THE SMOKER'S CALENDAR. 191 



This was the Anti's latest greet. 

 A voice replied, far up the street 



"Tobacco I" 



At break of day, on Clapham Rise, 

 A pot-boy opened both his eyes, 

 And to himself did gently swear, 

 To hear a voice call through the air 



"Tobacco!" 



A traveler up a tree he found, 

 Who smoked and spat upon the ground ; 

 And then among the blossoms ripe 

 He cried, while puffing at his pipe 



"Tobacco!" 



There in the grayish twilight, " What's 

 That you say? " cried eager Pots, 

 And from the branch so green and far, 

 A voice fell like a broken jar 



" Tobacco." 



The following lines from the same source have been very 

 appropriately called " The Smoker's Calendar." 



When January's cold appears, 

 A glowing pipe my spirit cheers ; 

 And still it glads the length'ning day, 

 'Neath February's milder sway. 

 When March's keener winds succeed, 

 What charms me like the burning weed? 

 When April mounts the solar car, 

 I join him, puffing a cigar ; 

 And May, so beautiful and bright, 

 Still finds the pleasing weed a-light. 

 To balmy zephyrs it gives zest, 

 When June in gayest livery's drest. 

 Through July Flora's offspring smile, 

 But still Nicotia's can beguile ; 

 And August, when its fruits are ripe, 

 Matures my pleasure in a pipe. 

 September finds me in the garden, 

 Communing with a long churchwarden. 

 Ev'n in the wane of dull October, 

 I smoke my pipe and sip my " robur," 

 November's soaking show'rs require 

 The smoking pipe and blazing fire : 



