That I can't lo-cate no-where;—
But it comes with
Chris'mas
, and no mistake!—
A kind o' feel in the air.
Is it the racket the childern raise?—
W'y, no!—God bless 'em!—no!—
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze—
Like my own wuz, long ago?—
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat