And your pipe-clay; it's got too blue a tinge.
"The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood" by Arthur Griffiths
The bear hugged him to himself with such a crushing grip that the poor dog's ribs were broken like clay pipe-stems.
"Winter Adventures of Three Boys" by Egerton R. Young
The old man courteously removed a short clay pipe from his puckered mouth in order to nod, and replacing it, resumed his glance seaward.
"The Skipper's Wooing, and The Brown Man's Servant" by W. W. Jacobs
They quickly manufacture their pipes of a lump of clay and a green twig, from which they extract the pith.
"Great African Travellers" by W.H.G. Kingston
A short black pipe was always in his mouth, or sticking its clay stem from a waist-band pocket.
"Captain Mugford" by W.H.G. Kingston
Now, then, master, chalk again, pipe-clay for sodgers, 3; red herrings, 26.
"Jacob Faithful" by Captain Frederick Marryat
In one hand he held a short clay pipe, into which he was inserting the forefinger of the other, as he talked with the captain.
"Poor Jack" by Frederick Marryat
He ascertained the exact value of three hundred and sixty-five clay pipes.
"The Lighthouse" by R.M. Ballantyne
Why, we haven't made enough prize money, in the last two years, to pay for pipe clay and powder.
"Held Fast For England" by G. A. Henty
Both were smoking red-clay pipes with long bamboo stems.
"The Lure of the Mask" by Harold MacGrath
Old Black Jacko
In his little pipe of clay.
Puff, puff, puff,
He never has enough
Though he smokes it all day.
"Old Black Jacko" by C J Dennis
Forget my granny who sits on t' steps
A-smokin' her owd clay pipe!
How t' years crinkle-crankle thro' her mind
As she harks t' wailin' o' t' snipe!
"Gypsy Bride" by Dorothy Una Ratcliffe
With Pipe and Book at close of day,
Oh, what is sweeter, mortal, say?
It matters not what book on knee,
Old Izaak or the Odyssey,
It matters not meerschaum or clay.
"With Pipe And Book" by Richard Le Gallienne
My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey,
She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,
For I would speak the truth.
"My Ancestors" by Robert W Service