FINE OLD DUTCH GENTLEMAN.

AIR-Fine Old English Gentleman.

I'll sing you now a Dietchen song, 'bout Hans Von Kro plegheet, Vot kept a lager beer saloon up in de Bowery Shtreet,

He eats de shwine peefe, shpeck un slough, un efery kind of meat,

Jr. I shvear mit mine goot grashus, pon top de people, so much as a barrel of sour-crout, un two pochels of lager bier efery morning he would eat!

He was a fine old Dietchen shentleman, one of the pestest kind. By the firestove in his bier saloon, efery morning he would shtand,

Mit a bottle of schnapps down by his side, un a glass up in his hand,

Un by himself he trinks dis toast, "Ich lieben die Vaderland," Un midout you could Dietsche vershter, for he vold nix Inglish gasprochen ven he'd say, "Spechlebeeks von-grossenduder un blitzen nut-de-swimegrahdle skipoupens-diedobbleshm," you couldn't nix understand

Dis fine old Dietchen shentleman, von of de goot ole kind.
His nose was red ash a beetle, yaw, by dunder, dat ish drue,
His mouth pout fourdeen inches wide, his eyes were black ash
plue,

He pelongs mit de Free-angerbund, un he vas a Turner too,
Un politics makes him nix difference, but ven you comes mit de
Maine liquors law to dake avay his lager bier, den, py
dam, dat vas someding new,

To dis fine old Dietchen shentlemen, von of de pestest kind. Dis fine old. Dietchen shentleman he vent to bed drunk efery night,

"

Un somedimes ven dere was coming rount elections, mit de udder fellers he'd fight,

Un slouck dem on de koup mit a double-barrelled powie-knife, but I don't tink dat vas rite,

For ven vun of dem peoples haf his head preaked into his nos all ofer his face, un vas nearly drownded mit a big sick, I tell you somedings rite avay shust now, dat was a sorry sight,

To dis fine old Dietchen shentleman, von of de goot olt kind. But von time dere comed some drouples, un he fight mit all his

main,

་་

Dough he was kilt von two ash six eight couple of times, h shumps up un fights again,

Dill his bed was all splitted open down pack, un den de blood comes down like rain

Un py and by come dere de corer mit de shury, un sit on him apout dwenty-two hours ash three quarters, un shqueeze all de preth out of his pody, den dey prings in a verdigrass, vot he dies from prandy and vater on his prain,

Does dis fine old Dietchen shentleman, de subject of dis song.

LITTLE JOE.

Written by DAVE REED, and sung by MASTER JOSEra, of CARN-
CROSS & DIXEY'S Minstrels.

I've just come out before you all,
To sing a little song,

If you'll try and pay attention,-
And I won't detain you long;

It's about a little yallow gal,
I used to go and see,

She dressed so gay and fancy,
She wore a twenty-three.
Chorus.

So listen, darkies, while I sing,
About my Julia Crow:-Repeat.
She said no darkey in the land
Is like her little Joe.

She goes to all the balls,

And dance in every figure;,
She none of this as common trash,
To dance with every nigger.
She always picks her company,
Wherever she does go;

She says no darkey in the land
Is like her little Joe.

Chorus.—So listen, darkies, &c.

There is the Black Horse Cavalry,
They couldn't fight a bit;
But when we had an equal share
We made 'em get up and git.
Our Yankee boys are fighting hard,
Our Union for to save;

Oh, hail Columbia! right side up,

To fight for uncle Abe.

Chorus. So listen, darkies, &c.

NEW HUNDRED YEARS HENCE

Written and Sung by TONY PASTOR.

We meet through this world with men of all kin:ls,
Of opposite fancies and different minds;

There are some men of merit, some men of pretence,
But they'll all be forgotten a hundred years hence.

Now there's Wendell Phillips, who crows it so loud;
He's head abolitionist, boss of the crowd;
And, though for the nigger his love is intense,

Why, he'll be forgotten a hundred years hence.

There's Chase has been filling the land with Green-backs,
Besides on the people they've placed a big tax;
The expenses of war you all know are immense:
But he'll be forgotten a hundred years hence.

Gideon Welles, of the Navy, every effort did make,
The Southern pirates to conquer or take,

Our merchants no longer call for means of defence:
Yet he'll be forgotten a hundred years hence.

Andy Johnson is going it with a strong hand,
But still he's our ruler, and by him we'll stand;
Let us hope in the end he may prove he has sense;
For he'll be forgotten a hundred years hence.

The rebel Jeff Davis with arrogance swelled,
No more strikes 'gainst the flag our fathers upheld;
But a swing from a rope may atone his offence,
And he'll be forgotten a hundred years hence.

There's Uncle Sam's Grant, of our brave Army the boast,
He never complained of the hardships of his post;
The brave deeds he did bring their own recompense:
He won't be forgotten a hundred years hence.

There's one whose bright fame shall for ever live on,
He preserved us a nation-Our Own Lincoln !
For the Union and Freedom, his heart beat intense;
And he'll be remembered a thousand years hence.

ON! ON! ON! THE BOYS CAME MARCHING.

AIR-The Prisoner's Hope.

Oh! the day it came at last,
When the glorious tramp was heard,
And the boys came marching fifty thousand strong;
And we grasped each other's hands,
Though we uttered not a word,

As the booming of our cannon rolled along.
On, on, on, the boys came marching,

Like a grand majestic sea;

And they dashed away the guard from the heavy iron door, And we stood beneath the starry banner free.

Chorus.

On, on, on, the boys came marching,

Like a grand majestic sea;

And they dashed away the guard from the heavy iron door, And we stood beneath the starry banner free.

Oh! the feeblest heart grew strong,
And the most despondent sure,

When we heard the thrilling sounds we love so well,
For we knew that want and woe

We no longer should endure,

When the hosts of freedom reached our prison cell.
Chorus.-On, on, on, the boys, &c.

Oh! the war is over now,

And we're safe at home again,

And the cause we starved and suffered for is won;
But we never can forget,

'Mid our woe and mid our pain,

How the glorious Union boys came tramping on.
Yes, yes, yes, the boys, &c.

There is a young woman I know very well;
But where she resides I ain't going to tell.
Chorus. Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh,
Waggerdy tol de rol, waggerdy oh.

The first time I met her was in Greenwich Park,
When me and Bob Simmons went out for a lark.
Chorus.Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh, &c.

Says to her, “ Miss, will you give us a tea?
She turned up her nose at Bob Simmons and me
Chorus.-Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh, c.'

Says I,That young woman's as pretty as good.",
I asked if she'd marry. She said. "as she would."
Chorus. Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh, &c.'

So the very next Sunday as ever expires,
We're to be married in church as the law it requires.
Chorus.-Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh, &c.

So, all you young women, take warning by she;
Don't give every individual what asks you to tea
Cho. 18,--
-Waggerdy oh, waggerdy oh, &c.

For modesty's prized by the poor and theirich
And if you're like her you'll be treated as sich no! W
Chorus. Waggerdy oh,waggerdy oh, &c.

I'm off to Paddy's wedding 12 08

Far, far upon the sea.

Oh. Sally, come up to Peter Gray,

In the Strand down Holborn Hill; ® si vzadт For I would be a butterfly,rede erniw is I Whilst merrily goes the mill."G