OO SONG SUNG AT THE DINNER. 



The " fixins," too, of fancy, taste— 

 From Avives' and daugliters' hands. 



But, farmers, now the time would fail 



A catalogue to give ; 

 Sure all who do not till the soil 



Do not " begin " to live ; — 

 But, stop — our daughters and our sons — 



And then tie joy of life ! 



For certainly, each liushand-xasiXi m 



Has got a loving wife. 



But not of eatables, alone, 



Our mother gives us free, — 

 A beverage she keeps in store. 



Of any quantitie. 

 'Tis said, within her secret depths. 



She works a constant Stilly 

 And sends the " Uquor" forth to man. 



In ceaseless springe and rill. 



A portion too, she sets above, 



High on the " upper shelf," — 

 And it is proved a " fixed fact," 



She takes a drop herself. 

 So in the spring, you plain may see 



The blossoms on her face, — 

 Not ''• toddy blossoms," O, no — no — 



We hint no such disgrace. 



'Tis " smacking good " to animal, 



And vegetable too ; 

 Exhilarating to the head, 



And giving strength anew. 

 The ox so noted for " stiff horn," 



And lift at wheel or raft. 

 Will guzzle full — then only feel 



The stronger for the draught. 



She pours it down from sailing cloud. 



On all her creatures free ; — 

 The grass gets " high," potatoes " blue," — 



The fruit " gets up a tree." 

 The " mountain dew," (of Scottish name,) 



Each morning, drinks the clover ; 

 The oats wLU " reel " " top-heavy " got — 



The meadows "half-seas over." 



Your well ploughed lot, and careful hoed, 

 With verdant rows adorned, 



