Oh! I'm not myself at all,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
My appetite's so small.
I once could pick a goose,
But my buttons is no use-
Faith my tightest coat is loose,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all.

If thus it is I waste,

You'd betther, dear, make haste Before your lover's gone away intirely; If you don't soon change your mind, Not a bit of me you'll find.

And what 'd you think o' that, Molly Brierly.
Oh, I'm not myself at all.

Oh, my shadow on the wall,
Molly dear, Molly dear,
Isn't like myself at all!

For I've got so very thin,
Myself says "'tisn't him,
But that purty girl so slim,"

Molly dear, Molly dear,
And I'm not myself at all!

If thus I smaller grow,
All frettin, dear, for you,

'Tis you should make up the deficiency,

So just let Father Taaffe

Make you my better half,

And you will not the worse of the addition be.

Oh, I'm not myself at all.

I'll be not myself at all,

Molly dear, Molly dear,
Till you my own I call.
Since a change o'er me there came,
Sure you might change your name,
And 'twould just come to the same,
Molly dear, Molly dear,-
Oh, 'twould just come to the same

For if you and I were one,

All confusion would be gone,

And 'twould simplify the matther intirely-
And 'twould save us so much bother
When we'd both be one another-

So listen now to rayson, Molly Brierly!
Oh, I'm not myself at all!

KATE KEARNEY.

[LADY MORGAN.]

O, did you not hear of Kate Kearney,
She lives on the banks of Killarney,
From the glance of her eye shun danger and fly,
For fatal's the glance of Kate Kearney.
For that eye is so modestly beaming,

You'd ne'er think of mischief she's dreaming,
Yet oh, I can tell how fatal's the spell
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney.

O, should you e'er meet this Kate Kearney,
Who lives on the banks of Killarney,
Beware of her smile, for many a wile
Lies hid in the smile of Kate Kearney.
Though she looks so bewitchingly simple,
There's mischief in every dimple;

Who dares inhale her mouth's spicy gale
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney.

MOTHER, HE'S GOING AWAY.

SAMUEL LOVER.]

[Music by S. LOVER.

"Sure, now, what are you crying for, Nelly?
Don't be blubbering there like a fool,
With the weight of the grief, faith, I tell ye,
Ye'll break down the three-legged stool.

I suppose, now, you're crying for Barney,
But don't b'lieve a word that he'd say:
He tells nothing but big lies and blarney;
Sure you know how he served poor Kate Kearney-"
"But mother!"-"Oh, bother!"
"But mother, he's going away,
And I dream'd t'other night
Of his ghost all in white;-
Oh, mother! he's going away."

"If he's going away, all the better,

Blessed hour when he's out of your sight;
There's one comfort, you can't get a letter,
For yer neither can read nor can write.
Why, 'twas only last week you protested,
When he courted fat Biddy Macree,
That the sight of the scamp you detested,-
Wid abuse, sure, your tongue never rested."
"But mother!"—"Oh, bother!"
"But mother, he's going away;
And I dream'd that his ghost
Walk'd round my bed-post-
Oh, mother, he's going away."

KATTY AVOURNEEN.

DESMOND RYAN.]

[Music by F. N. CROUCH.

Twas a cold winter's night, and the tempest was snarling,

The snow like a sheet cover'd cabin and sty, When Barney flew over the hills to his darling, And rapp'd at the window where Katty did lie. Arrah, jewel," says he, are you sleepin' or wakin'? It's a cold bitter night, and my coat it is thin,-The storm is a brewin', the frost is a bakin', O, Katty avourneen, you must let me in."

Ah, then Barney," says Kate, and she spoke through the window,

"How could you be takin' us out of our bed?

To come at this time it's a shame and a sin too,-
It's whisky, not love, has got into your head.
If your heart it was true, of my fame you'd be tender;
Consider the time, and there's nobody in;
What has a poor girl but her name to defend her?
No, Barney avourneen, I wont let you in."

"A-cush-la," says he, "it's my eye is a fountain
That weeps for the wrong I might lay at your door;
Your name is more white than the snow on the moun-
tain,

And Barney would die to preserve it as pure.

I'll go to my home though the winter winds face me— I'll whistle them off, for I'm happy within,

And the words of my Katty shall comfort and bless

me,

No, Barney avourneen, I wont let you in."

MY HEART AND LUTE.

THOMAS MOORE.]

I give thee all, I can no more,
Though poor the offering be;

[Irish Melody.

My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.

A lute, whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well,
And better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute can tell.

Though love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life's clouds away,
At least, 'twill make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.

If ever Care his discord flings

O'er life's enchanted strain,

Let Love but gently touch the strings,
"Twill all be sweet again.

J. P. HATCH.]

CHARMING MAY.

[Music by G. H. RODWELL.

Oh, charming May, oh, charming May!
Fresh, fair, fair, and gay,

Thou com'st from thy bow'rs
'Mid perfume and flowers,-

Charming, charming, charming May!
Thou art spring with its wintry days gone by,
And summer without its scorching sky;
The sun may be bright, the storm may be free,
But the tranquil beauty of May for me.

Oh, charming May, oh, charming May!
Fresh, fair, fair, and gay,

Thou com'st from thy bow'rs

'Mid perfume and flow'rs,

Charming, charming, charming May!
There is gladness and joy in thy genial face,
Fit emblem of innocence, freshness, and grace;
There is peaceful delight, to me ever dear,
In charming May, the green month of the year.

IT WAS DUNOIS, THE YOUNG AND BRAVE. Air" Partant pour la Syrie."

Sir WALTER SCOTT.]

[French Air.

It was Dunois, the young and brave,
Was bound for Palestine,

But first he made his orisons

Before St. Mary's shrine.

"And grant, immortal Queen of heav'n,"
Was still the soldier's pray'r,

"That I may prove the bravest knight
And love the fairest fair."

His oath of honour on the shrine,

He graved it with his sword,

And follow'd to the Holy Land
The banner of his lord.