I said. My pretty fair maid, will you go along with me,
I will show you the straight way across the country.
My parents would be angry if they should come to know,
They will lay all the blame to my Scotch laddie, O.

When Molly's own father he came to know

That she had been courted by a Scotch laddie, O,

He sent for young McDonald, and these words to him did say,
If you court my daughter Mary, I will send you far away.

Since Molly has deceived me, all by her father's ways,
Through some lone woods and valleys, it's there I'll spend my
days,

Like some poor forlorn pilgrim, I wander to and fro,
It's all for the sake of my Irish Molly, O.

There's a rose in Dublin, I thought she would be mine,
For to come to my funeral is all I do require.

My body shall be ready by the dawning of the day,
It's all for the sake of my bonny Irish maid.

When that I am buried, there is one thing more I crave,
To lay a marble tomb-stone at the head of my grave,
And on this tomb-stone a prayer shall be said,

That Young McDonald lies here for his young Irish maid.

Come all you pretty fair maidens, a warning take by me,
And never build a nest at the top of any tree,

For the green leaves may wither, and the root it will decay,
And the beauty of a fair maid will soon fade away.

TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND.

Words and Music by WALTER Kittredge.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, A. D. 1864, by 0. DrrSON & Co., in the Clerk's Office of the U. S. District Court of Massachusetts.

We're tenting to-night on the old camp ground;

Give us a song to cheer

Our weary hearts--a song of home,

Ad friends we love so dear.

Chorus. Many are the hearts that are weary to-night,
Wishing for the war to cease,

Many are the hearts looking for the right,
To see the dawn of peace.

Tenting to-night, tenting to-night,

Tenting on the old camp ground.

We've been tenting to-night on the old camp ground,
Thinking of days gone by,

Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand,
And the tear that said "Good-bye!'

Chorus.

We are tired of war on the old camp ground,
Many are dead and gone,

Of the brave and true who've left their homes,
Others have been wounded long.

Chorus.

We've been fighting to-day on the old camp grouud,

Many are lying near;

Some are dead, and some are dying,

Many are in tears.

Chorus. Many are the hearts that are weary to-night,
Wishing for the war to cease,

Many are the hearts looking for the right,

To see the dawn of peace.

Dying to-night, dying to-night,

Dying on the old camp ground.

CRUISKEEN LAWN.

Let the farmer praise his grounds,
As the huntsman does his hounds,
And the shepherd each sweet shady grove;
But I more blest than they,

Make each happy night and day,

With my smiling cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn,
With my smiling little cruiskeen lawn.

Chorus.

Gramachree ma cruiskeen, slantha gal mavourneen,
Gramachree ma cruiskeen lawn, lawn, lawn,

Gramachree ma cruiskeen, slantha gal mavourneen,
Arrah, ma colleen bawn, bawn, bàwn,

Arrah ma colleen bawn.

.001

Then fill your glasses high,
Let's not part with lips a-dry,
Though the lark now proclaims it is dawn;
And since we can't remain,

May we shortly meet again,

To fill another cruiskeen lawn,

To fill another cruiskeen lawn.

Chorus. Gramachree ma cruiskeen, &e.

And when grim death appears
After few but happy years,
And tells me my glass is run,

I'll say,-Begone you slave,
For great Bacchus gives us leave

To drink another cruiskeen lawn,

To drink another cruiskeen lawn.

Chorus. Gramachree ma cruiskeen, &c.

FOLKS THAT PUT ON AIRS.
Sung by E. F. DIXEY.

Oh, white folks listen, will you now,
This darkey is gwine to sing;

I've hit upon a subject now

I think will be the thing.

I never like to mix at all

With any one's s affairs,

But my opinion am just now,
'Bout folks that put on airs.

Chorus. No use talking, no use talking,
It's so, now, everywhere;

To do as folks of fashion do,
You've got to put on airs.

When a gal gets 'bout sixteen,
She 'gins to think she's some,
A fop that sports a big moustache,
She kinder likes to come;
Two hours 'fore de looking-glass,
To meet him she prepares,
And when she gets her fixens on,
O, don't she put on airs!

Chorus. No use talking, &c.

A boy, too, when he's 'bout half grown,
Although he's nary red,
Has lots of hair around his mouth,
But none upon his head.
He patronizes tailor shops,
Gets trust for all he wears;

And when he goes among de gals,

O, don't he put on airs!

Chorus. No use talking, &c.

Dars de great Atlantic Cable,
Some time ago 'twas laid,
Both Uncle Sam and Johnny Bull
Den thought their fortunes made.
Some how or other, I don't know,
But folks dat hold de shares,
Begin to kinder think the thing▼ !
Am puttin on some airs!

Chorus. No use talking, &c.

'Tis true we Yankees

In all we undertake;

ahead

There's Ten Broeck and great Barey too,

Can British horses break—

Dar's Morphy, next, a chessman, he
His laurels proudly wears;

Old Johnny Bull can't come to tea,

And needn't put on airs!

Chorus. No use talking, &c.