’Tis melancholy to devour The gentle chop in loneliness. I look on six――my prandial hour―― With dread not easy to express. And yet, for every penance done, Due compensation seems allow’d, My penance o’er, its price is won;―― I blow my after-dinner cloud. My clay is _not_ a Henry Clay―― I like it better, on the whole; And when I fill it, I can say I drown my sorrows in the bowl. For most I love my lowly pipe When weary, sad, and leaden-brow’d: At such a time behold me ripe To blow my after-dinner cloud. As gracefully the smoke ascends In columns from the weed beneath, My friendly wizard, Fancy lends A vivid shape to every wreath. Strange memories of life or death, Up from the cradle to the shroud, Come forth as, with enchanter’s breath, I blow my after-dinner cloud. What wonder if it stills my care To quit the present for the past; And summon back the things that were, Which only thus in vapour last? What wonder if I envy not The rich, the giddy, and the proud, Contented in this quiet spot To blow my after-dinner cloud? From _Gillott and Goosequill_. By Henry S. Leigh. London, British Publishing Company. 1871. MY THREE LOVES. When Life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty, Three loves were scattered in my way―― And three at once are plenty. Three hearts, if offered with a grace, One thinks not of refusing. The task in this especial case Was only that of choosing. I knew not which to make my pet―― My pipe, cigar, or cigarette. To cheer my night or glad my day My pipe was ever willing; The meerschaum or the lowly clay Alike repaid the filling. Grown men delight in blowing clouds, As boys in blowing bubbles, Our cares to puff away in crowds, And banish all our troubles. My pipe I nearly made my pet, Above cigar or cigarette. A tiny paper, tightly rolled About some Latakia, Contains within its magic fold A mighty _panacea_. Some thought of sorrow or of strife At ev’ry whiff will vanish; And all the scenery of life Turn picturesquely Spanish. But still I could not quite forget Cigar and pipe for cigarette. To yield an after-dinner puff O’er _demi-tasse_ and brandy, No cigarettes are strong enough No pipes are ever handy. However fine may be the feed, It only moves my laughter Unless a dry delicious weed Appears a little after. A prime cigar I firmly set Above a pipe or cigarette. But, after all, I try in vain To fetter my opinion; Since each upon my giddy brain Has boasted a dominion. Comparisons I’ll not provoke, Lest _all_ should be offended. Let this discussion end in smoke, As many more have ended. And each I’ll make a special pet; My pipe, cigar, and cigarette. HENRY S. LEIGH.