Chorus-So, mothers, take pattern by me, and train up your gals as you ought,

And if none of em's worser than me, they'll be stunning good gals of that sort!

RALLY AROUND THE GOOD OLD FLAG.
AIR-Boy with Auburn Hair.

Come rally around the good old flag, ye freemen of the North,
To assist your brethren now in arms, as patriots come forth.
Sickness and death has thinned our ranks, then come ye gallant

men,

No longer stand, but rush to arms, and fill them up again.

Chorus-Then rally, freemen, rally, and quickly rush to

Come forward to the battle-field, and together

we'll brave the storm.

Come rally around the good old flag, it is dangerous to delay,
Your country now is calling you, we trust you will obey;
To save your homes and families, and all that we enjoy.
Which the traitors of the South declare they will destroy.

Chorus-Then rally, freemen, rally, &c.

Come rally around the good old flag, before us stand the foe,
With all their strength combined they've come, our government
to overthrow:

Then rush to arms ye fearless men, aloof no longer stand,
Come forward now and lend us aid to drive treason from our land.
Chorus Then rally, freemen rally, &c.

Come rally around the good old flag, O let it not be said,
That you remained unconcerned while others fought and bled;
But come on, we humbly ask, lay other things aside,
A l we'll defy our enemy our Union to divide.

ན་

Chorus Then rally, freemen, rally, &c.

Come rally around the good old flag, the flag of Liberty,
The flag for which our fathers fought, and left to you and me;
Then come to our assistance, men, this good old flag to save,
That it throughout the Union in triumph still may wave.

Chorus-Then rally, freemen, rally, &c.

་་་་

COME HOME, FATHER.

ROOT & CADY, Music Publishers, 95 Clark street, Chicago.

Father, dear father, come home with me now,
The clock in the steeple strikes one;

You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done.

Our fire has gone out, our house is all dark,
And mother's been watching since tea,

With poor brother Benny so sick in her arms,
And no one to help her but me.

Come home! come home! come home!
Please, father, dear father, come home!

Chorus.

Hear the sweet voice of the child,

Which the night winds repeat as they roam;
Oh! who could resist this most plaintive of prayers:
Please, father, dear father, come home!

Father, dear father, come home with me now,
The clock in the steeple strikes two;

The night has grown colder, and Benny is worse;
But he has been calling for you:

Indeed he is worse, ma says he will die-
Perhaps before morning shall dawn,

And this is the message she sent me to bring
Come quickly, or he will be gone!

Hear the sweet voice, &c.

Father, dear father, come home with me now
The clock in the steeple strikes three;
The house is so lonely, the hours are so long
For poor weeping mother and me!

Yes, we are alone, poor Benny is dead,
And gone with the Angels of light;

And these were the very last words that he said—

I want to kiss papa good-night.

Hear the sweet voice, &c. &

BONNIE BLUE FLAG.

T. S. GORDON, Music Publisher, No. 538 Broadway, New York, owner of the copyright.

We are a band of patriots,

Who each leave home and friend,

Our noble Constitution

And banner to defend;

Our Capital was threatened,

And the cry rose near and far,

To protect our country's glorious flag,

That glitters with many a star.

Chorus-Hurrah, hurrah for the Union, boys, hurrah!
Hurrah for our forefathers' good old flag,

That glitters with many a star.

Much patience and forbearance
The North has always shown
Toward her Southern brethren,
Who had each way their own

But when we made our president,

A man whom we desired,

Their wrath was roused, they mounted guns,

And on Fort Sumter fired.

Hurrah, hurrah, &c.

They forced the war upon us,

For peaceful men are we;

They steal our money, seize our forts,
And then as cowards flee;

False to their vows, and to the flag
That once protected them,

They sought the Union to dissolve,
Earth's noblest, brightest gem.
Hurrah, hurrah, &c.

We're in the right and will prevail,

The Stars and Stripes must fly,

The "Bonnie Blue Flag" be hauled down,
And every traitor die;

Freedom and peace enjoyed by all,

As ne'er was known before;

Our Spangled Banner wave on high,
With stars just thirty-four.

Hurrah, hurrah, &c.

A NORRIBLE TALE OF THE SUICIDAL FAMILY. STUART ROBSON's Great Song, published by his permission, and sung by the Great Comedian, Stuart Robson, for upwards of 500 nights, with rapturous applause, at Mrs. John Drew's Arch Street Theatre.

JOHNSON & CO., Song Publishers, 18 North Tenth Street, Philada

Oh! a norrible tale I have to tell,

Of sad disasters that befell

A family that once resided

Just in the very same thoroughfare as I did. '
The parient was so grim a guffin,

He never liked no man or nuffin,

And he never made the least endeavor
To make a joke, not what-sum-de-ver.

Chorus-For it is such a nor-ri-ble tale,

'Twill make your fa-ces all turn pale, Your eyes with grief will be o-vercome, Twee-dle twad-dle, twiddle-huddle-hum.

1

They never saw no compa-nee,

Tho' they was a most respectable fa-mi-lee,
And every boy and ev-ry gal

Grew hy-po-con-der-i-a-cal.

They thought they had all sorts of sorrows,

And conjured up all kinds of horrows,

Each had a face as long as a ladder,

And was frightened in-to fits if they see their own shadder.
Chorus, &c.

They sat with their cur-tains drawn down tight,
On pur-pose to keep out the light,

Father, mother, sister, and bro-ther

Ne-ver spoke a word to one ano-ther.

Well at last this dole-ful, dismal lot

So ve-ry me-lan-cho-ly got,

That an end to themselves they did agree,
When they had settled which end it was to be.
Chorus, &c.

First the father into the garden did walk,
And cut his throat with a lump of chalk,
Then the mother an end to herself she put,
By drownding of herself in the water-butt.

Then the sister went down on her bended knees,
And smothered herself with toasted cheese,
But the brother, who was a determined young fellar,
Went and poisoned himself with his umbrella.
Chorus, &c."

Then the little baby in the cradle

Shot itself dead with the silver ladle,

While the servant girl seeing what they did,
Strangled herself with the saucepan lid.
The miserable cat by the kitchen fire

Swallowed a portion of the fender and did expire,
And a fly on the ceiling-this case was the wust-un,
Went and blowed itself up with spontaneous combustion.
Chorus, &c.

Then in walked the auctioneer,

Who did with the furniture disappear,

And the broker man, this aint no fable,

Made himself away with a three-legged table.
When the walls saw this, their sides they splits,
The windows cracked themselves to bits,

And so universal was the slaughter-rate,

There was nothing left but an unpaid water-rate.
Chorus, &c.

MORAL.

So here's a moral if you choose,
Don't never give way to the blues,
Or you may come to the dreadful ends
Of these my melancholy friends.
Chorus, &c.

d:

DID YOU THINK OF ME TO-DAY?

Words and Music by ALICE HAWTHORNE.

Did you think of me to-day,

As the moments sped away

Did you wish that I were near,

With a gentle voice to cheer?

Or, didst thou not at all.

My absent form, recall,
Nor sigh that I should be
So far away from thee,
Nor sigh that I should be
So far away from thee.