfu’ e’e,

To see the crowd around the fire, a-laughin’ loud wi’ glee;

But he daurna venture ben, tho’ his heart be e’er sae fain,

For he mauna play wi’ ither bairns, the drunkard’s raggit wean.

 

Oh see the wee bit bairnie, his heart is unco fou,

The sleet is blawin’ cauld, an’ he’s dreepit thro’ an’ thro’;

He’s peerin’ for his mither, an’ he wun’ers whar she’s ganoe;
But oh! his mither she forgets her puir wee raggit wean.

He kens na faither's luve, an’ he kens na mither’s care,

To soothe his wee bit sorrows, or kame his tautit hair,

To kiss him when he waukens, or smooth his bed at e’en,

An’ oh! he fears his faither’s face, the drunkard’s raggit wean.

Oh pity the wee laddie, sae guileless an’ sae young,

The oath that lea’s the faither’s lips ’ll settle on his tongue;

An’ sinfw’ words his mither speaks his infant lips ’ill stain,

For oh ,there’s nane to guide the bairn, the drunkard’s raggit
wean! :

Then surely we micht try an’ turn that sinfu’ mither’s heart,

An’ try to get his faither to act a faither’s part,

An’ mak’ them lea’ the drunkard’s cup an’ never taste again,

An’ cherish wi’ a parent’s care their puir wee raggit wean.

i ene pe eg

SS

nO a oN ca re,

iO li eb

+e.

TWINKLING STARS.

Twinkling stars are laughing, love,
Laughing on you and me,
While your bright eyes look in mine,
Peeping stars they seem to be;
, Troubles come and go, love,
\ Brightest scenes must leave our sight,
But the star of hope, love,
Shines with radiant beams to-night.

Cuorus—Twinkling stars are laughing, love,
Laughing on you and me,
While your bright eyes look in mine,
Peeping stars they seem to be.

) Golden beams are shining, love,
Shining on you to bless,
Like the queen of night, you fill
Darkest space with loveliness,
Silver stars how bright, love,
Mother moon in thronely might,
Gaze on us to bless, love,
Purest vows here made to-night,
Cxrorus—Twinkling stars. ete,

 

 

THE MARSEILLES HYMN.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe: *
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze;
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?
To arms! to arms! ye brave, ete.

With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile, insatiate despots dare,
(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded),
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,
Like gods would bid their slaves adore;
But man is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
To arms! to arms! ye brave, etc.

Oh Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept. bewailing
That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield;
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to arms! ye brave, etc.

 

PUT ME IN MY LITTLE BED.

DEXTER SMITH’S POPULAR CRADLE SONG.

Copied by permission of Wurrr, SmirH & Perry, Music Publishers, Boston,
owners of the copyright.

Oh, birdie, I am tired now,
I do not care to hear you s'ng;
‘You’ve sung your happy songs all day,
Now put your head beneath your wing.
I’m sleepy, too, as I can be,
And, sister, when my prayer is said,
I want to lay me down and rest:
So, put me in my little bed.

Cxuorus—Come, sister, come, kiss me good-night,
For I my evening prayer have said;
I’m tired now, and sleepy too:
Come, put me in my little bed.

Oh, sister, what did mother say,
When she was called to heaven away?
She told me always to be good,
And never, never go astray;
I can’t forget the day she died—
She placed her hand upon my head,
And whispered softly, ‘‘ Keep my child—”
And then they told me she was dead! (CHO.)

Dear sister, come and hear my prayer,
Now, ere I lay me down to sleep,
Within my Heavenly Father’s care,
While angels bright their vigils keep;
And let me ask of Him above,
To keep my soul in paths of right—
Oh, let me thank Him for His love,
Ere I shall say my last good-night! (C#o.)

 

 

 

 

 

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THE SINGER’S LIBRARY.

 

 

 

THE OLD ENGLISH SQUIRE.

SUNG BY E. H. HARDING.

Copied by permission of E. H. Harpine, 229 Bowery, New York, owner
of the copyright. Music and words, 10 cents.

About fifty years ago when George the Third was King,

The Prince the star of fashion, brightly shone in pleasure’s ring;

Liv’d a good old English Squire, a man of great renown,

He’d an old Hall in the country, and a modern house in town;

A justice of the peace he was and also an M. P.,

Was fettered to no party, in his principles was free,

He courted not the Premier, his sons were in the Guards,

With Fox he sometimes voted but much oftener played at cards,

He kept a stud of racers, ’twas his joy to see them run,

His sideboards were well cover’d with the gold cups they had
won;

To the town he represented every year he gave a plate,

And to the course in coach and six he always drove in state;

Six goodly nags they were forsooth, tho’ very fat and slow,

Their manes well decked with ribbons and their flowing tails al-

50:
His lady sat beside him, tall and upright as a wand,
The people loudly cheer’d them as they alighted at the stand.

He kept a pack of fox hounds of the pure old English breed,

Right musical and stanch they were; tho’ not much fam’d for
speed;

His hunters were enduring, and could go a decent pace,

To suit his hounds he bred them not to run a steeple chase.

He boldly dash’d o’er hedge and ditch, nor stood at gate or
brook,

And many a Melton Mowbray swell would shy the leaps he took;

‘Twas a pleasant sight to see him thro’ a Bull fence make a gap,

With his hair just like a drumstick, sticking out behind his cap.

On the first day of September, as the season it came round,

The Squire in the stubble, with his pointers might be found;

His gun was like a musket, an old-fashioned flint and steel,
Wide muzzled and a kicker, she was heavy in the heel.

But birds they being plentiful, he brought down many a brace,
And if he caught them sitting he show’d them little grace.

Talk of shooting flying, about fifty years ago,

Kill when you can was then the plan but trust to shooting low.

His rent day was at Michaelmas, beneath the old oak Hall,

Where portraits, arms, and horns of deer bedeck’d each panel’d
wall;

"Twas his custom, and a good one, with his tenantry to dine,

And the first toast that he gave, was in a gold cup filled with
wine,

Old claret rich and sparkling, such as seldom’s tasted now,

*Twas the King and Royal Family and God speed the plow;

Amen! exclaimed the Vicar, his patron seated near,

The Farmers drank their bumpers off and gave a hearty cheer.

About thirty years ago, the time I well remember

A dark and dreary day in the cold month of November,

This good old country Squire, aged three score years and ten,
Was gather’d to his fathers, to the grief of all good men;

In the village church he’s buried, scarce a mile from the old

His heir he was chief mourner, six old neighbors bore his pall:

His memory still is cherished and many people say,

With this good old country Squire good old times have pass’d
away.

 

LORD LOVEL.

Lord Lovel he stood at his garden gate,
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Bell,
To wish her lovier good speed, speed, speed—
Wishing her lovier, etc.

“Oh, where are you going, Lord Lovel?’ she said,
“Oh, where are you going?” said she;
“Tm going, my Lady Nancy Bell,
Foreign countries for to see-e-e ”—
Foreign countries, etc.

“When will you come back, Lord Lovel?” she said,
“When will you came back?” said she;
“Tn a year or two, or three, or four, ;
Pll come back to my Lady Nancee-e-e ”—
Dll come back, etc.

 

He had only been gone twelve months and a day,
Foreign countries for to see;
When languishing thoughts Came into his head,
Lady Nancy Bell he would go see-e-e—
Lady Nancy Bell, etc.

So he rode, and he rode on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to London town—
And there he heard Saint Paneridge’s bells,
And the people a-mourning around—
And the people, etc.

“Oh! what is the matter?” Lord Lovel, he said,
‘Oh! what is the matter?” said he;
‘* A lord’s lady is dead,” the people all said,
And some call her Lady Nancee-e-e ”—
And some call her, etc.

Then he order’d the grave to be open’d wide,
And the shroud to be turned down—
And then he kissed her clay-cold lips,
While the tears came trickling down—
While the tears, etc.

Then he flung hisself down by the side of the corpse,
With a shivering gulp and a guggle;
Gave two hops, three kicks, heav’d a sigh, blew his nose,
Sung a song, and then died in the struggle!
Sung a song, etc.

Lady Nancy she died as it might be to-day—
Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow—
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
And Lord Lovel, he died out of sorrow—
And Lord Lovel, ete.

Lady Nancy was laid in Saint Pancridge’s church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her buzzwm there grew a red rose,
And out of her lovier’s a brier-ier-ier—
And out ef her, etc.

So they grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple top,
And they couldn’t grow up no higher;
So they twined themselves in a true lovier’s knot,
For all loviers true to admire-ire-ire—
For all loviers, etc.

 

BILLY LARKIN.

L. P. WALKER’S POPULAR MINSTREL SONG.
Copied by permission of Jonn CaurcH & Co., eae Publishers, Cincin-

nati, Ohio, owners of the copyright.

Pm a nice young man, which you all must know,
And just the gent for a ladies’ beau;

I fix up in style, and the best clothes wear,

And part my hair—well, no matter where;

I go out and walk all over the town,

And promenades take up street and down!

I eye all the girls, the pretty dears,

And that they’! snub me, I have no fears,

Cuorus—I am Billy Larkin, ladies and gents,
I’m quite above mere dollars and cents,
I love all the girls because they are sweet,
And smile as they pass me on the street.

I don’t want to “pop” the question just now,
Although they’d all have me, you'll allow;

But I like the sex, as a whole so well,

That I can’t wed with only one belle;

And then they all dress up so much, you know,
That I could not stand such an out-go;

My tailor won’t wait until my aunt dies,

But sends in his bill, and how cash flies, (C#O0.)

So now, my dear girls, I must stay single,

e Though with you oft I hope to mingle;

T’'ll stand on the corners and see you pass,
And sometimes salute some gay young lass;
So fix up, my dears, and let me see you,
Dress up in your best, and “fixings” new,
And smile on me sweetly, when you pass by,
. But if you can’t get me, please don’t cry. (CHO.)

j

 

 

 
 

Beadle’s Half-Dime Singer’s Library.

 

Contents of No. 1.

Angel Gabriel,

Auld lang syne,

A good time coming,
Barbara Allan,

Billy Larkin.

Come, gang awa’ wi’ me,
Cheer, bo: 8) cheer,

“ Clicquo’
Co-ca-che-lunk,
“Crooked whistty!”

Ms me when breakfast is

eady,
eroneh. and English,
Gay ae happy,
Hoop-
Hea her Jock,
I knew that 1° ae dreaming,
I muse on the
Johnny, Mae ve been a bad boy,
Juliana Jones,
Jim, the carter lad,
Let the girls alone,
Landlord, fill your flowing bowl,
Land of my birth,
Lovet,
ms Gruber’s boarding house,
aif ay red rose,
Mol pean

Patt: on your vest,

Put me in my Meee bed,
Rose of Killar: ae

Roll out! heave : cotton,
shine vine Sharle;

See that my

Sweet by an

Son of a

ate,
The a in the moon is looking,

lov

a "pwitct two stools aman goesto
the Ce

They all do

The ratitoed engineer's song,

The nightingale’s trill,

They borrow, but never return,

The butcher boy,

The hazel dell,

The vacant chair,

Yom Bowling,

The ee bugle,

The tempest,

The drunkard’s raggit wean!

/ I'winkling stars,

The Marseilles Hyd

The old English sq

‘Jnder the eailow | he sleeping,
Vhoa, Emma (new version)

Whoa, Emma (original version),

Why can’t I have a beau?

Walting for papa,

Who will care for mother now?

Contents of No. 2.

A cushla gal mochree,

A motto for every man,

Babylon is fallen,

Beautiful Rose,

Bitter beer,

Beside the Sweet pouien

Captain Satie

Constantinople,

Captain §; ike of the musketeers

Captain Jinks,

Dandy Pat,

Dandy barber J a.

Gentle Jennie Gra

George Constantine McKeown,

Home ane

tg ght smile haunts me
Si

I’m looking at you now,

I know when I’ve enough,

rm Benen since my ‘mother

die
I'm # b’hoy,
John Chinaman,
Jimmy’s wooing,
Limburger sheese,
Little waxed mustache,
» My vife is so awfully thin,
May the best man win.
Norah, the pride of Kildare
ele by one they crossed the

vive)
Pull down the blind,

uit dat ticklin’ me,

Robinson Crusoe,

Rockaby, Lullaby,

Sweet vision of childhood,

Shall we ever meet again?

Single Pie ae a fib,

fhe fields of home,

aes ee of the Cameron

The ae in which it’s done,
The five cent shave,
[ne merry widow,
The poneaan light guard,
The pilot,
The cracksman’s chant,
Take it,
The heathen Chinee,
The cork leg,
The soldier’s tear,
The king’s highway,
The O’s and the Me’s,
The steam arm.
‘he ie Tom's solitaire,
» quele font 3 gam

en ae rp in to fly,
Vithin a mile of Edinboro’
wpa ee all the world without

You make me laugh,
sy get more likey your dad every

 

 

FIFTY OR MORE SONGS IN EACH ISSUE,

Contents of No 3

A national song,
Bold Robin Hood,
A an O’Lynn
a Dries the rover,
Gad le, cackle, cackle,
Coaxing with a kiss,
Camptown races,
Father will settle the bill,
Good-by, John,
God bleas the little church, ete
Hiidebrandt Montrose,
He isn’t as rich as he used to be,
He was such a nice young man,
Human nature
Hail to the chit,
I do feel so awfully loose,
tener. any such place?
Pll be watching for you at, ete.
It’s naughty, but Hae 's see
I love ae ative land,
I’m in it, ee
Juanita,
La, Tees beer s song,
le maid of Arcadee,
car McGinnis,
Mary of the wild moor,
Massa’s in de cold ground,
Mine host! mine host! come, etc.
My brudder gum,
Mary Avourneen,
Nancy Lee,
Never despair.
Our army and navy of blue,
Only a flower there,
Old folks at home,
Peter Gray,
ait dom noes,
Pape says I may,
20 white and blue,
sing! sing! sing!
of the locomotive,
Spr tp of shillelah,
Shall we know each other there?
The Gainsboro’ hat,
Terrance Muldoon,
The flreman’s boy,
The summer of pth
The runaway mi
The roast beef of rota. England,

The timid awkward squad!

The boulevard
The low back’d car,
The Campbells are comin’ *
The Yankee boy,
The fighting dog,
The brave old oak,
The blarney.
When the aware fall asleep,
Wake! Dinah, wake,
AN have my loved ones gone?
Whisper it softly,
Yankee ship, and a Yankee crew,

Contents of No. 4.

After toiling cometh rest,
A starry night for a ramble,
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,
Auld Robin Gray,
Broadway promenade,
Bashful young man,
Blue-e; figy violets,
Bob Ridle.
Down the, shadowed lane she goes
Darling old stic
‘Fifth avenue 7 ee
Few days,
Faded flowers.
Good-by, Charlie,
Good-by till I see you again,
Hail, Columbia,
Home, sweet home,
Hard times
In her “little bed” we laid her,
Iam waiting, Essie dear,
“T cannot sing the old songs, 4
Johnny Morgan
Little green vail,
Looking back,
Lather and shave,
Mollie Brady,
Nelly was a lad.

4 Soe arr pretty hiseyad witch,

Oys,
Old Rosin the Beau,
Over the left,
Pop goes the weasel,
Par excellence,
“Put ste brake on when, etc.

Row,

Rory Orhidore,

Rosa

Ridin’ ra a railroad keer,
Sfolgnin moselle,

eda hans, with my girl,

Spay ng, Senile Serie

Star-

The k

epee led banner,

ng of trumps,

The ocean burial,

The Brooklyn fire,

The miller of the dee,

The minute gun at sea,

The other side of Jordan,

The old oaken bucket which
hung in the well,

The rollicking old man,

There are anes pratting for me,

The monks 0:

The fine ‘ola Bagigh gentleman,

The fine old Dutch gentleman,

The fine old Irish A

The spider and the fly,

ots trex f cae succeeds like

The m moc oeking

The ash se servant girl, .

The Irish regiment,
Whisperings of love,

You never miss the’ water, ete.

Katy d

 

Contents of No. 5,

Annie Laurie,
A sailor’s life for me,
Answer to Kate Kearney,
A bit of my mind,
A thousand a year,
Buttercups and daisies,
ees was a sailor’s bride,
Battle of the kegs.
Be sure you’re right, et ete.
Be kind to thy father and mother,
Come to the ole gum tree,
Call her back and kiss her,
Come where the moonbeams, ete.
Don’t marry your mother-in- law,
Eulalie,
Flow po sweet Afton,
Fair Rosabelle,
Good news from home.
Gentle Annie,
Haunting eyes
He led her t0 the altar,
Pll strike you with a feather,
Isle of beauty,
Inever refuse
Jocky hat and feather,
Jeannette and Jeannot,
Jamie!
Kitty Kimo,
Kate Kearney,
Lord Bateman and fair Sophia,
My heart’s in the Highlands,
My dear old mother,
My eye and Betty Martin,
No one to love,
“Our laddie’s dead, Jem,”
Oh! I shall call dada,
Rather too “heavy ” for me,
fleeing. I dreamed, love,

y, bird of summer,
gay, B moonlight sea,
py: inet Piper Heidesick, f.
Sh:

Sword of Bunker Hill,
Since Terry first joined the gan; &
“Strike the iron while it’s hot.’
The star that leads to thee,
The household clock,
Tilda Horn,
"Twas nee a spirit’s sigh,
Twas rank and fame,
Ane AA f

e way to be happy,
The pirate’s apreaaae,
The belle of the ball,
The sweet, sunny smile, etc.
Ten o'clock a Oy remember, € ete,
The sea king’s burial,
The old man’s got to go,
To the love of my youth, ete.
True blue, and seventy-two,
arent ears ago,
Uncle
Woodman, spare that tree,

Contents of No. 6.

“A lock of my, mother’s hair,”
Alas! my love’s away,

Answer toa thousand ayear,
Away down East,

A life on the ocean wave,

Ada, with the golden hair,

Ben Bolt,

By the sad sea-waves,

Soren eyes has that little maid-

Base-ball; ‘

Beautiful dreamer,

Boy with the auburn hair,

Clear the way.

Castles in the. alr,

oe mother, ’vé come home to

Don't you dare to kiss me, Joe!
Evangeline,

Finigan’s wake,

“Free and easy,”

George, the charmer,

Her pretty, smiling face,

I want to go home to mamma!

I wish I was in Dixie’s land,

I’ve only been down to the

club,
I really don’t think I shall
“Sonn
bold,”

Keep on kissing me,

aeons a man when he’s down,
i sae didn’t,

Kind and true.

Lanigan’s ball,

Muleahy’s home again,

Miss Malony’s ball,

My love is still the’ same,

Merry little birds are we,

Nelly Gray,

Nelly Bly,

Never venture, never win:

Over the mountain,

Oh, merry hours!

Poor June

Poor old slave,

Roger O’Malley,

Rock me to sleep, mother,
piver stars are softly ‘gleam-

Barleycorn is a ero

cee of Blanche Alpen,
Sweet long ago,
“The scam)
The little blacksmith
The merriest girl that’s out,
The goat,
The dashing gay peas
The female fongpler
ae egetable Jog, love,”

le Joe,

orine
Wait tilt the moonlight falls on
the water,

y eet os asa

 

Contents of No. 7,

Annie of the vale, |
Awfully awful, ‘
America,

American vocal melody,
Bathing in the surf,

Bear it like a man,

Crazy Jane.

Come, maiden, with me,
Dat’s der kind of mans I am,
Dream ne Sud eat Sates
Every in

the griddle, birdie, Dar-

He Ecos how to do it,

I know you'll be true to me,
Robin,

Thold the winning hand,

pie re you in my pray-

APIA blow the fire,

Little ee dewdrop,

Like a Tur’!

gr: Mode: I’m thinking of

wt zt ‘etty little blonde,
Marriage bells,
r. Finagan,
Never push a man oaee he’s
onus, down the
George! beautiful George!
Ont I’m going home,
cture,
“Pul ard
stream?
Pretty little primrose,
Remember you have children of
your own.
Spooning on the sands,
Speak to me, speak,
Stick to your trade and be true,
The belle of Rockaway,
That’s the style for me, boys,
Taffy was a Welshman,
Take this letter to my mother,
The blonde that never dyes,
Tassels on the boots,
The big sunflower,
The rollicking rams,
The Mulligan guard,
The blue and the gray,
Tee your coat up to your

ncle,
The. old folks are one,
The little ones at home,
The belle of Pleasure bay,
Uncle Sam’s farm.
Winter—sleigh- bell song,
What is home without a mother,
Wait for the wagon,
Would you if you were me?
Widow Machree,

against the

Contents of No. 8.
fu ully fly,
“ Ain’t you awful,”
Brother’s fainting at the door,
Bobbin’ around,
Sante sit. by my side, little dar-

ng,
Call me your darling again,
“Come back to Erin,”
Dot German band,
Dat ie y old nigger ball,
Don’t give up the ship,
Good-by, lovely Lou,
Happy Hezekiah,
He isn’t a marrying man,
Tl speak to you gladly again,
I’m going home to Dixie,

g

Jordan is a hard road to travel,
Killarney,
Kitty Clyde,
Little tore ‘cider,
La-de-da-de Micks,
Minnie Dear,
Muldoon, the solid man,
My own. my guiding star,

{iy Gal, te Hanna,
Min:

My. titles wife ashore,
peer: 's darling but mine,
Old Black Joe,

Our girls,
Onl speak Pe to me,
On the beach at Long Branch,
“Oh wouid I were a bird!”
Our captain’s last words,
One hundred aaa
Pat Roach at the play,
Row, row your boat,
Schakcy Gratzenstein,
The finest police in the world!
That’s the proper caper,
The teetotal society,
The Gancidates for alderman,
ane ung widow,
ittle ones asleep,
ape city boliceman,
-la, George!
The belle of the day,
The dear little shamrock,
There is no harm in kissing,
The Irish emigrant’s lament,
The harp ands sword of Erin,
Those dark ¢
Up with the rare in the morning,
Uncle Pomp’s penaths
SoPPDey Jeremia!
Wait for the turn My the nant
Willie, we have mis:
When the blossoms are white in
the orchard,
vine Brown comes rolling

would I Twere with thee,
| Young fellah, you’re A) fresh,

 

Sold oy all newsdealers, five cents each; or sent, post-paid, to any ‘address, on aecbiig of six cents per copy.
BEADLE & ADAMS, eee 98

 

Contents of No, 9.

Brother, tell me of the battle,
By de light of de moon,
Balm of Gilead,
Casey’s Ww. hisky,
Come eae father,
Chickabiddy,
Dear old words,
Dermot Astore,
De ole corn mill,

“De bad Bob Lee, a
“Day,

fa vetiihy Star,

Fat Mickey,

Fritz, wie 2 gehts alleweil!

Good-ni; gh

Hark! I hear an angel sing,

Hold the fort t,

ru ine yous on Broadway,

I miss t

Iw ik igs if t could,

Kiss me again,

Katy Darling,

Kafoozleum.

Katie Lee and Willie Gray,

Kitty McGee,

Keep a a little corner in yoor
heart for me,

Leaning on a balcony,

Lora Vale,

My sweet tf Holy wou

Merit commands success,

My own native land,

My sweet girl,

Not before o Pa, dear,

Our Mary A:

Oh, let him reat

Pretty Jemima, don’t say no,

Playing in the hay,

Shy young girl; or, Du-da, da,

She was clerk in a candy store,

Shakey Dinkelspiel,

Still T love thee,

Shells of the ocean,

The Hills of New England

The RSS he Tacs) a happy life,

The a on the wire,

The bell goes a-ringing for, etc.

The old folks ae loved long ago,

The bashful girl

The gallant brigade

The fellar that esta like me,

The bird so: DB

The diamond ring,

The old farm house

The old lay ground,

Up in a ballon,

Uncle oe . the Yankee,

oy
witteto tae ne often, darling,

When the little birds are sing
ing in the arden |

Wh sky, ou’re the divil

When Jo! ny Coe marching ete

Willa mon climb a tree?

Yeur pocket-book is your, etc,

Contents of No, 10.
A merry Gipsy girl again,
Baby’s got re Roth! ed
Billy Johnson’s ball,
Breeze of then Hehe
Colleen Avarra, fp
Coming home from the bal?
i gospel a ad
“Douglas te; r can rue,”
Dark-eyed Morin:
Dutch onion Neathe,
Down the river,
Killeen Allanna,
E Pluribus Unum,
Farewell song of Enoch Arden,

, From Madison to Union Square,

Cie of 2 household,
Happy-8 go-lucky,
sS such a toys ely waltzer!
ie front name is ‘ Hannar,”
Have you seen my sister?
I’m the governor’s son,
It’s funny when you feel, ete.
Ym leaving thee in sorrow, ete,
Jack’s yarn,
Kissing in the moonlight,
Kiss me quick aud go,
‘Little Barefoot,”
Lilly Dale,
Little Nannie,
Let me kiss him for his mother,
Little Maggie May,
Minnie Clyde
Ay dea. ee Weel Mollie Malone,

Ma, ale hy my side,
Paddy’s the bo.
Pretty Marae. belle,
Rather too old for me,
Susan Jane,
Strangers yet,
She’s handsome as a rose,
The Hoolahan musketeers!
“That’s what our papers say,”
The door ajar,
That girl across the wa,
The fisherman’s daughtérs
The lake-side shore,
The grave of Bonaparte,
Three bells,
The Newfoundland dog,
The lass that Nabes a sailor,
AEEeoky at last,

hy don’t you. come and see me,
What care I how fair she be?
age down Broadway,
When the band begins to play,
pean the blue,

ere’s a will there’s, etc.

Willie'll roam no more,

William Street. N. Y¥