While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep,

That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep :—
Oh, lave off that bonnet,

Or else I'll lave on it

The loss of my wandherin' sowl!

Och hone! weirasthru !

Och hone! like an owl,

Day is night, dear, to me, without you!

Och hone! don't provoke me to do it ;
For there's girls by the score

That love me—and more,

And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd

meet

My weddin' all marchin' in pride down the sthreet; Throth, you'd open your eyes,

And you'd die with surprise,

To think 'twasn't you was come to it!
And faith Katty Naile,

And her cow, I go bail,

Would jump if I'd say,

"Katty Naile, name the day."

And though you're fair and fresh as a morning in

May,

While she's short and dark like a cowld winter's day, Yet if you don't repent

Before Easther, when Lent

Is over I'll marry for spite!
Och hone! weirasthru !
And when I die for you,

My ghost will haunt you every night.

MY MOTHER DEAR

HERE was a place in childhood that I remember well,

TH

And there a voice of sweetest tone bright fairy

tales did tell,

And gentle words and fond embrace were giv'n with joy to me,

When I was in that happy place-upon my mother's knee.

When fairy-tales were ended, "Good-night," she softly said,

And kissed and laid me down to sleep within my tiny bed;

And holy words she taught me there-methinks I yet

can see

Her angel eyes, as close I knelt beside my mother's knee.

In the sickness of my childhood-the perils of my prime

The sorrows of my riper years-the cares of every time

When doubt and danger weighed me down-then pleading all for me,

It was a fervent prayer to Heaven that bent my mother's knee.

RORY O'MORE

OUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen bawn,
He was bold as a hawk, and she soft as the

You

dawn;

He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please,

So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck,

And he looked in her eyes that were beaming with light,

And he kissed her sweet lips,-don't you think he was right?

66

Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no more; That's eight times to-day that you've kissed me before."

"Then here goes another," says he, "to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers," said Rory O'More.

A

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER

BABY was sleeping, its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild raging

sea,

And the tempest was swelling, round the fisherman's dwelling,

And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me."

Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered,

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee; "Oh! blest be that warning, my child's sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

"And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy

sleeping,

Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me— And say thou wouldst rather, they'd watch o'er thy father,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to

see,

And closely caressing her child, with a blessing Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee!"

THE LOW-BACKED CAR

HEN first I met sweet Peggy,
'Twas on a market day,

WH

A low-backed car she drove, and sat

Upon a truss of hay.

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.

As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his owld poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars

With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death-in warlike cars;