What means that merry clanging chime

Which fills the air with melody?

They tell me that 'tis Christmas time,

But that I think can scarcely be.

This explanation is, I say,

A little bit too thin for me,

While fiercely strikes the solar ray

Through hat of straw and puggaree.

The centigrade, I grieve to see,

Stands up at figures past belief,

And naught but frequent S and B

Gives my perspiring soul relief.

No veil of snow enwraps the lea,

And as for skating in the Park,

Or sledging, one as well might be

On Ararat in Noahs ark.

Where is the icy blast, and where

The white hoar frost, and driving sleet?

At night I suffocate and swear

With nothing on me but a sheet.

Mosquitoes hum the whole night through,

And flies salute me when I wake

In numbers anything but few,

And yesterday I saw a snake.

No leaf decays; no flower dies;

All nature seems as fair and bright

As, when beneath Judean skies,

The shepherds watched their flocks by night.

[In fair Judea's sunny clime,

Among its mountain gorges lone,

Those shepherds had a rosy time,

For wire-fencing wasn't known.

They were not prone to "knocking-down"

Of cheques or going on the spree,

For "pubs" and "shanties" were not found

Beside the Lake of Galilee.

They groaned not 'neath the squatters yoke;

A life of pure arcadian ease

Was theirs-ah! happy, happy blokes!

For this digression, pardon, please.]

Those Christmas chimes, indeed! their notes

Awake no passing thought in me,

Of flannel vests, and Ulster coats,

So Christmas chimes they cannot be.

A drowsy hum is in the air—

There's perspiration on my skin;

The locusts eat the grass-plots bare,

And deafen with their noisy din.

The folks were drinking summer drinks

When first I landed here last "fall

Tis summer still, alas! methinks

They have no Christmas here at all.

But stay! that paper pile sublime—

Of I O.U. and unpaid bill—

Breathes somewhat of the festive time

Of "peace on earth—to man good-will."

There's Starkey's bill for lemonade,

And Peape's and Shaw's for summer suits,

A host of others, all unpaid,

For ice, and cubas, and cheroots.

Enough! 'tis proof enough for me—

Proof stronger far than Christmas chime;

Your pardon, friend, for doubting thee,

Beyond a doubt 'tis Christmas time.