That's the way the farmers go.

[Tea-Bell Accompaniment]

Bells a-jingle, fingers tingle,
Ditto toes, likewise nose.
The wind doth blow,
And all the snow
Around doth scatter;
Our teeth they chatter,
But that's no matter--
The song rings clear
With a Happy New Year,
And never a mutter,
As we fly in our cutter.

[Trot to Boston]

Jingle, jar, horse car,
Leave you near, or take you far.
Take a seat upon my lap,
Cling on, swing on by the strap;
Here a stop, and there a start--
Let me off, I'll take a cart!

[Boisterously]

Sword and pistols by their side,
And that's the way the officers ride!
Boots stretched out like a letter V,
we belong to the cavalry!
Over the hurdles after the hounds,
tirra-la! the hunting-horn sounds--
Dashaway, slashaway, reckless and fast!
Crashaway, smashaway, tumbled at last!

JOHN S. CROW.

All alone in the field
Stands John S. Crow;
And a curious sight is he,
With his head of tow,
And a hat pulled low
On a face that you never see.

His clothes are ragged
And horrid and old,
The worst that ever were worn;
They're covered with mold,
And in each fold
A terrible rent is torn.

They once were new
And spick and span,
As nice as clothes could be;
For though John hardly can
Be called a man,
They were made for men you see.

That old blue coat,
With a double breast
And a brass button here and there,
Was grandfather's best,
And matches the vest--
The one Uncle Phil used to wear.

The trousers are short;
They belonged to Bob
Before he had got his growth;
But John's no snob,
And, unlike Bob,
Cuts his legs to the length of his cloth.

The boots are a mystery:
How and where
John got such a shabby lot,
Such a shocking pair,
I do declare
Though he may know, I do not.

But the hat that he wears
Is the worst of all;
I wonder that John keeps it on.
It once was tall,
But now it is small--
Like a closed accordeon.

But a steady old chap
Is John S. Crow,
And for months has stood at his post;
For corn you know
Takes time to grow,
And 'tis long between seed and roast.

And it had to be watched
And guarded with care
From the time it was put in the ground,
For over there,
And everywhere,
Sad thieves were waiting around.

Sad thieves in black,