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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Pipe and Pouch
+       The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 3, 2005 [EBook #14887]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPE AND POUCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Newman, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: (Smoker)]
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND POUCH
+
+THE
+
+SMOKER'S OWN BOOK OF POETRY
+
+COMPILED BY
+
+JOSEPH KNIGHT
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BOSTON
+
+JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY
+
+1895
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+_COPYRIGHT, 1894,_
+
+BY JOSEPH KNIGHT.
+
+UNIVERSITY PRESS:
+
+JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO MY FRIEND AND FELLOW-SMOKER,
+
+WALTER MONTGOMERY JACKSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+This is an age of anthologies. Collections of poetry covering a wide
+range of subjects have appeared of late, and seem to have met with
+favor and approval. Not to the busy man only, but to the student of
+literature such compilations are of value. It is sometimes objected
+that they tend to discourage wide reading and original research; but
+the overwhelming flood of books would seem to make them a necessity.
+Unless one has the rare gift of being able to sprint through a book,
+as Andrew Lang says Mr. Gladstone does, it is surely well to make
+use of the labors of the industrious compiler. Such collections are
+often the result of wide reading and patient labor. Frequently the
+larger part is made up of single poems, the happy and perhaps only
+inspiration of the writer, gleaned from the poet's corner of the
+newspaper or the pages of a magazine. This is specially true of the
+present compilation, the first on the subject aiming at anything like
+completeness. Brief collections of prose and poetry combined have
+already been published; but so much of value has been omitted that
+there seemed to be room for a better book. A vast amount has been
+written in praise of tobacco, much of it commonplace or lacking in
+poetic quality. While some of the verse here gathered is an obvious
+echo, or passes into unmistakable parody, it has been the aim of
+the compiler to maintain, as far as possible, a high standard and
+include only the best. From the days of Raleigh to the present
+time, literature abounds in allusions to tobacco. The Elizabethan
+writers constantly refer to it, often in praise though sometimes
+in condemnation. The incoming of the "Indian weed" created a great
+furore, and scarcely any other of the New World discoveries was talked
+about so much. Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Fletcher, Spenser, Dekker, and
+many other of the poets and dramatists of the time, make frequent
+reference to it; and no doubt at the Mermaid tavern, pipes and tobacco
+found a place beside the sack and ale. Singular to say, Shakespeare
+makes no reference to it; and only once in his essay "Of Plantations,"
+as far as the compiler has been able to discover, does Bacon speak
+of it. Shakespeare's silence has been explained on the theory that
+he could not introduce any reference to the newly discovered plant
+without anachronism; but he did not often let a little thing of this
+kind stand in his way. It has been suggested, on the other hand, that
+he avoided all reference to it out of deference to King James I.,
+who wrote the famous "Counterblast." Whichever theory is correct,
+the fact remains, and it may be an interesting contribution to the
+Bacon-Shakespeare controversy. Queen Elizabeth never showed any
+hostility to tobacco; but her successors, James I. and the two
+Charleses, and Cromwell were its bitter opponents. Notwithstanding
+its enemies, who just as fiercely opposed the introduction of tea
+and coffee, its use spread over Europe and the world, and prince
+and peasant alike yielded to its mild but irresistible sway. Poets
+and philosophers drew solace and inspiration from the pipe. Milton,
+Addison, Fielding, Hobbes, and Newton were all smokers. It is said
+Newton was smoking under a tree in his garden when the historic apple
+fell. Scott, Campbell, Byron, Hood, and Lamb all smoked, and Carlyle
+and Tennyson were rarely without a pipe in their mouths. The great
+novelists, Thackeray, Dickens, and Bulwer were famous smokers; and so
+were the great soldiers, Napoleon, Blücher, and Grant. While nearly
+all the poems here gathered together were written, and perhaps could
+only have been written, by smokers, several among the best are the
+work of authors who never use the weed,--one by a man, two or three
+by women. Among the more recent writers there has been no more devoted
+smoker than Mr. Lowell, as his recently published letters testify.
+Three of the most delightful poems in praise of smoking are his, and
+with Mr. Aldrich's charming "Latakia" are the gems of the collection.
+The compiler desires to express his grateful acknowledgments to
+friends who have permitted him to use their work and have otherwise
+aided him from time to time; and to the many unknown authors whose
+poems are here gathered, and whom it was quite impossible to reach;
+and to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Company, Harper & Brothers, The
+Bowen-Merrill Company, and the publishers of "Outlook," for their
+gracious permission to include copyrighted poems.
+
+J.K.
+
+BOSTON, July, 1894.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+A.
+
+                                 PAGE
+  Acrostic      _J.H._      44
+  Ad Nicotina      _E.N.S._      118
+  Another Match      _Cope's Tobacco Plant_      45
+  Ashes      _De Witt Sterry_      47
+
+B.
+
+  Bachelor's Invocation, A      _Pall Mall Gazette_      182
+  Bachelor's Views, A      _Tom Hall_      177
+  Bachelor's Soliloquy      _Cigar and Tobacco World_      95
+  Ballad of the Pipe, The      _Hermann Rave_      69
+  Ballade of Tobacco, The      _Brander Matthews_      54
+  Betrothed, The      _Rudyard Kipling_      108
+  Brief Puff of Smoke, A      _Selim_      19
+
+C.
+
+  Cannon Song      _H.P. Peck_      85
+  Chibouque      _Francis S. Saltus_      173
+  Choosing a wife by a Pipe of Tobacco      _Gentleman's Magazine_
+          48
+  Cigar, The      _Thomas Hood_      153
+  Cigarette Rings      _J. Ashby-Sterry_      147
+  Cigars and Beer      _George Arnold_      166
+  Clouds      _Bauernfeld_      52
+  Confession of a Cigar Smoker      _Anon._      158
+
+D.
+
+  Discovery of Tobacco      _Cigar and Tobacco World_      64
+  Dreamer's Pipe, The      _New Orleans Times Democrat_      96
+  Duet, The      _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_      174
+
+E.
+
+  Edifying Reflections of a Tobacco Smoker      _Translated from the
+          German_      58
+  Effusion by a Cigar Smoker      _Horace Smith_      167
+  Encomium on Tobacco, An      _Anon._      36
+  Epitaph      _Anon._      17
+
+F.
+
+  Farewell to Tobacco, A      _Charles Lamb_      100
+  Farmer's Pipe, The      _George Cooper_      7
+  Forsaken of all comforts      _Sir Robert Ayton_      140
+  Free Puff, A      _Arthur Irving Gray_      121
+  Friend of my youth      _Anon._      164
+
+G.
+
+  Geordie to his Tobacco Pipe      _George S. Phillips_      25
+  Glass is Good, A      _John O'Keefe_      94
+  Good Cigar, A      _Norris Bull_      93
+
+H.
+
+  Happy Smoking Ground, The      _Richard Le Gallienne_      145
+  Her Brother's Cigarette      _Anon._      79
+  He Respondeth      _Life_      55
+  How it Once Was      _New York Sun_      78
+
+I.
+
+  If I were King      _W.E. Henley_      171
+  I like Cigars      _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_      121
+  In Favor of Tobacco      _Samuel Rowlands_      52
+  Ingin Summer      _Eva Wilder McGlasson_      57
+  Inscription for a Tobacco Jar      _Cope's Tobacco Plant_      12
+  In Rotten Row      _W.E. Henley_      174
+  In the ol' Tobacker Patch      _S.Q. Lapius_      80
+  In the smoke of my dear cigarito      _Camilla K. von K._      92
+  Invocation to Tobacco      _Henry James Mellen_      31
+  In wreaths of Smoke      _Frank Newton Holman_      46
+  It may be Weeds      _Anon._      23
+
+K.
+
+  "Keats took Snuff"      _The Globe_      68
+  Knickerbocker      _Austin Dobson_      63
+
+L.
+
+  Last Pipe, The      _London Spectator_      12
+  Latakia      _T.B. Aldrich_      142
+  Latest Comfort, The      _F.W. Littleton Hay_      157
+  Loss, A      _Judy_      128
+  Lost Lotus, The      _Anon._      60
+
+M.
+
+  Mćcenas Bids his Friend to Dine      _Anon._      81
+  Meerschaum      _Wrongfellow_      119
+  Motto for a Tobacco Jar      _Anon._      12
+  My After-Dinner Cloud      _Henry S. Leigh_      143
+  My Cigar      _Arthur W. Gundry_      2
+  My Cigarette      _Richard Barnard_      52
+  My Cigarette      _Charles F. Lummis_      113
+  My Cigarette      _Tom Hall_      176
+  My Friendly Pipe      _Detroit Tribune_      94
+  My Little Brown Pipe      _Amelia E. Barr_      138
+  My Meerschaum Pipe      _Johnson M. Mundy_      123
+  My Meerschaums      _Charles F. Lummis_      131
+  My Pipe      _German Smoking Song_      7
+  My Pipe and I      _Elton J. Buckley_      106
+  My Three Loves      _Henry S. Leigh_      50
+
+O.
+
+  Ode of Thanks, A      _James Russell Lowell_      33
+  Ode to My Pipe      _Andrew Wynter_      14
+  Ode to Tobacco      _Daniel Webster_      95
+  Ode to Tobacco      _C.S. Calverly_      134
+  Old Clay Pipe, The      _A.B. Van Fleet_      71
+  Old Pipe of Mine      _John J. Gormley_      83
+  Old Sweetheart of Mine, An      _James Whitcomb Riley_      165
+  On a Broken Pipe      _Anon._      112
+  On a Tobacco Jar      _Bernard Barker_      38
+  On Receipt of a Rare Pipe      _W.H.B._      135
+
+P.
+
+  Patriotic Smoker's Lament      _St. James Gazette_      41
+  Pernicious Weed      _William Cowper_      73
+  Pipe and Tobacco      _German Folk Song_      156
+  Pipe Critic, The      _Walter Littlefield_      115
+  Pipe of Tobacco, A      _John Usher_      15
+  Pipe of Tobacco, A      _Henry Fielding_      163
+  Pipes and Beer      _Edgar Fawcett_      178
+  Pipe you make Yourself, The      _Henry E. Brown_      172
+  Poet's Pipe, The      _Charles Baudelaire_      2
+  Pot and a Pipe of Tobacco, A      _Universal Songster_      169
+
+S.
+
+  Scent of a good Cigar, The      _Kate A. Carrington_      61
+  Seasonable Sweets      _C._      23
+  Sic Transit      _W.B. Anderson_      108
+  Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth      _Anon._      158
+  Smoke and Chess      _Samuel W. Duffield_      10
+  Smoke is the Food of Lovers      _Jacob Cats_      51
+  Smoker's Reverie, The      _Anon._      17
+  Smoker's Calendar, The      _Anon._      159
+  Smoke Traveller, The      _Irving Browne_      #74
+  Smoking Away      _Francis Miles Finch_      98
+  Smoking Song      _Anon._      77
+  Smoking Spiritualized      _Ralph Erskine_      148
+  Song of the Smoke-Wreaths      _L.T.A._      9
+  Song without a Name, A      _W. Lloyd_      117
+  Sublime Tobacco      _Lord Byron_      97
+  Sweet Smoking Pipe      _Anon._      146
+  Symphony in Smoke, A      _Harper's Bazaar_      22
+
+T.
+
+  Those Ashes      _R.K. Munkittrick_      130
+  Titlepage Dedication      _Anon._      44
+  To an Old Pipe      _De Witt Sterry_      43
+  To a Pipe of Tobacco      _Gentleman's Magazine_      91
+  Tobacco      _George Wither_      86
+  Tobacco      _Thomas Jones_      151
+  Tobacco is an Indian Weed      _From "Pills to Purge Melancholy"_
+          150
+  Tobacco, some say      _Anon._      164
+  To C.F. Bradford      _James Russell Lowell_      5
+  To My Cigar      _Charles Sprague_      62
+  To My Cigar      _Friedrich Marc_      165
+  To My Meerschaum      _P.D.R._      82
+  Too Great a Sacrifice      _Anon._      90
+  To see her Pipe Awry      _C.F._      55
+  To the Rev. Mr. Newton      _William Cowper_      126
+  To the Tobacco Pipe      _The Meteor, London_      39
+  True Leucothoë, The      _Anon._      129
+  'Twas off the Blue Canaries      _Joseph Warren Fabens_      140
+  Two other Hearts      _London Tobacco_      73
+
+V.
+
+  Valentine, A      _Anon._      113
+  Virginia's kingly Plant      _Anon._      87
+  Virginia Tobacco      _Stanley Gregson_      31
+
+W.
+
+  Warning, A      _Arthur Lovell_      124
+  What I Like      _H.L._      131
+  Winter Evening Hymn to My Fire, A      _James Russell Lowell_
+          105
+  With Pipe and Book      _Richard Le Gallienne_      1
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND POUCH
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WITH PIPE AND BOOK.
+
+
+  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.
+
+  And though one's eyes will dream astray,
+  And lips forget to sue or sway,
+  It is "enough to merely be,"
+    With Pipe and Book.
+
+  What though our modern skies be gray,
+  As bards aver, I will not pray
+  For "soothing Death" to succor me,
+  But ask this much, O Fate, of thee,
+  A little longer yet to stay
+    With Pipe and Book.
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.
+
+
+
+
+A POET'S PIPE.
+
+_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._
+
+
+  A poet's pipe am I,
+  And my Abyssinian tint
+  Is an unmistakable hint
+  That he lays me not often by.
+  When his soul is with grief o'erworn
+  I smoke like the cottage where
+  They are cooking the evening fare
+  For the laborer's return.
+
+  I enfold and cradle his soul
+  In the vapors moving and blue
+  That mount from my fiery mouth;
+  And there is power in my bowl
+  To charm his spirit and soothe,
+  And heal his weariness too.
+
+RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGAR.
+
+
+  In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy,
+  And for every little pleasure has some pathologic bogy,
+  Who will bear with no small vices, and grows dismally prophetic
+  If I wander from the weary way of virtue dietetic;
+
+  In spite of dire forewarnings that my brains will all be scattered,
+  My memory  extinguished, and my nervous system shattered,
+  That my hand will take to trembling, and  my heart begin to flutter,
+  My  digestion turn a rebel to my very bread and butter;
+
+  As I puff this mild Havana, and its ashes slowly lengthen,
+  I feel my courage gather and my resolution strengthen:
+  I will smoke, and I will praise you, my cigar, and I will light you
+  With tobacco-phobic pamphlets by the learnéd prigs who fight you!
+
+  Let him who has a mistress to her eyebrow write a sonnet,
+  Let the lover of a lily pen a languid ode upon it;
+  In such sentimental subjects I'm a Philistine and cynic,
+  And prefer the inspiration drawn from sources nicotinic.
+
+  So I sing of you, dear product of (I trust you are) Havana,
+  And if there's any question as to how my verses scan, a
+  Reason is my shyness in the Muses' aid invoking,
+  As, like other ancient maidens, they perchance object to smoking.
+
+  I have learnt with you the wisdom of contemplative quiescence,
+  While the world is in a ferment of unmeaning effervescence,
+  That its jar and rush and riot bring no good one-half so sterling
+  As your fleecy clouds of fragrance that are now about me curling.
+
+  So, let stocks go up or downward, and let politicians wrangle,
+  Let the parsons and philosophers grope in a wordy tangle,
+  Let those who want them scramble for their dignities or dollars,
+  Be millionnaires or magnates, or senators or scholars.
+
+  I will puff my mild Havana, and I quietly will query,
+  Whether, when the strife is over, and the combatants are weary,
+  Their gains will be more brilliant than its faint expiring flashes,
+  Or more solid than this panful of its dead and sober ashes.
+
+ARTHUR W. GUNDRY.
+
+
+
+
+TO C.F. BRADFORD.
+
+_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._
+
+
+  The pipe came safe, and welcome, too,
+  As anything must be from you;
+  A meerschaum pure, 'twould float as light
+  As she the girls called Amphitrite.
+  Mixture divine of foam and clay,
+  From both it stole the best away:
+  Its foam is such as crowns the glow
+  Of beakers brimmed by Veuve Clicquot;
+  Its clay is but congested lymph
+  Jove chose to make some choicer nymph;
+  And here combined,--why, this must be
+  The birth of some enchanted sea,
+  Shaped to immortal form, the type
+  And very Venus of a pipe.
+
+  When high I heap it with the weed
+  From Lethe wharf, whose potent seed
+  Nicotia, big from Bacchus, bore
+  And cast upon Virginia's shore,
+  I'll think,--So fill the fairer bowl
+  And wise alembic of thy soul,
+  With herbs far-sought that shall distil,
+  Not fumes to slacken thought and will,
+  But bracing essences that nerve
+  To wait, to dare, to strive, to serve.
+
+  When curls the smoke in eddies soft,
+  And hangs a shifting dream aloft,
+  That gives and takes, though chance-designed,
+  The impress of the dreamer's mind,
+  I'll think,--So let the vapors bred
+  By passion, in the heart or head,
+  Pass off and upward into space,
+  Waving farewells of tenderest grace,
+  Remembered in some happier time,
+  To blend their beauty with my rhyme.
+
+  While slowly o'er its candid bowl
+  The color deepens (as the soul
+  That burns in mortals leaves its trace
+  Of bale or beauty on the face),
+  I'll think,--So let the essence rare
+  Of years consuming make me fair;
+  So, 'gainst the ills of life profuse,
+  Steep me in some narcotic juice;
+  And if my soul must part with all
+  That whiteness which we greenness call,
+  Smooth back, O Fortune, half thy frown,
+  And make me beautifully brown!
+
+  Dream-forger, I refill thy cup
+  With reverie's wasteful pittance up,
+  And while the fire burns slow away,
+  Hiding itself in ashes gray,
+  I'll think,--As inward Youth retreats,
+  Compelled to spare his wasting heats,
+  When Life's Ash-Wednesday comes about,
+  And my head's gray with fires burnt out,
+  While stays one spark to light the eye,
+  With the last flash of memory,
+  'Twill leap to welcome C.F.B.,
+  Who sent my favorite pipe to me.
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+
+
+
+MY PIPE.
+
+
+  When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me;
+  When friends are fled, thy presence charms me.
+  If thou art full, though purse be bare,
+  I smoke, and cast away all care!
+
+_German Smoking Song._
+
+
+
+
+THE FARMER'S PIPE.
+
+
+  Make a picture, dreamy smoke,
+    In my still and cosey room;
+  From the fading past evoke
+    Forms that breathe of summer's bloom.
+
+  Bashful Will and rosy Nell--
+    Ah, I watch them now at play
+  By the mossy wayside well
+    As I did twelve years to-day.
+
+  We were younger then, my pipe:
+    You are dingy now and worn;
+  And my fruit is more than ripe,
+    And my fields are brown and shorn.
+
+  Nell has merry eyes of blue,
+    And is timid, pure, and mild;
+  Will is fair and brave and true,
+    And a neighboring farmer's child.
+
+  Little maid is busy, too,
+    Making rare, fictitious pies,
+  Just as any wife would do,
+    Looking, meanwhile, wondrous wise.
+
+  Drawing water from the well,
+    Delving sand upon the hill,
+  Going here and there for Nell,--
+    That's her helpmate, willing Will.
+
+  Yonder, in the waning light,
+    Hand in hand the truants come,
+  Nell so fearful lest the night
+    Should fall around her far from home.
+
+  Fading, fading, skyward flies
+    This joy-picture you have limned;
+  Pipe of mine, the quiet skies
+    Of my life you leave undimmed.
+
+  Nell and Will are lovers now;
+    There they stray in dying light.
+  That's a kiss! Ah, well, somehow
+    Nell's no more afraid at night!
+
+GEORGE COOPER.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.
+
+_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._
+
+
+  Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
+    Not like mists that mask the sea,
+  Not like vapors round the fountains,--
+    Soft and clear and warm are we.
+
+  Hear the tempest, how its minions
+    Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
+  No storm-rage is in our pinions;
+    Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.
+
+  Soaring from the burning censers,
+    Stealing forth through all the air,
+  Hovering as the mild dispensers
+    Over you of blisses rare,
+
+  Softly float we, softly blend we,
+    Tinted from the deep blue sky,
+  Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
+    Downward to you ere we die.
+
+  Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
+    Sober thoughts with visions gay,
+  Peace profound with daring glances
+    Through the clouds to endless day.
+
+  Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
+    Not like mists that mask the sea,
+  Not like vapors round the fountains,--
+    Soft and clear and warm are we.
+
+L.T.A., in _London Society_.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKE AND CHESS.
+
+
+  We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
+  And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
+  With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.
+
+  The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
+  Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
+  As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.
+
+  And, looking out through the early green,
+  He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
+  That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--
+
+  While ever rested that crown so fair,
+  Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
+  On the carven chessman's ivory hair.
+
+  Dreamily wandered the game along,
+  Quietly moving at even-song,
+  While the striving kings stood firm and strong,
+
+  Until that one which of late was crowned
+  Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
+  And in sullen majesty left the ground,
+
+  Reeling back; and it came to pass
+  That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
+  A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.
+
+  And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
+  Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
+  And what are the purposes men fulfil.
+
+  For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
+  The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
+  That fields may be lost, though the king survives.
+
+  Not always he whom the world reveres
+  Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
+  Standing the best at the end of the years.
+
+  Not always he who has lost the fight
+  Rises again with the coming light,
+  Battles anew for his ancient right.
+
+SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.
+
+
+
+
+INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise,
+  You'll find _a jar_ the gates of Paradise.
+
+_Copes Tobacco Plant._
+
+
+
+
+MOTTO FOR A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid,
+    But woo the goddess through a yard of clay;
+  And soon you'll own she is the fairest maid
+    To stifle pain, and drive old Care away.
+  Nor deem it waste; what though to ash she burns,
+  If for your outlay you get good returns!
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST PIPE.
+
+
+  When head is sick and brain doth swim,
+  And heavy hangs each unstrung limb,
+  'Tis sweet through smoke-puffs, wreathing slow,
+  To watch the firelight flash or glow.
+  As each soft cloud floats up on high,
+  Some worry takes its wings to fly;
+  And Fancy dances with the flame,
+  Who lay so labor-crammed and lame;
+  While the spent Will, the slack Desire,
+  Re-kindle at the dying fire,
+  And burn to meet the morrow's sun
+  With all its day's work to be done.
+
+  The tedious tangle of the Law,
+  Your work ne'er done without some flaw;
+  Those ghastly streets that drive one mad,
+  With children joyless, elders sad,
+  Young men unmanly, girls going by
+  Bold-voiced, with eyes unmaidenly;
+  Christ dead two thousand years agone,
+  And kingdom come still all unwon;
+  Your own slack self that will not rise
+  Whole-hearted for the great emprise,--
+  Well, all these dark thoughts of the day
+  As thin smoke's shadow drift away.
+
+  And all those magic mists unclose,
+  And a girl's face amid them grows,--
+  The very look she's wont to wear,
+  The wild rose blossoms in her hair,
+  The wondrous depths of her pure eyes,
+  The maiden soul that 'neath them lies,
+  That fears to meet, yet will not fly,
+  Your stranger spirit drawing nigh.
+  What if our times seem sliding down?
+  She lives, creation's flower and crown.
+  What if your way seems dull and long?
+  Each tiny triumph over wrong,
+  Each effort up through sloth and fear,
+  And she and you are brought more near.
+  So rapping out these ashes light,--
+  "My pipe, you've served me well to-night."
+
+_London Spectator_.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO MY PIPE.
+
+
+  O Blessed pipe,
+  That now I clutch within my gripe,
+  What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,
+          As black as coal!
+
+  So sweetly wed
+  To thy blanched, gradual thread,
+  Like Desdemona to the Moor,
+          Thou pleasure's core.
+
+  What woman's lip
+  Could ever give, like thy red tip,
+  Such unremitting store of bliss,
+          Or such a kiss?
+
+  Oh, let me toy,
+  Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;
+  Thy stem with a most gentle slant
+          I eye askant!
+
+  Unseen, unheard,
+  Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,
+  The while serenity astride
+          Thy neck doth ride.
+
+  A burly cloud
+  Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:
+  And now a film doth upward creep,
+          Cuddling the cheek.
+
+  And now a ring,
+  A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
+  Another and another mount on high,
+          Then spread and die.
+
+  They say in story
+  That good men have a crown of glory;
+  O beautiful and good, behold
+          The crowns unfold!
+
+  How did they live?
+  What pleasure could the Old World give
+  That ancient miserable lot
+          When thou wert not?
+
+  Oh, woe betide!
+  My oldest, dearest friend hath died,--
+  Died in my hand quite unaware,
+          Oh, Baccy rare!
+
+ANDREW WYNTER.
+
+
+
+
+A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale,
+    Or with alcohol moisten his thrapple,
+  Only give me, I pray, a good pipe of soft clay,
+    Nicely tapered and thin in the stapple;
+  And I shall puff, puff, let who will say, "Enough!"
+    No luxury else I'm in lack o',
+  No malice I hoard 'gainst queen, prince, duke, or lord,
+    While I pull at my pipe of tobacco.
+
+  When I feel the hot strife of the battle of life,
+    And the prospect is aught but enticin',
+  Mayhap some real ill, like a protested bill,
+    Dims the sunshine that tinged the horizon:
+  Only let me puff, puff,--be they ever so rough,
+    All the sorrows of life I lose track o',
+  The mists disappear, and the vista is clear,
+    With a soothing mild pipe of tobacco.
+
+  And when joy after pain, like the sun after rain,
+    Stills the waters, long turbid and troubled,
+  That life's current may flow with a ruddier glow,
+    And the sense of enjoyment be doubled,--
+  Oh! let me puff, puff, till I feel _quantum suff._,
+    Such luxury still I'm in lack o';
+  Be joy ever so sweet, it would be incomplete,
+    Without a good pipe of tobacco.
+
+  Should my recreant muse--sometimes apt to refuse
+    The guidance of bit and of bridle--
+  Still blankly demur, spite of whip and spur,
+    Unimpassioned, inconstant, or idle;
+  Only let me puff, puff, till the brain cries, "Enough!"
+    Such excitement is all I'm in lack o',
+  And the poetic vein soon to fancy gives rein,
+    Inspired by a pipe of tobacco.
+
+  And when, with one accord, round the jovial board,
+    In friendship our bosoms are glowing,
+  While with toast and with song we the evening prolong,
+    And with nectar the goblets are flowing;
+  Still let us puff, puff,--be life smooth, be it rough,
+    Such enjoyment we're ever in lack o';
+  The more peace and good-will will abound as we fill
+    A jolly good pipe of tobacco.
+
+JOHN USHER.
+
+
+
+
+EPITAPH
+
+_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OVER HER
+GRAVE._
+
+
+  Let no cold marble o'er my body rise--
+  But only earth above, and sunny skies.
+  Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest,
+  Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast.
+  Green let it grow above this clay of mine,
+  Deriving strength from strength that I resign.
+  So in the days to come, when I'm beyond
+  This fickle life, will come my lovers fond,
+  And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain
+  In whispering, "Lo! dear Anna blooms again!"
+
+
+
+
+THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.
+
+(_OCTOBER._)
+
+
+  I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,
+  With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;
+  While they cling to the stems like old age unto life,
+  I dream of the days when I'll rest from this strife,
+    And in peace smoke my brierwood pipe.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe!--of bright fancy the twin,
+    What a medley of forms you create;
+  Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair
+  As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in air,
+    While the dreamer dreams on of his fate.
+
+  The fleecy white clouds that now float in the sky,
+    Form the visions I love most to see;
+  Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first dreams
+  Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there gleams
+    A bright future, in waiting for me.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,
+    As that fair form and face steal above;
+  See, she beckons me on to where roses are spread,
+  And she points to my fancy the bright land ahead,
+    Where the winds whisper nothing but love.
+
+  Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair
+    When it changes to dreams of the past?
+  When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as sere
+  As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me here,
+    Will the tree's _heart_ be chilled by the blast?
+
+  While musing, around me has gathered a heap
+    Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;
+  And I see in my reverie plainly revealed
+  The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood concealed
+    By the forms that fair fancy had bred.
+
+  While I sit on the banks of the beautiful stream,
+    Picking roses that bloom by its side,
+  I know that the shallop will certainly come,
+  When the roses are withered, to carry me home,
+    And that life will go out with the tide.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light
+  When memory supplanteth the dream;
+  When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam remain,
+  And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance retain,
+    Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.
+
+
+  Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig,
+  Ne'er deemed the smoke-cloud _infra dig._,
+  In which you could not see his wig,
+          Involved in clouds of smoke.
+
+  Quaint Lamb his wit would oft enshroud
+  In smoke-igniting laughter loud,
+  Like summer thunder in the cloud,--
+          The lightning in the smoke.
+
+  Dean Swift "died at the top;" his head
+  Had drifting clouds when wit had fled:
+  Dull care lurked in his brain, instead
+          Of blowing out in smoke.
+
+  And Cowper mild--no smoker he,
+  Bard of the sofa and bohea--
+  Complained his "dear friend Bull" not free
+          From lowering Stygian smoke.
+
+  Clouds in his non-inebriate nob
+  Were doomed the tea tables to rob,
+  Inflicting many a painful throb
+          On one who could not smoke!
+
+  Smoke on! it is the steam of life,
+  The smoother of the waves of strife;
+  Where chimneys smoke, or scolds the wife,
+          The counteraction--smoke.
+
+  We ride and work and weave by steam,
+  Till ages past seem like a dream
+  In a new world whose dawning beam
+          Is redolent of smoke.
+
+  We travel like a comet wild
+  On which some distant sun had smiled,
+  And from his orbit thus beguiled
+          With a long tail of smoke.
+
+  The clouds arise from smoking seas,
+  And give, with each conveying breeze,
+  Life to the "weed," and herbs, and trees,
+          Which turn again to smoke.
+
+  All nations smoke! Havana's pother
+  Smokes friendly with its Broseley brother:
+  The world's one end puffs to the other,
+          In amicable smoke.
+
+  When plague and pestilence go forth,
+  And to diseases dire give birth,
+  Which walk in darkness through the earth,
+          I clothe myself in smoke.
+
+  I smoke through desolating years,
+  Tabooed from fever, void of fears,
+  And when some dreaded pest appears,
+          I call in Doctor Smoke.
+
+  Go, reader! perfume ladies' hair
+  And scent the ringlets of the fair
+  With eau Cologne and odors rare
+          Aloof from healthy smoke.
+
+  Go babble at the ball and rout,
+  And smirk with high-born dames who doubt:
+  Thy flames are quenched, thy fires are out,
+          And sinking into smoke.
+
+  "Better," said Johnson, great in name,
+  "It were, when poets droop in fame,
+  To see smoke brighten into flame,
+          Than flames sink into smoke."
+
+SELIM: _Eclectic Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+A SYMPHONY IN SMOKE.
+
+
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,
+  Who likes to muse and take her ease,
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette;
+
+  To dream in silken hammockette,
+  And sing and swing beneath the trees,
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.
+
+  Her Christian name is Violet;
+  Her eyes are blue as summer skies;
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  As calm as babe in bassinette,
+  She swingeth in the summer breeze,
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.
+
+  She ponders o'er a novelette;
+  Her parasol is Japanese;
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  She loves a fume without a fret;
+  Her frills are white, her frock _cérise_,--
+  A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.
+
+  She almost goes to sleep, and yet,
+  Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  A winsome, clever, cool coquette,
+  Who flouts all Grundian decrees,--
+  pretty, pouting, piquant pet,
+  That loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+_Harper's Bazaar_.
+
+
+
+
+IT MAY BE WEEDS.
+
+
+  It may be weeds
+    I've gathered too;
+  But even weeds may be
+    As fragrant as
+    The fairest flower
+  With some sweet memory.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+SEASONABLE SWEETS.
+
+"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+  When the year is young, what sweets are flung
+    By the violets, hiding, dim,
+  And the lilac that sways her censers high,
+    Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!
+  How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,
+    When blithe spring decks each spray,
+  And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume
+    Through the beautiful month of May!
+  What a dainty pet is the mignonette,
+    Whose sweets wide scattered are!
+  But sweeter to me than all these yet
+    Is the scent of a prime cigar!
+
+  Delicious airs waft the fields of June,
+    When the beans are all in flower;
+  The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,
+    And the woodbine in the bower.
+  Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine
+    For the blithe hours as they run,
+  And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,
+    That is all in love with the sun,
+  Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay
+    Flings odorous airs afar;
+  Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze
+    Is the scent of a prime cigar.
+
+  When all the beauties of Flora's court
+    Smile on the gay parterre,
+  What glorious color, what exquisite form,
+    And dainty scents are there!
+  They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,
+    Like beautiful nymphs at play,
+  Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup
+    To the glorious God of Day.
+  Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,
+    And death doth their sweetness mar;
+  But fragrance fine is forever thine,
+    My well-beloved cigar!
+
+C.
+
+
+
+
+GEORDIE TO HIS TOBACCO-PIPE.
+
+
+  Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend,
+  Whom I have smoked these fourteen years and more,
+  My best companion, faithful to the end,
+  Faithful to death through all thy fiery core,
+
+  How shall I sing thy praises, or proclaim
+  The generous virtues which I've found in thee?
+  I know thou carest not a whit for fame,
+  And hast no thought but how to comfort me,
+
+  And serve my needs, and humor every mood;
+  But love and friendship do my heart constrain
+  To give thee all I can for much of good
+  Which thou hast rendered me in joy and pain.
+
+  Say, then, old honest meerschaum! shall I weave
+  Thy history together with my own?
+  Of late I never see thee but I grieve
+  For him whose gift thou wert--forever gone!
+
+  Gone to his grave amidst the vines of France,
+  He, all so good, so beautiful, and wise;
+  And this dear giver doth thyself enhance,
+  And makes thee doubly precious in mine eyes.
+
+  For he was one of Nature's rarest men,--
+  Poet and preacher, lover of his kind,
+  True-hearted man of God, whose like again
+  In this world's journey I may never find.
+
+  I know not if the shadow of his soul,
+  Or the divine effulgence of his heart,
+  Has through thy veins in mystic silence stole;
+  But thou to me dost seem of him a part.
+
+  His hands have touched thee, and his lips have drawn,
+  As mine, full many an inspiring cloud
+  From thy great burning heart, at night and morn;
+  And thou art here, whilst he lies in his shroud!
+
+  And here am I, his friend and thine, old pipe!
+  And he has often sat my chair beside,
+  As he was wont to sit in living type,
+  Of many companies the flower and pride,--
+
+  Sat by my side, and talked to me the while,
+  Invisible to every eye save mine,
+  And smiled upon me as he used to smile
+  When we three sat o'er our good cups of wine.
+
+  Ah, happy days, when the old Chapel House,
+  Of the old Forest Chapel, rang with mirth,
+  And the great joy of our divine carouse,
+  As we hobnobbed it by the blazing hearth!
+
+  We never more, old pipe, shall see those days,
+  Whose memories lie like pictures in my mind;
+  But thou and I will go the self-same ways,
+  E'en though we leave all other friends behind.
+
+  And for thy sake, and for my own, and his,
+  We will be one, as we have ever been,
+  Thou dear old friend, with thy most honest phiz,
+  And no new faces come our loves between.
+
+
+II.
+
+  Thou hast thy separate virtues, honest pipe!
+  Apart from all the memory of friends:
+  For thou art mellow, old, and black, and ripe;
+  And the good weed that in its smoke ascends
+
+  From thy rare bowl doth scent the liberal air
+  With incense richer than the woods of Ind.
+  E'en to the barren palate of despair
+  (Inhaled through cedar tubes from glorious Scinde!)
+
+  It hath a charm would quicken into life,
+  And make the heart gush out in streams of love,
+  And the earth, dead before, with beauty rife,
+  And full of flowers as heaven of stars above.
+
+  It is thy virtue and peculiar gift,
+  Thou sooty wizard of the potent weed;
+  No other pipe can thus the soul uplift,
+  Or such rare fancies and high musings breed.
+
+  I've tried full many of thy kith and kind,
+  Dug from thy native Asiatic clay,
+  Fashioned by cunning hand and curious mind
+  Into all shapes and features, grave and gay,--
+
+  Black niggers' heads with their white-livered eyes
+  Glaring in fiery horror through the smoke,
+  And monstrous dragons stained with bloody dyes,
+  And comelier forms; but all save thee I broke.
+
+  For though, like thee, each pipe was black and old,
+  They were not wiser for their many years,
+  Nor knew thy sorcery though set in gold,
+  Nor had thy tropic taste,--these proud compeers!
+
+  Like great John Paul, who would have loved thee well,
+  Thou art the "only one" of all thy race;
+  Nor shall another comrade near thee dwell,
+  Old King of pipes! my study's pride and grace!
+
+
+III.
+
+  Thus have I made "assurance doubly sure,"
+  And sealed it twice, that thou shalt reign alone!
+  And as the dainty bee doth search for pure,
+  Sweet honey till his laden thighs do groan
+
+  With their sweet burden, tasting nothing foul,
+  So thou of best tobacco shalt be filled;
+  And when the starry midnight wakes the owl,
+  And the lorn nightingale her song has trilled,
+
+  I, with my lamp and books, as is my wont,
+  Will give thee of the choicest of all climes,--
+  Black Cavendish, full-flavored, full of juice,
+  Pale Turkish, famed through all the Osman times,
+
+  Dark Latakia, Syrian, Persia's pride,
+  And sweet Virginian, sweeter than them all!
+  Oh, rich bouquet of plants! fit for a bride
+  Who, blushing, waits the happy bridegroom's call!
+
+  And these shall be thy food, thy dainty food,
+  And we together will their luxury share,
+  Voluptuous tumults stealing through the blood,
+  Voluptuous visions filling all the air!
+
+  I will not thee profane with impious shag,
+  Nor poison thee with nigger-head and twist,
+  Nor with Kentucky, though the planters brag
+  That it hath virtues all the rest have missed.
+
+  These are for porters, loafers, and the scum,
+  Who have no sense for the diviner weeds,
+  Who drink their muddy beer and muddier rum,
+  Insatiate, like dogs in all their greeds.
+
+  But not for thee nor me these things obscene;
+  We have a higher pleasure, purer taste.
+  My draughts have been with thee of hippocrene,
+  And our delights intelligent and chaste.
+
+
+IV.
+
+  Intelligent and chaste since we have held
+  Commune together on the world's highway;
+  No Falstaff failings have my mind impelled
+  To do misdeeds of sack by night or day;
+
+  But we have ever erred on virtue's side--
+  At least we should have done--but woe is me!
+  I fear in this my statement I have lied,
+  For ghosts, like moonlight shadows on the sea,
+
+  Crowd thick around me from the shadowy past,--
+  Ghosts of old memories reeling drunk with wine!
+  And boon companions, Lysius-like, and vast
+  In their proportions as the god divine.
+
+  I do confess my sins, and here implore
+  The aid of "Rare Old Ben" and other ghosts
+  That I may sin again, but rarely more,
+  Responsive only unto royal toasts.
+
+  For, save these sins, I am a saintly man,
+  And live like other saints on prayer and praise,
+  My long face longer, if life be a span,
+  Than any two lives in these saintly days.
+
+  So let me smoke and drink and do good deeds,
+  And boast the doing like a Pharisee;
+  Am I not holy if I love the creeds,
+  Even though my drinking sins choke up the sea?
+
+GEORGE S. PHILLIPS (JANUARY SEARLE): _The Gypsies of the Dane's Dike._
+
+
+
+
+INVOCATION TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth,
+  Killer of dulness, parent of mirth,
+  Come in the sad hour, come in the gay,
+  Appear in the night, or in the day,--
+  Still thou art welcome as June's blooming rose,
+  Joy of the palate, delight of the nose.
+
+  Weed of the green field, weed of the wild,
+  Fostered in freedom, America's child,
+  Come in Virginia, come in Havana,
+  Friend of the universe, sweeter than manna,--
+  Still thou art welcome, rich, fragrant, and ripe,
+  Pride of the tube-case, delight of the pipe.
+
+  Weed of the savage, weed of each pole,
+  Comforting, soothing, philosophy's soul,
+  Come in the snuff-box, come in cigar,
+  In Strasburgh and King's, come from afar,--
+  Still thou art welcome, the purest, the best,
+  Joy of earth's millions, forever carest.
+
+HENRY JAMES MELLEN.
+
+
+
+
+VIRGINIA TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Two maiden dames of sixty-two
+    Together long had dwelt;
+  Neither, alas! of love so true
+    The bitter pang had felt.
+
+  But age comes on, they say, apace,
+    To warn us of our death,
+  And wrinkles mar the fairest face,--
+    At last it stops our breath.
+
+  One of these dames tormented sore
+    With that curst pang, toothache,
+  Was at a loss for such a bore
+    What remedy to take.
+
+  "I've heard," thought she, "this ill to cure,
+    A pipe is good, they say.
+  Well then, tobacco I'll endure,
+    And smoke the pain away."
+
+  The pipe was lit, the tooth soon well,
+    And she retired to rest,
+  When then the other ancient belle
+    Her spinster maid addressed,--
+
+  "Let me request a favor, pray"--
+    "I'll do it if I can"--
+  "Oh! well, then, love, smoke every day,
+    _You smell so like a man!_"
+
+Attributed to JOHN STANLEY GREGSON.
+
+
+
+
+AN ODE OF THANKS FOR CERTAIN CIGARS.
+
+_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._
+
+
+  Luck, my dear Norton, still makes shifts,
+  To mix a mortal with her gifts,
+  Which he may find who duly sifts.
+
+  Sweets to the sweet,--behold the clue!
+  Why not, then, new things to the gnu,
+  And trews to Highland clansmen true?
+
+  'Twas thus your kindly thought decreed
+  These weeds to one who is indeed,
+  And feels himself, a very weed,--
+
+  A weed from which, when bruised and shent,
+  Though some faint perfume may be rent,
+  Yet oftener much without a cent.
+
+  But imp, O Muse, a stronger wing
+  Mount, leaving self below, and sing
+  What thoughts these Cuban exiles bring!
+
+  He that knows aught of mythic lore
+  Knows how god Bacchus wandered o'er
+  The earth, and what strange names he bore.
+
+  The Bishop of Avranches supposes
+  That all these large and varying doses
+  Of fable mean naught else than Moses;
+
+  But waiving doubts, we surely know
+  He taught mankind to plough and sow,
+  And from the Tigris to the Po
+
+  Planted the vine; but of his visit
+  To this our hemisphere, why is it
+  We have no statement more explicit?
+
+  He gave to us a leaf divine
+  More grateful to the serious Nine
+  Than fierce inspirings of the vine.
+
+  And that _he_ loved it more, this proved,--
+  He gave his name to what he loved,
+  Distorted now, but not removed.
+
+  Tobacco, sacred herb, though lowly,
+  Baffles old Time, the tyrant, wholly,
+  And makes him turn his hour-glass slowly;
+
+  Nay, makes as 'twere of every glass six,
+  Whereby we beat the heathen classics
+  With their weak Chians and their Massics.
+
+  These gave his glass a quicker twist,
+  And flew the hours like driving mist,
+  While Horace drank and Lesbia kissed.
+
+  How are we gainers when all's done,
+  If Life's swift clepsydra have run
+  With wine for water? 'Tis all one.
+
+  But this rare plant delays the stream
+  (At least if things are what they seem)
+  Through long eternities of dream.
+
+  What notes the antique Muse had known
+  Had she, instead of oat-straws, blown
+  Our wiser pipes of clay or stone!
+
+  Rash song, forbear! Thou canst not hope,
+  Untutored as thou art, to cope
+  With themes of such an epic scope.
+
+  Enough if thou give thanks to him
+  Who sent these leaves (forgive the whim)
+  Plucked from the dream-tree's sunniest limb.
+
+  My gratitude feels no eclipse,
+  For I, whate'er my other slips,
+  Shall have his kindness on my lips.
+
+  The prayers of Christian, Turk, and Jew
+  Have one sound up there in the blue,
+  And one smell all their incense, too.
+
+  Perhaps that smoke with incense ranks
+  Which curls from 'mid life's jars and clanks,
+  Graceful with happiness and thanks.
+
+  I pledge him, therefore, in a puff,--
+  rather frailish kind of stuff,
+  But still professional enough.
+
+  Hock-cups breed hiccups; let us feel
+  The god along our senses steel
+  More nobly and without his reel.
+
+  Each temperately 'baccy _plenus_,
+  May no grim fate of doubtful genus
+  E'er blow the smallest cloud between us.
+
+  And as his gift I shall devote
+  To fire, and o'er their ashes gloat,--
+  Let him do likewise with this note.
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+[From "The Letters of James Russell Lowell." Copyright, 1893, by
+Harper & Brothers.]
+
+
+
+
+AN ENCOMIUM ON TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight,
+  And thus produce so rich a Margarite!
+  It is the fountain whence all pleasure springs,
+  A potion for imperial and mighty kings.
+
+  He that is master of so rich a store
+  May laugh at Croesus and esteem him poor;
+  And with his smoky sceptre in his fist,
+  Securely flout the toiling alchemist,
+  Who daily labors with a vain expense
+  In distillations of the quintessence,
+  Not knowing that this golden herb alone
+  Is the philosopher's admired stone.
+
+  It is a favor which the gods doth please,
+  If they do feed on smoke, as Lucian says.
+  Therefore the cause that the bright sun doth rest
+  At the low point of the declining west--
+  When his oft-wearied horses breathless pant--
+  Is to refresh himself with this sweet plant,
+  Which wanton Thetis from the west doth bring,
+  To joy her love after his toilsome ring:
+  For 'tis a cordial for an inward smart,
+  As is dictamnum to the wounded hart.
+  It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe;
+  'Tis like the thorn that doth on Pelion grow,
+  With which whoe'er his frosty limbs anoints,
+  Shall feel no cold in fat or flesh or joints.
+  'Tis like the river, which whoe'er doth taste
+  Forgets his present griefs and sorrows past.
+  Music, which makes grim thoughts retire,
+  And for a while cease their tormenting fire,--
+  Music, which forces beasts to stand and gaze,
+  And fills their senseless spirits with amaze,--
+  Compared to this is like delicious strings,
+  Which sound but harshly while Apollo sings.
+  The train with this infumed, all quarrel ends,
+  And fiercest foemen turn to faithful friends;
+  The man that shall this smoky magic prove,
+  Will need no philtres to obtain his love.
+
+  Yet the sweet simple, by misordered use,
+  Death or some dangerous sickness may produce.
+  Should we not for our sustentation eat
+  Because a surfeit comes from too much meat?
+  So our fair plant--that doth as needful stand
+  As heaven, or fire, or air, or sea, or land;
+  As moon, or stars that rule the gloomy night,
+  Or sacred friendship, or the sunny light--
+  Her treasured virtue in herself enrolls,
+  And leaves the evil to vainglorious souls.
+  And yet, who dies with this celestial breath
+  Shall live immortal in a joyful death.
+  All goods, all pleasures it in one can link--
+  'Tis physic, clothing, music, meat, and drink.
+
+  Gods would have revell'd at their feasts of mirth
+  With this pure distillation of the earth;
+  The marrow of the world, star of the West,
+  The pearl whereby this lower orb is blest;
+  The joy of mortals, umpire of all strife,
+  Delight of nature, mithridate of life;
+  The daintiest dish of a delicious feast,
+  By taking which man differs from a beast.
+
+ANONYMOUS: _Time, James I._
+
+
+
+
+ON A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Three hundred years ago or soe,
+    One worthy knight and gentlemanne
+  Did bring me here, to charm and chere,
+    To physical and mental manne.
+  God bless his soule who filled ye bowle,
+    And may our blessings find him;
+  That he not miss some share of blisse
+    Who left soe much behind him.
+
+BERNARD BARKER.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE TOBACCO PIPE.
+
+
+  Dear piece of fascinating clay!
+  'Tis thine to smooth life's rugged way,
+  To give a happiness unknown
+  To those--who let a pipe alone;
+  Thy tube can best the vapors chase,
+  By raising--others in their place;
+  Can give the face staid Wisdom's air,
+  And teach the lips--to ope with care;
+  'Tis hence thou art the truest friend
+  (Where least is said there's least to mend),
+  And he who ventures many a joke
+  Had better oft be still and smoke.
+
+  Whatever giddy foplings think,
+  Thou giv'st the highest zest to drink.
+  When fragrant clouds thy fumes exhale,
+  And hover round the nut-brown ale,
+  Who thinks of claret or champagne?
+  E'en burgundy were pour'd in vain.
+
+  'Tis not in city smoke alone,
+  Midst fogs and glooms thy charms are known.
+  With thee, at morn, the rustic swain
+  Tracks o'er the snow-besprinkled plain,
+  To seek some neighb'ring copse's side,
+  And rob the woodlands of their pride:
+  With thee, companion of his toil,
+  His active spirits ne'er recoil;
+  Though hard his daily task assign'd,
+  He bears it with an equal mind.
+
+  The fisher 'board some little bark,
+  When all around is drear and dark,
+  With shortened pipe beguiles the hour,
+  Though bleak the wind and cold the show'r,
+  Nor thinks the morn's approach too slow,
+  Regardless of what tempests blow.
+  Midst hills of sand, midst ditches, dikes,
+  Midst cannons, muskets, halberts, pikes;
+  With thee, as still, Mynheer can stay,
+  As Neddy 'twixt two wisps of hay;
+  Heedless of Britain and of France,
+  Smokes on--and looks to the main chance.
+
+  And sure the solace thou canst give
+  Must make thy fame unrivalled live,
+  So long as men can temper clay
+  (For as thou art, e'en so are they),
+  The sun mature the Indian weed,
+  And rolling years fresh sorrows breed.
+
+From _The Meteors_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.
+
+
+  Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh,
+    Briton of the truest type,
+  When that too devoted valet
+    Quenched your first-recorded pipe,
+  Were you pondering the opinion,
+    As you watched the airy coil,
+  That the virtue of Virginia
+    Might be bred in British soil?
+
+  You transplanted the potato,
+    'Twas a more enduring gift
+  Than the wisdom of a Plato
+    To our poverty and thrift.
+  That respected root has flourished
+    Nobly for a nation's need,
+  But our brightest dreams are nourished
+    Ever on a foreign weed.
+
+  From the deepest meditation
+    Of the philosophic scribe,
+  From the poet's inspiration,
+    For the cynic's polished gibe,
+  We invoke narcotic nurses
+    In their jargon from afar,
+  I indite these modest verses
+    On a polyglot cigar.
+
+  Leaf that lulls a Turkish Aga
+    May a scholar's soul renew,
+  Fancy spring from Larranaga,
+    History from honey-dew.
+  When the teacher and the tyro
+    Spirit-manna fondly seek,
+  'Tis the cigarette from Cairo,
+    Or a compound from the Greek.
+
+  But no British-born aroma
+    Is fit incense to the Queen,
+  Nature gives her best diploma
+    To the alien nicotine.
+  We are doomed to her ill-favor,
+    For the plant that's native grown
+  Has a patriotic flavor
+    Too exclusively our own.
+
+  O my country, could your smoker
+    Boast your "shag," or even "twist,"
+  Every man were mediocre
+    Save the blest tobacconist!
+  He will point immortal morals,
+    Make all common praises mute,
+  Who shall win our grateful laurels
+    With a national cheroot.
+
+_The St. James Gazette_.
+
+
+
+
+TO AN OLD PIPE.
+
+
+  Once your smoothly polished face
+  Nestled lightly in a case;
+  'Twas a jolly cosy place,
+            I surmise;
+
+  And a zealous subject blew
+  On your cheeks, until they grew
+  To the fascinating hue
+            Of her eyes.
+
+  Near a rusty-hilted sword,
+  Now upon my mantel-board,
+  Where my curios are stored,
+            You recline.
+
+  You were pleasant company when
+  By the scribbling of her pen
+  I was sent the ways of men
+            To repine.
+
+  Tell me truly (you were there
+  When she ceased that debonair
+  Correspondence and affair)
+            I suppose
+
+  That she laughed and smiled all day;
+  Or did gentle tear-drops stray
+  Down her charming _retroussée_
+            Little nose?
+
+  Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
+  Fall upon the mantel-sill,
+  You perpetually will
+            Silence woo;
+
+  And I fear that she herself,
+  By the little chubby elf.
+  Will be laid upon the shelf
+            Just as you.
+
+DE WITT STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.
+
+  "Let those smoke now who never smoked before,
+  And those who always smoked--now smoke the more."
+
+
+
+
+ACROSTIC.
+
+  To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles,
+  O'er cankered care bring radiant smiles,
+  Best gift of Love to mortals given!
+  At once the bud and bliss of Heaven!
+  Crownless are kings uncrowned by thee;
+  Content the serf in thy sweet liberty,
+  O charm of life! O foe to misery!
+
+J.H.
+
+
+
+
+ANOTHER MATCH.
+
+_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._
+
+
+  If love were dhudeen olden,
+    And I were like the weed,
+  Oh! we would live together
+  And love the jolly weather,
+  And bask in sunshine golden,
+    Rare pals of choicest breed;
+  If love were dhudeen olden,
+    And I were like the weed.
+
+  If you were oil essential,
+    And I were nicotine,
+  We'd hatch up wicked treason,
+  And spoil each smoker's reason,
+  Till he grew penitential,
+    And turned a bilious green;
+  If you were oil essential,
+    And I were nicotine.
+
+  If you were snuff, my darling,
+    And I, your love, the box.
+  We'd live and sneeze together,
+  Shut out from all the weather,
+  And anti-snuffers snarling,
+    In neckties orthodox;
+  If you were snuff, my darling,
+    And I, your love, the box.
+
+  If you were the aroma,
+    And I were simply smoke,
+  We'd skyward fly together,
+  As light as any feather;
+  And flying high as Homer,
+    His gray old ghost we'd choke;
+  If you were the aroma,
+    And I were simply smoke.
+
+From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.
+
+
+
+
+IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.
+
+
+  In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,
+      Faces of olden days uprise,
+      And in his dreamers revery
+    They haunt the smoker's brain, and he
+  Breathes for the past regretful sighs.
+
+      Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,
+      In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies,
+        Faces that more he'll only see
+          In wreaths of smoke.
+
+  Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,--
+  How youth-time passion droops and dies,
+    And all the countless visions flee!
+    How worn would all those faces be,
+  Were they not swathed in soft disguise
+        In wreaths of smoke!
+
+FRANK NEWTON HOLMAN.
+
+
+
+
+ASHES.
+
+
+  Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,
+  Alone I puff my brier brown,
+  And watch the ashes settle down
+      In lambent flashes;
+  While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,
+  I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,
+  Upon the half-forgotten days
+      That left but ashes.
+
+  Again we wander through the lane,
+  Beneath the elms and out again,
+  Across the rippling fields of grain,
+      Where softly flashes
+  A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,
+  At every sigh my pulses burn,
+  At every thought I slowly turn
+      And find but ashes.
+
+  What made my fingers tremble so,
+  As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,
+  Around them, now with movements slow
+      And now with dashes?
+  Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,
+  Maybe a tear within them lies;
+  But as I puff my pipe there flies
+      A cloud of ashes.
+
+  Perhaps you did not understand,
+  How lightly flames of love were fanned.
+  Ah, every thought and wish I've planned
+      With something clashes!
+  And yet within my lonely den
+  Over a pipe, away from men,
+  I love to throw aside my pen
+      And stir the ashes.
+
+DE WITT STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Tube, I love thee as my life;
+  By thee I mean to choose a wife.
+  Tube, thy _color_ let me find,
+  In her _skin_, and in her _mind_.
+  Let her have a _shape_ as fine;
+  Let her breath be sweet as thine;
+  Let her, when her lips I kiss,
+  _Burn_ like thee, to give me bliss;
+  Let her, in some _smoke_ or other,
+  All my failings kindly smother.
+  Often when my thoughts are _low_,
+  Send them where they ought to go;
+  When to study I incline,
+  Let her aid be such as thine;
+  Such as thine the charming power
+  In the vacant social hour.
+  Let her live to give delight,
+  Ever _warm_ and ever _bright_;
+  Let her deeds, whene'er she dies,
+  Mount as incense to the skies.
+
+_Gentleman's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+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 vanish 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.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKE IS THE FOOD OF LOVERS.
+
+
+  When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose
+  Was just the very one you might suppose.
+  Love keep a shop?--his trade, oh! quickly name!
+  A dealer in tobacco--fie, for shame!
+  No less than true, and set aside all joke,
+  From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke;
+  Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made;
+  Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade;
+  His capital all smoke, smoke all his store,
+  'Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no more--
+  And thousands enter daily at his door!
+  Hence it was ever, and it e'er will be
+  The trade most suited to his faculty:
+  Fed by the vapors of their heart's desire,
+  No other food his votaries require;
+  For that they seek--the favor of the fair--
+  Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.
+
+JACOB CATS: _Moral Emblems_.
+
+
+
+
+CLOUDS.
+
+
+  Mortals say their heart is light
+  When the clouds around disperse;
+  Clouds to gather, thick as night,
+  Is the smoker's universe.
+
+_From the German of Bauernfeld_.
+
+
+
+
+IN FAVOR OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Much victuals serves for gluttony
+  To fatten men like swine;
+  But he's a frugal man indeed
+  That with a leaf can dine,
+  And needs no napkin for his hands,
+  His fingers' ends to wipe,
+  But keeps his kitchen in a box,
+  And roast meat in a pipe.
+
+SAMUEL ROWLANDS: _Knave of Clubs_ (1611).
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_.
+
+
+  To my sweet cigarette I am singing
+    This joyous and bright bacca-role;
+  Just now to my lips she was clinging,
+    Her spirit was soothing my soul.
+  With figure so slender and dapper
+    I feel the soft touch of it yet,
+  Adorned in her dainty white wrapper,
+    How fair is my own cigarette!
+        'Twere better, perhaps, that we part, love;
+        'Twere better, if never we'd met.
+        Alas, you are part of my heart, love,
+        Destructive but sweet cigarette!
+
+  Though matchless, by matches she's fired,
+    And glows both with pleasure and pride;
+  By her soft, balmy breath I'm inspired,
+    And kiss and caress my new bride.
+  E'en the clouds of her nature are joyous,
+    Though other clouds cause us regret;
+  From worry and care they decoy us,
+    The clouds of a sweet cigarette.
+        'Twere better, etc.
+
+  The houris in paradise living
+    Dissolve in the first love embrace,
+  Their life to their love freely giving,--
+    And so with my love 'tis the case;
+  For when her life's last spark is flying,
+    Still sweet to the end is my pet,
+  Who helps me, although she is dying,
+    To light up a fresh cigarette!
+        'Twere better, etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLADE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  When verdant youth sees life afar,
+    And first sets out wild oats to sow,
+  He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,
+    And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co.
+  He likes not smoking yet; but though
+    Tobacco makes him sick indeed,
+  Cigars and wine he can't forego,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+  In time his tastes more dainty are
+    And delicate. Become a beau,
+  From out the country of the czar
+    He brings his cigarettes, and lo!
+  He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.
+    Thus keener relish shall succeed
+  The baser liking we outgrow,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed
+
+  When age and his own lucky star
+    To him perfected wisdom show,
+  The schooner glides across the bar,
+    And beer for him shall freely flow;
+  A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,
+    To which he turns in direst need,
+  To seek in smoke surcease of woe,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+
+
+
+ENVOI.
+
+
+  Smokers, who doubt or con or pro,
+    And ye who dare to drink, take heed!
+  And see in smoke a friendly foe,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+BRANDER MATTHEWS.
+
+
+
+
+HE RESPONDETH.
+
+
+SHE.
+
+  You still persist in using,
+    I observe with great regret,
+  The needlessly expensive
+          Cigarette.
+
+
+  HE.
+
+  You should set a good example;
+    But you seem to quite forget
+  That you use a thirty-dollar
+          Vinaigrette.
+
+_Life._
+
+
+
+
+TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.
+
+
+  Betty bouncer kept a stall
+    At the corner of a street,
+  And she had a smile for all.
+    Many were the friends she'd greet
+  With kindly nod on passing by,
+  Who, smiling, saw her pipe awry.
+
+  Poor old lass! she loved her pipe,
+    A constant friend it seemed to be;
+  As she sold her apples ripe,
+    With an apple on each knee,
+  How she'd make the smoke-wreaths fly,
+  As I've watched her pipe awry!
+
+  Seasons came and seasons went,
+    Only changing Betty's store;
+  Youngsters with her always spent
+    Their little all and wished they'd more:
+  Timidly with upturned eye
+  Staring at her pipe awry.
+
+  Bet was always at her post
+    Early morn or even late;
+  Ginger beer or chestnut roast,
+    Served she as she sat in state,
+  On two bushel-baskets high;
+  You should have seen her pipe awry!
+
+  Little care old Betty had,
+    She quietly jogged on her way;
+  Never did her face look sad.
+    Although she fumed the livelong day.
+  Guiltless seemed she of a sigh.
+  I never saw her pipe her eye!
+
+C.F.
+
+
+
+
+INGIN SUMMER.
+
+
+  Jest about the time when Fall
+    Gits to rattlin' in the trees,
+  An' the man thet knows it all,
+    'Spicions frost in every breeze,
+  When a person tells hisse'f
+    Thet the leaves look mighty thin,
+  Then thar blows a meller breaf!
+    Ingin summer's hyere agin.
+
+  Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues
+    Spins acrost the mountain-side,
+  An' the heavy mornin' dews
+    Greens the grass up far an' wide,
+  Natur' raly 'pears as ef
+    She wuz layin' off a day,--
+  Sort-uh drorin in her breaf
+    'Fore she freezes up to stay.
+
+  Nary lick o' work I strike,
+    'Long about this time of year!
+  I'm a sort-uh slowly like,
+    Right when Ingin summer's here.
+  Wife and boys kin do the work;
+    But a man with natchel wit,
+  Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,
+    Ef he has a turn for it.
+
+  Time when grapes set in to ripe,
+    All I ast off any man
+  Is a common co'n-cob pipe
+    With terbacker to my han';
+  Then jest loose me whar the air
+    Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!
+  Promised lands ull find me thar;
+    Wings ull fahly sprout on me!
+
+  I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,
+    Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,
+  When I stretch my marrer-bones
+    Jest outside the cabin door!
+  An' the sunshine peepin' down
+    On my old head, bald an' gray,
+  'Pears right like the gilted crown,
+    I expect to w'ar some day.
+
+EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.
+
+
+
+
+EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.
+
+_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANSLATED BY
+EDWARD BRECK._
+
+
+
+  As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
+    To while away the moments glad,
+  With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
+    My mind perceives an image sad,
+  So that I can but clearly see
+  How very like it is to me.
+
+  My pipe is made of earth and clay,
+    From which my mortal part is wrought;
+  I, too, must turn to earth some day.
+    It often falls, as quick as thought,
+  And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
+  My fate, alas! is but the same!
+
+  My pipe I color not, nor paint;
+    White it remains, and hence 'tis true
+  That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
+    My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
+  And as it blackens day by day,
+  So black the grave shall turn my clay!
+
+  And when the pipe is put alight
+    The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
+  And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
+    And but the whitened ash remains.
+  'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
+  E'en as his body, into dust!
+
+  How oft the filler is mislaid;
+    And, rather than to seek in vain,
+  I use my finger in its stead,
+    And fancy as I feel the pain,
+  If coals can burn to such degree,
+  How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!
+
+  So in tobacco oft I find,
+    Lessons of such instructive type;
+  And hence with calm, contented mind
+    I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
+  In reverence where'er I roam,--
+  On land, on water, and at home.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST LOTUS.
+
+
+  'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East,
+    There dwelt a race whose softly flowing hours
+  Passed like the vision of a royal feast,
+    By Nero given in the Baian bowers;
+  Thanks to the lotus-blossom spell,
+  Their lives were one long miracle.
+
+  In after years the passing sons of men
+    Looked for those lotus blossoms all in vain,
+  Through every hillside, glade, and glen
+    And e'en the isles of many a main;
+  Yet through the centuries some doom,
+  Forbade them see the lotus bloom.
+
+  The Old World wearied of the long pursuit,
+    And called the sacred leaf a poet's theme,
+  When lo! the New World, rich in flower and fruit,
+    Revealed the lotus, lovelier than the dream
+  That races of the long past days did haunt,--
+  The green-leaved, amber-tipped tobacco plant.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.
+
+
+  What is it comes through the deepening dusk,--
+  Something sweeter than jasmine scent,
+  Sweeter than rose and violet blent,
+  More potent in power than orange or musk?
+  The scent of a good cigar.
+
+  I am all alone in my quiet room,
+  And the windows are open wide and free
+  To let in the south wind's kiss for me,
+  While I rock in the softly gathering gloom,
+  And that subtle fragrance steals.
+
+  Just as a loving, tender hand
+  Will sometimes steal in yours,
+  It softly comes through the open doors,
+  And memory wakes at its command,--
+  The scent of that good cigar.
+
+  And what does it say? Ah! that's for me
+  And my heart alone to know;
+  But that heart thrills with a sudden glow,
+  Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,--
+  From the scent of that good cigar.
+
+KATE A. CARRINGTON.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY CIGAR.
+
+
+  Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
+    In learned doctor's spite;
+  Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
+    And lap me in delight.
+
+  What though they tell, with phizzes long,
+    My years are sooner past!
+  I would reply with reason strong,
+    They're sweeter while they last.
+
+  When in the lonely evening hour,
+    Attended but by thee,
+  O'er history's varied page I pore,
+    Man's fate in thine I see.
+
+  Oft as the snowy column grows,
+    Then breaks and falls away,
+  I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
+    Thus tumbled to decay.
+
+  Awhile like thee earth's masters burn
+    And smoke and fume around;
+  And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
+    And mingle with the ground.
+
+  Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,
+    And Time's the wasting breath
+  That, late or early, we behold
+    Gives all to dusty death.
+
+  From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,
+    One common doom is passed;
+  Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe,
+    Must all burn out at last.
+
+  And what is he who smokes thee now?
+    A little moving heap,
+  That soon, like thee, to fate must bow,
+    With thee in dust must sleep.
+
+  But though thy ashes downward go,
+    Thy essence rolls on high;
+  Thus, when my body lieth low,
+    My soul shall cleave the sky.
+
+CHARLES SPRAGUE.
+
+
+
+
+KNICKERBOCKER.
+
+
+  Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,
+  Help me sing of Knickerbocker!
+  Boughton, had you bid me chant
+  Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant,
+  Had you bid me sing of Wouter,
+  He, the onion head, the doubter!
+  But to rhyme of this one--Mocker!
+  Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?
+  Nay, but where my hand must fail,
+  There the more shall yours avail;
+  You shall take your brush and paint
+  All that ring of figures quaint,--
+  All those Rip Van Winkle jokers,
+  All those solid-looking smokers,
+  Pulling at their pipes of amber,
+  In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.
+
+  Only art like yours can touch
+  Shapes so dignified--and Dutch;
+  Only art like yours can show
+  How the pine logs gleam and glow,
+  Till the firelight laughs and passes
+  'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,
+  Touching with responsive graces
+  All those grave Batavian faces,
+  Making bland and beatific
+  All that session soporific.
+
+  Then I come and write beneath:
+  Boughton, he deserves the wreath;
+  He can give us form and hue--
+  This the Muse can never do!
+
+AUSTIN DOBSON.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
+
+_A SAILOR'S VERSION_.
+
+
+  They were three jolly sailors bold,
+    Who sailed across the sea;
+  They'd braved the storm, and stood the gale,
+    And got to Virgin-ee.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,--
+    Or p'raps a bit before,--
+  And now these here three sailors bold
+    Went cruising on the shore.
+  A lurch to starboard, one to port,
+    Now forrard, boys, go we,
+  With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
+    To find out Tobac-kee.
+
+  Says Jack, "This here's a rummy land."
+    Says Tom, "Well, shiver me!
+  The sun shines out as precious hot
+    As ever I did see."
+  Says Dick, "Messmates, since here we be,"--
+    And gave his eye a wink,--
+  "We've come to find out Tobac-kee,
+    Which means a drop to drink."
+
+  Says Jack, says he, "The Injins think--"
+    Says Tom, "I'll swear as they
+  Don't think at all." Says Dick, "You're right;
+    It ain't their nat'ral way.
+  But I want to find out, my lads,
+    This stuff of which they tell;
+  For if as it ain't meant to drink,
+    Why, it must be meant to smell."
+
+  Says Tom, says he, "To drink or smell,
+    I don't think this here's meant."
+  Says Jack, says he, "Blame my old eyes,
+    If I'll believe it's scent."
+  "Well, then," says Dick, "if that ain't square,
+    It must be meant for meat;
+  So come along, my jovial mates,
+    To find what's good to eat."
+
+  They came across a great big plant,
+    A-growing tall and true.
+  Says Jack, says he, "I'm precious dry,"
+    And picked a leaf to chew.
+  While Tom takes up a sun-dried bit,
+    A-lying by the trees;
+  He rubs it in his hands to dust
+    And then begins to sneeze.
+
+  Another leaf picks nimble Dick,
+    And dries it in the sun,
+  And rolls it up all neat and tight.
+    "My lads," says he, in fun,
+  "I mean to cook this precious weed."
+    And then from out his poke
+  With burning-glass he lights the end,
+    And quick blows up the smoke.
+
+  Says Jack, says he, "Of Paradise
+    I've heerd some people tell."
+  Says Tom, says he, "This here will do;
+    Let's have another smell."
+  Says Dick, his face all pleasant smiles,
+    A-looking through a cloud,
+  "It strikes me here's the cap'en bold,
+    And now we'll all be rowed."
+
+  Up comes brave Hawkins on the beach;
+    "Shiver my hull!" he cries,
+  "What's these here games, my merry men?"
+    And then, "Why, blame my eyes!
+  Here's one as chaws, and one as snuffs,
+    And t' other of the three
+  Is smoking like a chimbley-pot--
+  They've found out Tobac-kee!"
+
+  So if ever you should hear
+    Of Raleigh, and them lies
+  About his sarvant and his pipe
+    And him as "Fire!" cries,
+  You say as 'twas three sailors bold
+    As sailed to Virgin-ee
+  In brave old Hawkins' gallant ship
+    Who found out Tobac-kee.
+  A lurch to starboard, one to port,
+    Now forrard, boys, go we,
+  With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
+    To find out Tobac-kee.
+
+_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.
+
+
+
+
+"KEATS TOOK SNUFF."
+
+    "Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the
+    praise-worthy editorial research of Mr. Burton Forman."
+
+
+  So "Keats took snuff?" A few more years,
+    When we are dead and famous--eh?
+  Will they record our pipes and beers,
+    And if we smoked cigars or clay?
+  Or will the world cry "Quantum suff"
+  To tattle such as "Keats took snuff"?
+
+  Perhaps some chronicler would wish
+    To know what whiskey we preferred,
+  And if we ever dined on fish,
+    Or only took the joint and bird.
+  Such facts are quite as worthy stuff,
+  Good chronicler, as "Keats took snuff."
+
+  You answer: "But, if you were Keats--"
+    Tut! never mind your buts and ifs,
+  Of little men record their meats,
+    Their drinks, their troubles, and their tiffs,
+  Of the great dead there's gold enough
+  To spare us such as "Keats took snuff."
+
+  Well, go your ways, you little folk,
+    Who polish up the great folk's lives;
+  Record the follies that they spoke,
+    And paint their squabbles with their wives.
+  Somewhere, if ever ghosts be gruff,
+  I trust some Keats will "give you snuff."
+
+_The Globe_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.
+
+
+  Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,
+  An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
+    What care I for the weather?
+  Though winter freeze and summer broil
+  We rest us from our days of toil
+    My Pipe and I together!
+
+  Like to a priest of sacred fane,
+  I nightly light the glow again
+    With reverence and pleasure;
+  For through this plain and modest bowl
+  I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul
+    And many trippings measure!
+
+  There's comfort in each puff of smoke,
+  Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke
+    And happiness forever!
+  There grows a volume full of thought
+  And humor, than the book you bought
+    Holds nothing half so clever!
+
+  The summer fragrance, all pent up
+  Among the leaves, is here sent up
+    In dreams of summer glory;
+  And these blue clouds that slowly rise
+  Were colored by the summer skies,
+    And tell a summer story.
+
+  And oh! the happiest, sweetest times
+  Come ringing all their silver chimes
+    Of merry songs and laughter;
+  And all that may be well and worth
+  For Mother Future to bring forth
+    I do imagine after.
+
+  What care I if my poor means
+  Clad not my walls with splendid scenes
+    And pictures by the masters;
+  Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow
+  Bold hills and lovely vales below,
+    And brooks with nodding asters.
+
+  All that on earth is fair and fine,
+  This fragrant magic makes it mine,
+    And gives me sole dominion;
+  And if you call me fanciful,
+  I only take a stronger pull,
+    And laugh at your opinion.
+
+  Let others fret and fume with care,
+  'Tis easy finding everywhere,
+    But happiness is rarer;
+  And if I find it sweet and ripe,
+  In this tobacco and my pipe,
+    I'll count it all the fairer.
+
+  Then give me but Virginia's weed,
+  An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
+    What care I for the weather?
+  Though winter freeze, or summer broil
+  We rest us from the days of toil,
+    My Pipe and I together.
+
+HERMANN RAVE.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CLAY PIPE.
+
+
+  There's a lot of solid comfort
+    In an old clay pipe, I find,
+  If you're kind of out of humor
+    Or in trouble in your mind.
+  When you're feeling awful lonesome
+    And don't know just what to do,
+  There's a heap of satisfaction
+    If you smoke a pipe or two.
+
+  The ten thousand pleasant memories
+    That are buried in your soul
+  Are playing hide and seek with you
+    Around that smoking bowl.
+  These are mighty restful moments:
+    You're at peace with all the world,
+  And the panorama changes
+    As the thin blue smoke is curled.
+
+  Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,
+    Now you enter pleasant lands,
+  And before an open doorway,
+    You will linger to shake hands
+  With a lithe and girlish figure
+    That is coming through the door;
+  Ah! you recognize the features:
+    You have seen that face before.
+
+  You are at the dear old homestead
+    Where you spent those happy years;
+  You are romping with the children;
+    You are smiling through your tears;
+  You have fought and whipped the bully
+    You are eight and he is ten.
+  Oh! how rapidly we travel,--
+    You are now a boy again.
+
+  You approach the open doorway,
+    And before the old armchair
+  You will stop and kiss the grandma,
+    You will smooth the thin white hair;
+  You will read the open Bible,
+    For the lamp is lit, you see.
+  It is now your hour for bed-time
+    And you kneel at mother's knee.
+
+  Still you linger at the hearthstone;
+    You are loath to leave the place.
+  When an apple cut's in progress:
+    You must wait and dance with Grace.
+
+  What's the matter with the music?
+    Only this: The pipe is broke,
+  And a thousand pleasant fancies
+    Vanish promptly with the smoke.
+
+A.B. VAN FLEET.
+
+
+
+
+PERNICIOUS WEED!
+
+
+  The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,
+  Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
+  The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
+  Then pause and puff, and speak, and pause again.
+  Such often, like the tube they so admire,
+  Important triflers! have more smoke than fire.
+  Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
+  Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
+  Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
+  The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
+
+WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+TWO OTHER HEARTS.
+
+
+  Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manly face,
+  As he pressed her to his bosom  in a fervent, fond embrace.
+  No cost of others' happiness found place within his thought;
+  The weakness of life's brittle thread no dim forebodings brought.
+
+  But tenderer than the light of love, more brittle than life's
+          thread,
+  The shrouds that wrapped two other hearts gave up their withered
+          dead;
+  For, crumbling in his waistcoat, their glowing future dashed,
+  Two excellent Havanas were very badly smashed.
+
+_London Tobacco_.
+
+
+
+
+THE SMOKE TRAVELLER.
+
+
+  When I puff my cigarette,
+    Straight I see a Spanish girl,--
+    Mantilla, fan, coquettish curl,
+    Languid airs and dimpled face,
+    Calculating, fatal grace;
+    Hear a twittering serenade
+    Under lofty balcony played;
+    Queen at bull-fight, naught she cares
+    What her agile lover dares;
+  She can love and quick forget.
+
+  Let me but my meerschaum light,
+    I behold a bearded man,
+    Built upon capacious plan,
+    Sabre-slashed in war or duel,
+    Gruff of aspect, but not cruel,
+    Metaphysically muddled,
+    With strong beer a little fuddled,
+    Slow in love, and deep in books,
+    More sentimental than he looks,
+  Swears new friendships every night.
+
+  Let me my chibouk enkindle,--
+    In a tent I'm quick set down
+    With a Bedouin, lean and brown,
+    Plotting gain of merchandise,
+    Or perchance of robber prize;
+    Clumsy camel load upheaving,
+    Woman deftly carpet-weaving,
+    Meal of dates and bread and salt,
+    While in azure heavenly vault
+  Throbbing stars begin to dwindle.
+
+  Glowing coal in clay dudheen
+    Carries me to sweet Killarney,
+    Full of hypocritic blarney,--
+    Huts with babies, pigs, and hens
+    Mixed together, bogs and fens,
+    Shillalahs, praties, usquebaugh,
+    Tenants defying hated law,
+    Fair blue eyes with lashes black,
+    Eyes black and blue from cudgel-thwack,--
+  So fair, so foul, is Erin green.
+
+  My nargileh once inflamed,
+    Quick appears a Turk with turban,
+    Girt with guards in palace urban,
+    Or in house by summer sea
+    Slave-girls dancing languidly,
+    Bow-string, sack, and bastinado,
+    Black boats darting in the shadow;
+    Let things happen as they please,
+    Whether well or ill at ease,
+  Fate alone is blessed or blamed.
+
+  With my ancient calumet
+    I can raise a wigwam's smoke,
+    And the copper tribe invoke,--
+    Scalps and wampum, bows and knives,
+    Slender maidens, greasy wives,
+    Papoose hanging on a tree,
+    Chieftains squatting silently,
+    Feathers, beads, and hideous paint,
+    Medicine-man and wooden-saint,--
+  Forest-framed the vision set.
+
+  My cigar breeds many forms,--
+    Planter of the rich Havana
+    Mopping brow with sheer bandanna,
+    Russian prince in fur arrayed,
+    Paris fop on dress parade,
+    London swell just after dinner,
+    Wall Street broker--gambling sinner!
+    Delver in Nevada mine,
+    Scotch laird bawling "Auld Lang Syne."
+  Thus Raleigh's weed my fancy warms.
+
+  Life's review in smoke goes past,--
+    Fickle fortune, stubborn fate,
+    Right discovered all too late,
+    Beings loved and gone before,
+    Beings loved but friends no more,
+    Self-reproach and futile sighs,
+    Vanity in birth that dies,
+    Longing, heart-break, adoration,--
+    Nothing sure in expectation
+  Save ash-receiver at the last.
+
+IRVING BROWNE.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING SONG.
+
+
+  With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl,
+    As mist from the waterfall given,
+  Or the locks that float round beauty's throat
+    In the whispering air of even.
+
+  _Chorus_. Then drown the fears of the coming years,
+    And the dread of change before us;
+  The way is sweet to our willing feet,
+    With the smoke-wreaths twining o'er us.
+
+  As the light beams through the ringlets blue,
+    Will hope beam through our sorrow,
+  While the gathering wreath of the smoke we breathe
+    Shuts out the fear of to-morrow.
+
+  A magic charm in the evening calm
+    Calls thought from mem'ry's treasure;
+  But clear and bright in the liquid light
+    Are the smoke-called dreams of pleasure.
+
+  Then who shall chide, with boasting pride,
+    Delights they ne'er have tasted?
+  Oh, let them smile while we beguile
+    The hour with joys they've wasted.
+
+_College Song._
+
+
+
+
+HOW IT ONCE WAS.
+
+
+  Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood,
+            Or rather, sat,
+  Drank beer in plenty, ate abundant food;
+  For they to ancient customs still were true,
+  And smoked, and smoked, because they surely knew
+            What they were at.
+
+  William the Testy ruled New Amsterdam,--
+            A tall man he,--
+  Whose rule was meant by him to be no sham,
+  But rather like the stern paternal style
+  That sways the city now. He made the while
+            A rough decree.
+
+  He ordered that the pipes should cease to smoke,
+            From that day on.
+  The people took the order as a joke;
+  They did not think, who smoked from childhood up,
+  That one man such delight would seek to stop,
+            Even in fun.
+
+  But when at last it dawned upon their minds
+          That this was meant,
+  They closed their houses, shut their window blinds,
+  Brought forth tobacco from their ample hoard,
+  And to the governor's house with one accord
+          The burghers went.
+
+  They carried chairs, and sat without a word
+          Before his porch,
+  And smoked, and smoked, and not a sound was heard,
+  Till Kieft came forth to take the morning air,
+  With speech that would have burned them then and there
+          If words could scorch.
+
+  But they, however savagely he spoke,
+          Made no reply.
+  Higher and thicker rose the clouds of smoke,
+  And Kieft, perceiving that they would be free
+  Tried not to put in force his harsh decree,
+          But let it die.
+
+_New York Sun_.
+
+
+
+
+HER BROTHER'S CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  Like raven's wings her locks of jet,
+  Her soft eyes touched with fond regret,
+  Doubt and desire her mind beset,
+  Fondling her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Roses with dewy diamonds set,
+  Drooped o'er the window's parapet;
+  With grace she turned a match to get,
+  And lit her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Her puffs of smoky violet
+  Twined in fantastic silhouette;
+  She blushed, laughed, coughed a little, yet,
+  She smoked her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Her eyes with briny tears were wet,
+  Her bang grew limp beneath its net,
+  Her brow was gemmed with beaded sweat,
+  And to her bed she went, you bet.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.
+
+
+  I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to do,
+    When I think about them days we used to spend
+  A hoein' out tobacker in th' clearin'--me an' you--
+    An' a wishin' that the day was at an end.
+  For the dewdrops was a sparklin' on the beeches' tender leaves
+    As we started out a workin' in the morn;
+  An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower of burnin' sheaves
+    When we heard the welcome-soundin' dinner-horn.
+  An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of ghostly batch,
+  'Fore we started home from workin' in that ol' tobacker patch.
+
+  I'm a feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun' to-day,
+    For I see th' change that's taken place since then.
+  All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods is cleared away;
+    You an' me has changed from ragged boys to men;
+  You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream about;
+    I am still a dwellin' here upon the place,
+  But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so straight and
+          stout,
+    An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on my face.
+  You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been your match,
+  But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker patch.
+
+S.Q. LAPIUS.
+
+
+
+
+MĆCENAS BIDS HIS FRIEND TO DINE.
+
+  I beg you come to-night and dine.
+  A welcome waits you, and sound wine,--
+  The Roederer chilly to a charm,
+  As Juno's breath the claret warm,
+  The sherry of an ancient brand.
+  No Persian pomp, you understand,--
+  A soup, a fish, two meats, and then
+  A salad fit for aldermen
+  (When aldermen, alas the days!
+  Were really worth their _mayonnaise_);
+  A dish of grapes whose clusters won
+  Their bronze in Carolinian sun;
+  Next, cheese--for you the Neufchâtel,
+  A bit of Cheshire likes me well;
+  Café au lait or coffee black,
+  With Kirsch or Kümmel or cognac
+  (The German band in Irving Place
+  By this time purple in the face);
+  Cigars and pipes. These being through,
+  Friends shall drop in, a very few--
+  Shakespeare and Milton, and no more.
+  When these are guests I bolt the door,
+  With "Not at home" to any one
+  Excepting Alfred Tennyson.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY MEERSCHAUM.
+
+
+  There's a charm in the sun-crested hills,
+    In the quivering light of a star,
+  In the flash of a silvery rill,
+    Yet to me thou art lovelier far,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  There's a love in her witching dark eye,
+    There's a love in her tresses at play,
+  Yet her love would be worth not a sigh,
+    If from thee she could lure me away,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  Let revellers sing of their wine,
+    As they toss it in ecstasy down,
+  But the bowl I call for is thine,
+    With its deepening amber and brown,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  For when trouble would bid me despair,
+    I call for a flagon of beer,
+  And puff a defiance to care,
+    Till sorrows in smoke disappear,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  Though mid pleasures unnumbered I whirl,
+    Though I traverse the billowy sea,
+  Yet the waving and beautiful curl
+    Of thy smoke's ever dearer to me,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+P.D.R.
+
+
+
+
+OLD PIPE OF MINE.
+
+
+  Companion of my lonely hours,
+    Full many a time 'twixt night and morn
+  Thy muse hath roamed through poesy's bowers
+    Upon thy fragrant pinions borne.
+  Let others seek the bliss that reigns
+    In homage paid at beauty's shrine,
+  We envy not such foolish gains,
+    In sweet content, old pipe of mine.
+
+  Ah! you have been a travelled pipe;
+    But now, of course, you're getting stale,
+  Just like myself, and rather ripe;
+    You've had your fill of cakes and ale,
+  And half-forgotten memories, too.
+    And all the pensive thoughts that twine
+  Around a past that, _entre nous_,
+    Has pleasant been, old pipe of mine.
+
+  Old pipe of mine, for many a year
+    What boon companions we have been!
+  With here a smile and there a tear,
+    How many changes we have seen!
+  How many hearts have ceased to beat,
+    How many eyes have ceased to shine,
+  How many friends will never meet,
+    Since first we met, old pipe of mine!
+
+  Though here and there the road was deep,
+    And now and then the rain would fall;
+  We managed every time to keep
+    A sturdy forehead to them all!
+  And even when she left my side,
+    We didn't wait to fret or pine,
+  Oh, no; we said the world was wide,
+    And luck would turn, old pipe of mine!
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+
+  And it has turned since you and I
+    Set out to face the world alone;
+  And, in a garret near the sky,
+    Had scarce a crust to call our own,
+  But many a banquet, Barmecide;
+    And many a dream of hope divine,
+  Lie buried in the moaning tide,
+    That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!
+
+  But prosing isn't quite the thing,
+    And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
+  Just wait a moment while I sing;
+    We'll have another parting cup,
+  And then to bed. The stars are low;
+    Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
+  So here she goes, and off we go
+    To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!
+
+JOHN J. GORMLEY.
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+  Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes,
+    Your richest incense raise;
+  Let's take a smoke, a parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  _Chorus_. For good old by-gone days,
+    We'll smoke for good old by-gone days!
+  We'll take a smoke, a parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  We'll crown the cannon with a cloud,
+    We'll celebrate its praise;
+  Recalling _its_ old parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  We'll smoke to these we leave behind
+    In devious college ways;
+  We'll smoke to songs we've sung before,
+    In good old by-gone days.
+
+  We'll smoke to _Alma Mater's_ name;
+    She loves the cloud we raise!
+  For well she knows the "biggest guns"
+    Are in the coming days!
+
+  We'll smoke the times, the good old times,
+    When we were called _fire_!
+  Their light shall blaze in memory,
+    Till the lamp of life expire!
+
+  Then let each smoking pipe be broke,--
+    Hurrah for coming days!
+  We'll take a march, a merry march,
+    To meet the coming days!
+
+H.P. PECK.
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO.
+
+
+  The Indian weed, withered quite,
+  Green at noon, cut down at night,
+  Shows thy decay; all flesh is hay,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so lily-white,
+  Shows thee to be a mortal wight;
+  And even such, gone with a touch,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  And when the smoke ascends on high,
+  Thinke thou beholdst the vanity
+  Of worldly stuffe, gone with a puffe,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  And when the pipe grows foul within,
+  Think on thy soule defil'd with sin,
+  And then the fire it doth require.
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  The ashes that are left behind,
+  May serve to put thee still in mind,
+  That unto dust return thou must.
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+GEORGE WITHER, 1620.
+
+
+
+
+VIRGINIA'S KINGLY PLANT.
+
+_BY AN "OLD SALT."_
+
+
+  Oh, muse! grant me the power
+  (I have the will) to sing
+  How oft in lonely hour,
+  When storms would round me lower,
+  Tobacco's proved a king!
+
+  Philanthropists, no doubt
+  With good intentions ripe,
+  Their dogmas may put out,
+  And arrogantly shout
+  The evils of the pipe.
+
+  Kind moralists, with tracts,
+  Opinions fine may show;
+  Produce a thousand facts,--
+  How ill tobacco acts
+  Man's system to o'erthrow.
+
+  Learn'd doctors have employed
+  Much patience, time, and skill,
+  To prove tobacco cloyed
+  With acrid alkaloid,
+  With power the nerves to kill.
+
+  E'en popes have curst the plant;
+  Kings bade its use to cease;
+  But all the pontiff's rant
+  And royal James's cant
+  Ne'er made its use decrease.
+
+  Teetotalers may stamp
+  And roar at pipes and beer;
+  But place them in a swamp,
+  When nights are dark and damp,--
+  Their tunes would change, I fear.
+
+  No advocate am I
+  Of excess in one or t'other,
+  And ne'er essayed to try
+  In wine to drown a sigh,
+  Or a single care to smother.
+
+  Yet, in moderation pure,
+  A glass is well enough;
+  But a troubled heart to cure,
+  Kind feelings to insure,
+  Give me a cheerful puff.
+
+  How oft a learn'd divine
+  His sermons will prepare,
+  Not by imbibing wine,
+  But 'neath th' influence fine
+  Of a pipe of "baccy" rare!
+
+  How many a pleasing scene,
+  How many a happy joke,
+  How many a satire keen,
+  Or problem sharp, has been
+  Evolved or born of smoke!
+
+  How oft amidst the jar,
+  Of storms on ruin bent,
+  On shipboard, near or far,
+  To the drenched and shiv'ring tar,
+  Tobacco's solace lent!
+
+  Oh, tell me not 'tis bad,
+  Or that it shortens life!
+  Its charms can soothe the sad,
+  And make the wretched glad,
+  In trouble and in strife.
+
+  'Tis used in every clime,
+  By all men, high and low;
+  It is praised in prose and rhyme,
+  And can but end with time;
+  So let the kind herb grow!
+
+  'Tis a friend to the distress'd;
+  'Tis a comforter in need;
+  It is social, soothing, blest;
+  It has fragrance, force, and zest;
+  Then hail the kingly weed!
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE.
+
+
+  The maid, as by the papers doth appear,
+  Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear,
+  To test Lothario's passion, simply said,
+  "Forego the weed before we go to wed.
+  For smoke, take flame; I'll be that flame's bright fanner.
+  To have your Anna, give up your Havana."
+  But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch,
+  Lit his cigar, and threw away his match.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest,
+    Belov'd and honored by the wise,
+  Come filled with honest "Weekly's best,"
+    And kindled from the lofty skies.
+
+  While round me clouds of incense roll,
+    With guiltless joys you charm the sense,
+  And nobler pleasure to the soul
+    In hints of moral truth dispense.
+
+  Soon as you feel th' enliv'ning ray,
+    To dust you hasten to return,
+  And teach me that my earliest day
+    Began to give me to the urn.
+
+  But though thy grosser substance sink
+    To dust, thy purer part aspires;
+  This when I see, I joy to think
+    That earth but half of me requires.
+
+  Like thee, myself am born to die,
+    Made half to rise, and half to fall.
+  Oh, could I, while my moments fly,
+    The bliss you give me give to all!
+
+_Gentleman's Magazine_, July, 1745.
+
+
+
+
+  In the smoke of my dear cigarito
+    Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall;
+  And Eros, divine muchachito,
+    With smiles hovers over it all.
+
+  But dreaming, forgetting to cherish
+    The fire at my lips as it dies,
+  The dream and the rapture must perish,
+    And Eros descend from the skies.
+
+  O wicked and false muchachito,
+    Your rapture I yet may recall;
+  But, like my re-lit cigarito,
+    A bitterness tinges it all.
+
+CAMILLA K. VON K.
+
+
+
+
+A GOOD CIGAR.
+
+
+  Oh, 'tis well and enough,
+  A whiff or a puff
+  From the heart of a pipe to get;
+  And a dainty maid
+  Or a budding blade
+  May toy with the cigarette;
+  But a man, when the time
+  Of a glorious prime
+  Dawns forth like a morning star,
+  Wants the dark-brown bloom
+  And the sweet perfume
+  That go with a good cigar.
+
+  To lazily float
+  In a painted boat
+  On a shimmering morning sea,
+  Or to flirt with a maid
+  In the afternoon shade
+  Seems good enough sport to be;
+  But the evening hour,
+  With its subtle power,
+  Is sweeter and better far,
+  If joined to the joy,
+  Devoid of alloy,
+  That lurks in a good cigar.
+
+  When a blanket wet
+  Is solidly set
+  O'er hopes prematurely grown;
+  When ambition is tame,
+  And energy lame,
+  And the bloom from the fruit is blown;
+  When to dance and to dine
+  With women and wine
+  Past poverty pleasures are,--
+  A man's not bereft
+  Of all peace, if there's left
+  The joy of a good cigar.
+
+NORRIS BULL.
+
+
+
+
+  A glass is good, and a lass is good,
+    And a pipe to smoke in cold weather;
+  The world is good, and the people are good,
+    And we're all good fellows together.
+
+JOHN O'KEEFE: _Sprigs of Laurel_, Act ii. sc. i.
+
+
+
+
+MY FRIENDLY PIPE.
+
+
+  Let sybarites still dream delights
+    While smoking cigarettes,
+  Whose opiates get in their pates
+    Till waking brings regrets;
+  Oh, let them doze, devoid of woes,
+    Of troubles, and of frets.
+
+  And let the chap who loves to nap
+    With his cigar in hand
+  Pursue his way, and live his day,
+    As runs time's changing sand;
+  Let him delight by day and night
+    In his peculiar brand.
+
+  But as for me, I love to be
+    Provided with a pipe,--
+  A rare old bowl to warm my soul,
+    A meerschaum brown and ripe,--
+  With good plug cut, no stump or butt,
+    Nor filthy gutter-snipe.
+
+  My joys increase! It brings me peace
+    As nothing else can do;
+  From all the strife of daily life
+    Here my relief is true.
+  I watch its rings; it purrs and sings--
+    And then it's cheaper, too!
+
+_Detroit Tribune_.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend,
+    Come, and thy suppliant attend
+  In each dull, lonely hour;
+  And though misfortunes lie around,
+  Thicker than hailstones on the ground,
+    I'll rest upon thy power.
+  Then while the coxcomb, pert and proud,
+  The politician, learned and loud,
+    Keep one eternal clack,
+  I'll tread where silent Nature smiles,
+  Where Solitude our woe beguiles,
+    And chew thee, dear Tobac.
+
+DANIEL WEBSTER.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.
+
+
+  I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,
+    I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke;
+  I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,
+    That goes up the chimney in smoke.
+
+  I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,
+    Without wife or bairns to provoke,
+  And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears
+    All go up the chimney in smoke.
+
+  I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care
+    I try, but all vainly, to choke.
+  Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights
+    Won't go up the chimney in smoke.
+
+_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAMER'S PIPE.
+
+
+  Meerschaum, thing with amber tip,
+  Clutched between the dreamer's lip,
+  Fragrant odors from thy bowl
+  Mingling with the dreamer's soul;
+  Curling wreaths of smoke ascending,
+  Comfort sweet with incense blending.
+  Joy and peace and solace sending
+      To the dreamer's heart.
+
+  Fashioned like a satyr's head,
+  Crowned with fire, glowing red,
+  Quaintly carved and softly sleek
+  As Afric maiden's downy cheek.
+  Comrade of each idle hour
+  In forest shade or leafy bower;
+  Lotus-eaters from thy power
+      Ne'er can break apart.
+
+  Darkly colored from long use
+  With tobacco's balmy juice
+  From snowy white to ebon turned
+  By the incense daily burned.
+  Laid at night within thy case
+  Of velvet soft--thy resting place--
+  Whence with leering, stained face
+      Daily thou must start,--
+
+  To soothe the dreamer's every care,
+  To glow and burn and fill the air
+  With thy curling perfume rare:
+  As thou charmest gloom away,
+  With the dreamer rest for aye
+  Friend of youth, and manhood ripe
+  All hail to thee, thou meerschaum pipe!
+
+_New Orleans Times Democrat._
+
+
+
+
+SUBLIME TOBACCO.
+
+
+  But here the herald of the self-same mouth
+  Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,
+  Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,
+  But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
+  Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had blown
+  Its gentle odors over either zone,
+  And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,
+  Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
+  Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,
+  And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows unabashed,
+  To Ćolus a constant sacrifice,
+  Through every change of all the varying skies.
+  And what was he who bore it? I may err,
+  But deem him sailor or philosopher.
+  Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
+  Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;
+  Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides
+  His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;
+  Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,
+  Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;
+  Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,
+  When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
+  Like other charmers, wooing the caress
+  More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
+  Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
+  Thy naked beauties,--give me a cigar!
+
+LORD BYRON:
+
+_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING AWAY.
+
+
+  Floating away like the fountains' spray,
+    Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,
+  The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
+    With blissful fragrance laden.
+
+  _Chorus._  Then smoke away till a golden ray
+        Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
+      For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar,
+        The blows of care and sorrow.
+
+  The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light
+    That flash in the braids of Beauty;
+  It nerves each heart for the hero's part
+    On the battle-plain of duty.
+
+  In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,
+    Sits the child of song and story,
+  But his heart is light, for his pipe burns bright,
+    And his dreams are all of glory.
+
+  By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,
+    And infant arras surround him;
+  And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,
+    While the smoke-curls float around him.
+
+  In the forest grand of our native land,
+    When the savage conflict ended,
+  The "pipe of peace" brought a sweet release
+    From toil and terror blended.
+
+  The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain
+    'Neath their arbor shades trip lightly,
+  And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,
+    In the clasp of their lips burns brightly
+
+  It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,
+    With its rose-red burden streaming,
+  And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss
+    From the lips with love-buds teeming.
+
+FRANCIS MILES FINCH.
+
+
+
+
+A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  May the Babylonish curse
+  Straight confound my stammering verse
+  If I can a passage see
+  In this word-perplexity,
+  Or a fit expression find,
+  Or a language to my mind
+  (Still the phrase is wide or scant),
+  To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!
+  Or in any terms relate
+  Half my love, or half my hate:
+  For I hate, yet love, thee so,
+  That, whichever thing I show,
+  The plain truth will seem to be
+  A constrain'd hyperbole,
+  And the passion to proceed
+  More from a mistress than a weed.
+
+  Sooty retainer to the vine,
+  Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;
+  Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon
+  Thy begrimed complexion,
+  And, for thy pernicious sake,
+  More and greater oaths to break
+  Than reclaimed lovers take
+  'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay
+  Much too in the female way,
+  While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath
+  Faster than kisses or than death.
+
+    Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,
+  That our worst foes cannot find us,
+  And ill-fortune, that would thwart us,
+  Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;
+  While each man, through thy height'ning steam
+  Does like a smoking Etna seem,
+  And all about us does express
+  (Fancy and wit in richest dress)
+  A Sicilian fruitfulness.
+
+  Thou through such a mist dost show us,
+  That our best friends do not know us,
+  And, for those allowčd features,
+  Due to reasonable creatures,
+  Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,
+  Monsters that, who see us, fear us;
+  Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
+  Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.
+
+  Bacchus we know, and we allow
+  His tipsy rites. But what art thou,
+  That but by reflex canst show
+  What his deity can do,
+  As the false Egyptian spell
+  Aped the true Hebrew miracle,
+  Some few vapors thou mayst raise
+  The weak brain may serve to amaze,
+  But to the reins and nobler heart
+  Canst nor life nor heat impart.
+
+    Brother of Bacchus, later born,
+  The Old World was sure forlorn
+  Wanting thee, that aidest more
+  The god's victories than before
+  All his panthers, and the brawls
+  Of his piping Bacchanals.
+  These, as stale, we disallow,
+  Or judge of _thee_ meant; only thou
+  His true Indian conquest art;
+  And for ivy round his dart
+  The reformed god now weaves
+  A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
+
+    Scent to match thy rich perfume
+  Chemic art did ne'er presume,
+  Through her quaint alembic strain,
+  None so sov'reign to the brain.
+  Nature, that did in thee excel,
+  Framed again no second smell.
+  Roses, violets, but toys
+  For the smaller sort of boys,
+  Or for greener damsels meant;
+  Thou art the only manly scent.
+
+    Stinking'st of the stinking kind,
+  Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,
+  Africa, that brags her foison,
+  Breeds no such prodigious poison,
+  Henbane, nightshade, both together,
+  Hemlock, aconite--
+
+            Nay, rather,
+  Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
+  Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.
+  'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;
+  None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;
+  Irony all, and feign'd abuse,
+  Such as perplex'd lovers use
+  At a need when, in despair
+  To paint forth their fairest fair,
+  Or in part but to express
+  That exceeding comeliness
+  Which their fancies doth so strike,
+  They borrow language of dislike;
+  And, instead of Dearest Miss,
+  Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
+  And those forms of old admiring,
+  Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
+  Basilisk, and all that's evil,
+  Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
+  Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamore,
+  Monkey, Ape, and twenty more,
+  Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,--
+  Not that she is truly so,
+  But no other way they know
+  A contentment to express,
+  Borders so upon excess
+  That they do not rightly wot
+  Whether it be pain or not.
+
+    Or as men, constrain'd to part
+  With what's nearest to their heart.
+  While their sorrow's at the height
+  Lose discrimination quite,
+  And their hasty wrath let fall,
+  To appease their frantic gall,
+  On the darling thing whatever
+  Whence they feel it death to sever,
+  Though it be, as they, perforce,
+  Guiltless of the sad divorce.
+
+    For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
+  Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.
+  For thy sake, TOBACCO, I
+  Would do anything but die,
+  And but seek to extend my days
+  Long enough to sing thy praise.
+  But as she who once hath been
+  A king's consort is a queen
+  Ever after, nor will bate
+  Any tittle of her state,
+  Though a widow or divorced,
+  So I, from thy converse forced,
+  The old name and style retain,
+  A right Katherine of Spain;
+  And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
+  Of the blest Tobacco Boys,
+  Where, though I by sour physician
+  Am debarr'd the full fruition
+  Of thy favors, I may catch
+  Some collateral sweets, and snatch
+  Sidelong odors, that give life
+  Like glances from a neighbor's wife,
+  And still live in the by-places
+  And the suburbs of thy graces,
+  And in thy borders take delight,
+  An unconquer'd Canaanite.
+
+CHARLES LAMB.
+
+
+
+
+A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.
+
+
+  Nicotia, dearer to the Muse
+  Than all the grape's bewildering juice,
+  We worship, unforbid of thee;
+  And as her incense floats and curls
+  In airy spires and wayward whirls,
+  Or poises on its tremulous stalk
+  A flower of frailest reverie,
+  So winds and loiters, idly free,
+  The current of unguided talk,
+  Now laughter-rippled, and now caught
+  In smooth dark pools of deeper thought
+  Meanwhile thou mellowest every word,
+  A sweetly unobtrusive third;
+  For thou hast magic beyond wine
+  To unlock natures each to each;
+  The unspoken thought thou canst divine;
+  Thou fill'st the pauses of the speech
+  With whispers that to dreamland reach,
+  And frozen fancy-springs unchain
+  In Arctic outskirts of the brain.
+  Sun of all inmost confidences,
+  To thy rays doth the heart unclose
+  Its formal calyx of pretences,
+  That close against rude day's offences,
+  And open its shy midnight rose!
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+
+
+
+MY PIPE AND I.
+
+
+  There may be comrades in this world,
+    As stanch and true as steel.
+  There are: and by their friendships firm
+    Is life made only real.
+  But, after all, of all these hearts
+    That close with mine entwine,
+  None lie so near, nor seem so dear
+    As this old pipe of mine.
+
+  My silent friend--whose voice is held
+    Fast for my ear alone--
+  Stays with me always, well content,
+    With Darby to be Joan.
+  No fickleness disturbs our lot;
+    No jars its peace to smother;
+  Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I
+    Have wooed and won--each other.
+
+  On clouds of curling incense sweet,
+    We go--my pipe and I--
+  To lands far off, where skies stay blue
+    Through all the years that fly.
+  And nights and days, with rosy dreams
+    Teems bright--an endless throng
+  That passing leave, in echoing wake,
+    Soft murmurings of song.
+
+  Does this dream fade? Another comes
+    To fill its place and more.
+  In castles silvern roam we now,
+    They're ours! All! All are ours!
+  What'er the wreathing rings enfold
+    Drops shimmering golden showers!
+
+  No sordid cost our steps can stay,
+    We travel free as air.
+  Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,
+    That feather-light upbear.
+  Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.
+    Thy roads creep far too slow;
+  We need thee not. My pipe and I
+    Swifter than Time must go.
+
+  Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
+    Well, well, the fire's out, too!
+  The dreams are gone--we're poor once more;
+    Life's pain begins anew.
+  'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
+    But may thy dreamings be,
+  Through slumbering hours hued as bright
+    As those thou gav'st to me!
+
+ELTON J. BUCKLEY.
+
+
+
+
+SIC TRANSIT.
+
+  Just a note that I found on my table,
+    By the bills of a year buried o'er,
+  In a feminine hand and requesting
+    My presence for tennis at four.
+
+  Half remorseful for leaving it lying
+    In surroundings unworthy as those,
+  I carefully dusted and smoothed it,
+    And mutely begged pardon of Rose.
+
+  But I thought with a smile of the proverb
+    Which says you may treat as you will
+  The vase which has once contained roses,
+    Their fragrance will cling to it still.
+
+  For the writer I scarcely remember,
+    The occasion has vanished afar,
+  And the fragrance that clings to the letter
+    Recalls--an Havana cigar.
+
+W.B. ANDERSON.
+
+
+
+
+THE BETROTHED.
+
+"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._"
+
+  Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
+  For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
+
+  We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot,
+  And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
+
+  Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space;
+  In the soft blue veil of the vapor, musing on Maggie's face.
+
+  Maggie is pretty to look at,--Maggie's a loving lass,
+  But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must
+          pass.
+
+  There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay,
+  But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away,--
+
+  Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown,--
+  But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
+
+  Maggie my wife at fifty,--gray and dour and old,--
+  With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
+
+  And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
+  And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead
+          cigar,--
+
+  The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket,--
+  With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the
+          socket.
+
+  Open the old cigar-box,--let me consider a while,--
+  Here is a mild Manilla,--there is a wifely smile.
+
+  Which is the better portion,--bondage bought with a ring,
+  Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?
+
+  Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried,
+  And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride.
+
+  Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
+  Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close.
+
+  This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
+  With only a _Suttee's_ passion,--to do their duty and burn.
+
+  This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
+  Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
+
+  The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
+  When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my brides again.
+
+  I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths
+          withal,
+  So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
+
+  I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their
+          hides,
+  And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy, who read of the tale of my
+          brides.
+
+  For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
+  The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
+
+  And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve-month clear.
+  But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year;
+
+  And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
+  Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and
+          Fight.
+
+  And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
+  But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.
+
+  Will it see me safe through my journey, or leave me bogged in the
+          mire?
+  Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful
+          fire?
+
+  Open the old cigar-box,--let me consider anew,--
+  Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon _you_?
+
+  A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
+  And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
+
+  Light me another Cuba: I hold to my first-sworn vows,
+  If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse!
+
+RUDYARD KIPLING.
+
+
+
+
+ON A BROKEN PIPE.
+
+
+  Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form,
+  So late with living inspirations warm;
+  Type of all other creatures formed of clay--
+  What more than it for epitaph have they?
+
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE.
+
+
+  What's my love's name? Guess her name.
+        Nina? No.
+        Alina? No.
+  It does end with "ina," though.
+  Guess again. Christina? No;
+  Guess again. Wilhelmina? No.
+  She reciprocates my flame,
+  Cheers me wheresoe'er I go,
+  Never forward, never coy,
+  She is evermore my joy.
+  Oh, the rapture! oh, the bliss!
+  When I met my darling's kiss.
+  Oh, I love her form to greet!
+  Oh, her breath is passing sweet!
+  Who could help but love her so?
+  Nicotina, mistress mine,
+  Thou shall be my Valentine.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  My cigarette! The amulet
+    That charms afar unrest and sorrow,
+  The magic wand that, far beyond
+    To-day, can conjure up to-morrow.
+  Like love's desire, thy crown of fire
+    So softly with the twilight blending;
+  And ah, meseems a poet's dreams
+    Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending.
+
+  My cigarette! Can I forget
+    How Kate and I, in sunny weather,
+  Sat in the shade the elm-tree made
+    And rolled the fragrant weed together?
+  I at her side, beatified
+    To hold and guide her fingers willing;
+  She rolling slow the papers snow,
+    Putting my heart in with the filling.
+
+  My cigarette! I see her yet,
+    The white smoke from her red lips curling,
+  Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies,
+    Her gentle sighs, her laughter purling!
+  Ah, dainty roll, whose parting soul
+    Ebbs out in many a snowy billow,
+  I too would burn, if I could earn
+    Upon her lips so soft a pillow.
+
+  Ah, cigarette! The gay coquette
+    Has long forgot the flame she lighted;
+  And you and I unthinking by
+    Alike are thrown, alike are slighted.
+  The darkness gathers fast without,
+    A raindrop on my window plashes;
+  My cigarette and heart are out,
+    And naught is left me but the ashes.
+
+CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIPE CRITIC.
+
+
+      Say, pipe, let's talk of love;
+        Canst aid me? By my life,
+      I'll ask not gods above
+        To help me choose a wife;
+  But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling strife.
+
+      Thy color let me find,
+        And blue like smoke her eyes;
+      A healthy store her mind
+        As that which in thee lies,--
+  An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the skies.
+
+      And, pipe, a breath like thine;
+        Her hair an amber gold,
+      And wrought in shapes as fine
+        As that which now I hold;
+  A grace in every limb, her form thy slender mould.
+
+      And when her lips I kiss,
+        Oh, may she burn like thee,
+      And strive to give me bliss!
+        A comforter to be
+  When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs from me.
+
+      And may she hide in smoke,
+        As you, my friend, have done,
+      The failings that would choke
+        My virtues every one,
+  Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to fun.
+
+      Her aid be such as thine
+        To stir my brain a bit.
+      When 'round this hearth of mine
+        Friends sit and banter wit,
+  She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to hit.
+
+      In short, my sole delight
+        (Why, pipe, you sputter so!),
+      Whose angel visage bright
+        (And at me ashes throw!)
+  Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I know.
+
+      Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;
+        For of thy gifts there's one
+      That's passing dear to me
+        Whose equal she'd have none,--
+  The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a tongue!
+
+WALTER LITTLEFIELD.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.
+
+AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_."
+
+
+  'Twas in Queen Bess's golden days
+    That smoking came in fashion;
+  And from the court it quickly spread
+    Throughout the English nation.
+  The courtiers first the lesson learnt,
+    And burn'd the fragrant treasure;
+  And e'en the queen herself, 'tis said,
+    Would sometimes share the pleasure.
+  But this is true, I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+  Then learned men and lawyers wise
+    And grave divines and doctors
+  Found smoking help'd to clear the brain,
+    And puff'd away in flocks, sirs;
+  Then business men and humble clerks
+    And laborer and peasant
+  By smoking care would drive away,
+    And make this life more pleasant.
+  For this is true. I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+  And from these times we modern men
+    Great glory do inherit,
+  And wealth and learning and the strength
+    Which makes the English spirit.
+  We have no care, we fear no foe,
+    We pass our lifetime gayly,
+  But little think how much we owe
+    To great Sir Walter Raleigh.
+  For this is true, I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+W. LLOYD.
+
+
+
+
+AD NICOTINA.
+
+"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._"
+
+
+  Let others sing the praise of wine;
+    I'll tolerate no queen
+  But one fair nymph of spotless line,
+    The gentle Nicotine.
+  Her breath's as sweet as any flower's,
+    No matter where it blows,
+  And makes this dull old world of ours
+    The color of the rose.
+
+  There's not a pang but she can soothe,
+    Nor spell but she can break,
+  And e'en the hardest lot can smooth,
+    And bid us courage take.
+  Fair Nicotine! thou dost atone
+    For many an aching heart;
+  And I for one will gladly own
+    The magic of thine art.
+
+  Ah, "friendly traitress," "loving foe,"
+    Forgive this loving lay;
+  For I, thy worshipper, would show
+    The sweetness of thy sway.
+  "Sublime tobacco!" may thy reign
+    Ne'er for one moment cease;
+  For thou, Great Plant, art kin to brain,
+    And synonym for peace.
+
+E.H.S.
+
+
+
+
+MEERSCHAUM.
+
+
+  Come to me, O my meerschaum,
+  For the vile street organs play;
+  And the torture they're inflicting
+  Will vanish quite away.
+
+  I open my study window
+  And into the twilight peer,
+  And my anxious eyes are watching
+  For the man with my evening beer.
+
+  In one hand is the shining pewter,
+  All amber the ale doth glow;
+  In t'other are long "churchwardens,"
+  As spotless and pure as snow.
+
+  Ah! what would the world be to us
+  Tobaccoless?--Fearful bore!
+  We should dread the day after to-morrow
+  Worse than the day before.
+
+  As the elephant's trunk to the creature,
+  Is the pipe to the man, I trow;
+  Useful and meditative
+  As the cud to the peaceful cow.
+
+  So to the world is smoking;
+  Through that we feel, with bliss
+  That, whatever worlds come after,
+  A jolly old world is this.
+
+  Come to me, O my meerschaum,
+  And whisper to me here,
+  If you like me better than coffee,
+  Than grog, or the bitter beer.
+
+  Oh! what are our biggest winnings,
+  If peaceful content we miss?
+  Though fortune may give us an innings
+  She seldom conveys us bliss.
+
+  You're better than all the fortunes
+  That ever were made or broke;
+  For a penny will always fill
+  And buy me content with a smoke.
+
+WRONGFELLOW.
+
+
+
+
+  I like cigars
+  Beneath the stars,
+  Upon the waters blue.
+  To laugh and float
+  While rocks the boat
+  Upon the waves,--Don't you?
+
+  To rest the oar
+  And float to shore,--
+  While soft the moonbeams shine,--
+  To laugh and joke,
+  And idly smoke;
+  I think is quite divine.
+
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+
+
+"A FREE PUFF."
+
+
+  Do you remember when first we met?
+  I was turning twenty--well! I don't forget
+            How I walked along,
+            Humming a song
+  Across the fields and down the lane
+  By the country road, and back again
+  To the dear old farm--three miles or more--
+  And brought you home from the village store.
+
+  Summer was passing--don't you recall
+  The splendid harvest we had that Fall,
+  And how when the Autumn died,--sober and brown,--
+  We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the town?
+
+    Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!
+    If you were human you'd be half divine,
+  For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your burning bowl
+            In times of need
+            You've been, indeed,
+  The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing soul.
+  We've been together nearly thirty years, old fellow!
+  And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle mellow.
+  We have had our share of joys and a deal of sorrows,
+  And while we're only waiting for a few more to-morrows,
+    Others will come, and others will go,
+    And Time will gather what Youth will sow;
+    But we together will go down the rough
+    Road to the end, and to the end--puff.
+
+ARTHUR IRVING GRAY.
+
+
+
+
+MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.
+
+
+  Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe
+    Thy scarred and blackened form,
+  For thou to me wilt ever be--
+    Whate'er betides the storm--
+  A casket filled with memories
+    Of life's Auroral morn.
+
+  Thou once wert fair like ivory rare;
+    Spotless as lily white;
+  Thy curving lines, like tendril'd vines,
+    Were pleasing to the sight,
+  And in thine ample bowl there lurked
+    A promise of delight.
+
+  Like incense flung from censer swung
+    Before some sculptured shrine,
+  To float along with prayer and song
+    To realms of bliss divine,--
+  Ascend thy fragrant wreaths of smoke
+    And with my thoughts entwine.
+
+  Old pipe, old friend, o'er thee doth bend
+    The rainbow hues of life,
+  While sorrows roll across my soul,
+    And peace is turned to strife,
+  And Faith drifts o'er a sea of doubt
+    With desolation rife.
+
+  Alas, that man or pipe e'er can
+    Wax old or know decay;
+  Alas, that heart from heart must part,
+    Or Love can lose its sway.
+  And death in life should cast its pall
+    Athwart the troubled way.
+
+  Tho' love be cross'd, and friends are lost,
+    And severed every tie;
+  Tho' hopes are dead and joys have fled,
+    And darkened is the sky;
+  We yet can warm each other's hearts,
+    Old meerschaum pipe and I.
+
+JOHNSON M. MUNDY.
+
+
+
+
+A WARNING.
+
+
+HE.
+
+  I loathe all books. I hate to see
+    The world and men through others' eyes;
+  My own are good enough for me.
+    These scribbling fellows I despise;
+            They bore me.
+  I used to try to read a bit,
+  But, when I did, a sleepy fit
+            Came o'er me.
+
+  Yet here I sit with pensive look,
+    Filling my pipe with fragrant loads,
+  Gazing in rapture at a book!--
+    A free translation of the Odes
+            Of Horace.
+  'Tis owned by sweet Elizabeth,
+  And breathes a subtle, fragrant breath
+            Of orris.
+
+  I longed for something that was hers
+    To cheer me when I'm feeling low;
+  I saw this book of paltry verse,
+    And asked to take it home--and so
+            She lent it.
+  I love her deep and tenderly,
+  Yet dare not tell my love, lest she
+            Resent it.
+
+  I'll learn to quote a stanza here,
+    A couplet there. I'm very sure
+  'Twould aid my suit could I appear
+    _Au fait_ in books and literature.
+            I'll do it!
+  This jingle I can quickly learn;
+  Then, hid in roses, I'll return
+            Her poet!
+
+
+SHE.
+
+  The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
+    Around my pretty, cherished book,
+  The odor vile, the noisome taint
+    Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
+            Yet lingers!
+  The hateful man, my book to spoil!
+  Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
+            My fingers!
+
+  This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
+    These violets he has sent to me
+  The odor of his pipe exhale!
+    Am I to blame that I should be
+            Enraged?
+  Tell Mr. Simpson every time
+  He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm
+            Engaged!
+
+ARTHUR LOVELL.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.
+
+
+  Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand
+    What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face,
+  That you are in fashion all over the land,
+    And I am so much fallen into disgrace.
+
+  "Do but see what a pretty contemplative air
+    I give to the company,--pray do but note 'em,--
+  You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there,
+    Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of Gotham.
+
+  "My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,
+    While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;
+  There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses,
+    Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear."
+
+  Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,
+    And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging.
+  The Box in reply was heard plainly to say,
+    "What a silly dispute is this we are Waging!
+
+  "If you have a little of merit to claim,
+    You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed;
+  And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,
+    The before-mentioned drug in apology plead.
+
+  "Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own,
+    No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus;
+  We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,
+    But of anything else they may choose to put in us."
+
+WM. COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+A LOSS.
+
+
+  How hard a thing it is to part
+    From those we love and cherish;
+  How deeply does it pain one's heart
+    To know all things must perish!
+
+  And when a friend and comrade dear
+    Is lost to us forever,
+  We feel how frail are all things here,
+    Since e'en best friends must sever.
+
+  I, too, have lost a friend, who broke
+    Its power when care was near me;
+  And troubles disappeared in smoke
+    When he was by to cheer me.
+
+  But as friends fall when valued most,
+    Like fruit that over-ripe is.
+  My loved companion I have lost,--
+    That friend my meerschaum pipe is!
+
+_Judy_ (1873).
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUE LEUCOTHOË.
+
+
+  Let others praise the god of wine,
+    Or Venus, love, and beauty's smile;
+  I choose a theme not less divine,--
+    The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.
+
+  The old Greeks err'd who bound with bays
+    Apollo's brow; the verdant crown
+  He wore, when measuring their days,
+    Grew in the West, where he went down.
+
+  An idle tale they also told;
+    They said he gave them frankincense,
+  Borne by some tree he loved of old;
+    If so, he gave a mere pretence.
+
+  For the true offspring of his love--
+    Tobacco--grew far o'er the sea,
+  Where Leucothoë from above
+    Led him as honey leads the bee,
+
+  Till on that plant he paus'd to gaze
+    Some moments ere he held his way,
+  And cheer her with his warmest rays,
+    Heedless of time or length of day.
+
+  Then with a sigh his brows he wreath'd
+    With leaves that care and toil beguile,
+  And bless'd, as their perfume he breath'd,
+    The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+THOSE ASHES.
+
+
+  Up to the frescoed ceiling
+    The smoke of my cigarette
+  In a sinuous spray is reeling,
+    Forming flower and minaret.
+
+  What delicious landscape floating
+    On perfumed wings I see;
+  Pale swans I am idly noting,
+    And queens robed in filagree.
+
+  I see such delicious faces
+    As ne'er man saw before,
+  And my fancy fondly chases
+    Sweet maids on a fairy shore.
+
+  Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
+    And those pictures I see no more;
+  My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
+    Don't drop them on the floor!"
+
+R.K. MUNKITTRICK.
+
+
+
+
+WHAT I LIKE.
+
+
+  To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream,
+  Upon the grassy bank of some calm stream--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To climb with daring feet some rugged rock,
+  And sit aloft where gulls and curlews flock--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To wander lonely on the ocean's brink,
+  And of the good old times to muse and think--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To hide me in some deep and woody glen,
+  Far from unhealthy haunts of sordid men--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To linger in some fairy haunted vale,
+  While all about me falls the moonlight pale--
+            And smoke.
+
+H.L.
+
+
+
+
+MY MEERSCHAUMS.
+
+
+  Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved,
+    High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy,
+  Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved,
+    And stout ones for Havanas dreamy.
+
+  This cricket, on an amber spear
+    Impaled, recalls that golden weather
+  When love and I, too young to fear
+    Heartburn, smoked cigarettes together.
+
+  And even now--too old to take
+    The little papered shams for flavor--
+  I light it oft for her sweet sake
+    Who gave it, with her girlish favor.
+
+  And here's the mighty student bowl
+    Whose tutoring in and after college
+  Has led me nearer wisdom's goal
+    Than all I learned of text-book knowledge.
+
+  "It taught me?" Ay, to hold my tongue,
+    To keep a-light, and yet burn slowly,
+  To break ill spells around me flung
+    As with the enchanted whiff of Moly.
+
+  This nargileh, whose hue betrays
+    Perique from soft Louisiana,
+  In Egypt once beguiled the days
+    Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana.
+
+  Speaking of color,--do you know
+    A maid with eyes as darkly splendid
+  As are the hues that, rich and slow,
+    On this Hungarian bowl have blended?
+
+  Can artist paint the fiery glints
+    Of this quaint finger here beside it,
+  With amber nail,--the lustrous tints,
+    A thousand Partagas have dyed it?
+
+  "And this old silver patched affair?"
+    Well, sir, that meerschaum has its reasons
+  For showing marks of time and wear;
+    For in its smoke through fifty seasons
+
+  My grandsire blew his cares away!
+    And then, when done with life's sojourning,
+  At seventy-five dropped dead one day,
+    That pipe between his set teeth burning!
+
+  "Killed him?" No doubt! it's apt to kill
+    In fifty year's incessant using--
+  Some twenty pipes a day. And still,
+    On that ripe, well-filled, lifetime musing,
+
+  I envy oft so bright a part,--
+    To live as long as life's a treasure;
+  To die of--not an aching heart,
+    But--half a century of pleasure!
+
+  Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;
+    How these old memories will undo one--
+  I see you've let your weed go out;
+    That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new one!
+
+CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Thou, who when fears attack
+  Bidst them avaunt, and Black
+  Care, at the horseman's back
+          Perching, unseatest;
+  Sweet when the morn is gray;
+  Sweet when they've cleared away
+  Lunch; and at close of day
+          Possibly sweetest!
+
+  I have a liking old
+  For thee, though manifold
+  Stories, I know, are told
+          Not to thy credit:
+  How one (or two at most)
+  Drops make a cat a ghost,--
+  Useless, except to roast--
+          Doctors have said it;
+
+  How they who use fusees
+  All grow by slow degrees
+  Brainless as chimpanzees,
+          Meagre as lizards,
+  Go mad, and beat their wives,
+  Plunge (after shocking lives)
+  Razors and carving-knives
+          Into their gizzards.
+
+  Confound such knavish tricks!
+  Yet know I five or six
+  Smokers who freely mix
+          Still with their neighbors,--
+  Jones, who, I'm glad to say,
+  Asked leave of Mrs. J.,
+  Daily absorbs a clay
+          After his labors.
+
+  Cats may have had their goose
+  Cooked by tobacco juice;
+  Still, why deny its use
+          Thoughtfully taken?
+  We're not as tabbies are;
+  Smith, take a fresh cigar!
+  Jones, the tobacco jar!
+          Here's to thee, Bacon!
+
+C.S. CALVERLY.
+
+
+
+
+ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE.
+
+
+  I lifted off the lid with anxious care,
+    Removed the wrappages, stripe after stripe,
+  And when the hidden contents were laid bare,
+    My first remark was: "Mercy, what a pipe!"
+
+  A pipe of symmetry that matched its size,
+    Mounted with metal bright,--a sight to see;
+  With the rich amber hue that smokers prize,
+    Attesting both its age and pedigree.
+
+  A pipe to make the royal Friedrich jealous,
+    Or the great Teufelsdröckh with envy gripe!
+  A man should hold some rank above his fellows
+    To justify his smoking such a pipe!
+
+  What country gave it birth? What blest of cities
+    Saw it first kindle at the glowing coal?
+  What happy artist murmured, "Nunc dimittis,"
+    When he had fashioned this transcendent bowl?
+
+  Has it been hoarded in a monarch's treasures?
+    Was it a gift of peace, or prize of war?
+  Did the great Khalif in his "House of Pleasures"
+    Wager and lose it to the good Zaafar?
+
+  It may have soothed mild Spenser's melancholy,
+    While musing o'er traditions of the past,
+  Or graced the lips of brave Sir Walter Raleigh,
+    Ere sage King Jamie blew his "_Counterblast_."
+
+  Did it, safe hidden in some secret cavern,
+    Escape that monarch's pipoclastic ken?
+  Has Shakespeare smoked it at the Mermaid Tavern,
+    Quaffing a cup of sack with rare old Ben?
+
+  Ay, Shakespeare might have watched his vast creations
+    Loom through its smoke,--the spectre-haunted Thane,
+  The Sisters at their ghostly invocations,
+    The jealous Moor, and melancholy Dane.
+
+  Round its orbed haze and through its mazy ringlets,
+    Titania may have led her elfin rout,
+  Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,
+    Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it out.
+
+  Vain are all fancies,--questions bring no answer;
+    The smokers vanish, but the pipe remains;
+  He were indeed a subtle necromancer,
+    Could read their records in its cloudy stains.
+
+  Nor this alone. Its destiny may doom it
+    To outlive e'en its use and history;
+  Some ploughman of the future may exhume it
+    From soil now deep beneath the Eastern sea.
+
+  And, treasured by soma antiquarian Stultus,
+    It may to gaping visitors be shown
+  Labelled: "The symbol of some ancient cultus
+    Conjecturally Phallic, but unknown."
+
+  Why do I thus recall the ancient quarrel
+    Twixt Man and Time, that marks all earthly things?
+  Why labor to re-word the hackneyed moral
+    [Greek: Hôs phyllôn geneę], as Homer sings?
+    '[Omega][sigmaf] [phi][upsilon][lambda][lambda][omega][nu]
+          [gamma][epsilon][nu][epsilon][eta], as Homer sings?
+
+  For this: Some links we forge are never broken;
+    Some feelings claim exemption from decay;
+  And Love, of which this pipe is but the token,
+    Shall last, though pipes and smokers pass away.
+
+W.H.B.
+
+
+
+
+MY LITTLE BROWN PIPE.
+
+
+  I have a little comforter,
+    I carry in my pocket:
+  It is not any woman's face
+    Set in a golden locket;
+  It is not any kind of purse;
+    It is not book or letter,
+  But yet at times I really think
+    That it is something better.
+
+  Oh, my pipe, my little brown pipe!
+    How oft, at morning early,
+  When vexed with thoughts of coming toil,
+    And just a little surly,
+  I sit with thee till things get clear,
+    And all my plans grow steady,
+  And I can face the strife of life
+    With all my senses steady.
+
+  No matter if my temper stands
+    At stormy, fair, or clearing,
+  My pipe has not for any mood
+    A word of angry sneering.
+  I always find it just the same,
+    In care, or joy, or sorrow,
+  And what it is to-day I know
+    It's sure to be to-morrow.
+
+  It helps me through the stress of life;
+    It balances my losses;
+  It adds a charm to all my joys,
+    And lightens all my crosses.
+  For through the wreathing, misty veil
+    Joy has a softer splendor,
+  And life grows sweetly possible,
+    And love more truly tender.
+
+  Oh, I have many richer joys!
+    I do not underrate them,
+  And every man knows what I mean,
+    I do not need to state them.
+  But this I say,--I'd rather miss
+    A deal of what's called pleasure,
+  Than lose my little comforter,
+    My little smoky treasure.
+
+AMELIA E. BARR.
+
+
+
+
+  Forsaken of all comforts but these two,--
+    My fagot and my pipe--I sit to muse
+    On all my crosses, and almost excuse
+  The heavens for dealing with me as they do.
+  When Hope steps in, and, with a smiling brow,
+    Such cheerful expectations doth infuse
+    As makes me think ere long I cannot choose
+  But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now.
+    But having spent my pipe, I then perceive
+    That hopes and dreams are cousins,--both deceive.
+  Then mark I this conclusion in my mind,
+    It's all one thing,--both tend into one scope,--
+    To live upon Tobacco and on Hope:
+  The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.
+
+SIR ROBERT AYTON.
+
+
+
+
+'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.
+
+
+  'Twas off the blue Canary isles,
+    A glorious summer day,
+  I sat upon the quarter deck,
+    And whiffed my cares away;
+  And as the volumed smoke arose,
+    Like incense in the air,
+  I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth,
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I leaned upon the quarter rail,
+    And looked down in the sea;
+  E'en there the purple wreath of smoke,
+    Was curling gracefully;
+  Oh! what had I at such a time
+    To do with wasting care?
+  Alas! the trembling tear proclaimed
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I watched the ashes as it came
+    Fast drawing toward the end;
+  I watched it as a friend would watch
+    Beside a dying friend;
+  But still the flame swept slowly on;
+    It vanished into air;
+  I threw it from me,--spare the tale,--
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I've seen the land of all I love
+    Fade in the distance dim;
+  I've watched above the blighted heart,
+    Where once proud hope hath been;
+  But I've never known a sorrow
+    That could with that compare,
+  When off the blue Canaries
+    I smoked my last cigar.
+
+JOSEPH WARREN FABENS.
+
+
+
+
+LATAKIA.
+
+
+I.
+
+  When all the panes are hung with frost,
+  Wild wizard-work of silver lace,
+  I draw my sofa on the rug,
+  Before the ancient chimney-place.
+  Upon the painted tiles are mosques
+  And minarets, and here and there
+  A blind muezzin lifts his hands,
+  And calls the faithful unto prayer.
+  Folded in idle, twilight dreams,
+  I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,
+  As if within its ruddy core
+  It held the happy heart of Spring.
+  Ferdousi never sang like that,
+  Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;
+  I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,
+  And watch them rise and float away.
+
+
+II.
+
+  The curling wreaths like turbans seem
+  Of silent slaves that come and go,--
+  Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,
+  Whom I behead from time to time,
+  With pipe-stem, at a single blow.
+  And now and then a lingering cloud
+  Takes gracious form at my desire,
+  And at my side my lady stands,
+  Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,--
+  A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!
+
+  O Love, if you were only here
+  Beside me in this mellow light,
+  Though all the bitter winds should blow,
+  And all the ways be choked with snow,
+  'Twould be a true Arabian night!
+
+T.B. ALDRICH.
+
+
+
+
+MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.
+
+
+  Some sombre evening, when I sit
+    And feed in solitude at home,
+  Perchance an ultra-bilious fit
+    Paints all the world an orange chrome.
+
+  When Fear and Care and grim Despair
+    Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,
+  One charm dispels them all in air,--
+    I blow my after-dinner cloud.
+
+  '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 vapor 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?
+
+HENRY S. LEIGH.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.
+
+
+  When that last pipe is smoked at last
+    And pouch and pipe put by,
+  And Smoked and Smoker both alike
+    In dust and ashes lie,
+  What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
+    Ah, will he smoke no more?
+  And will there be no golden cloud
+    Upon the golden shore?
+  Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
+    To Fate upon his hill,
+  For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
+    He goes on smoking still.
+  But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
+    If other men pursue
+  Their various earthly joys again
+    Beyond that distant blue,
+  If the poor Smoker might not ply
+    His peaceful passion too.
+  If Indian braves may still up there
+    On merry scalpings go,
+  And buried Britons rise again
+    With arrow and with bow,
+  May not the Smoker hope to take
+    His "cutty" from below?
+  So let us trust; and when at length
+    You lay me 'neath the yew,
+  Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
+    Pipes and tobacco too!
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.
+
+
+
+
+SWEET SMOKING PIPE.
+
+
+  Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove,
+    Companion still of my retreat,
+  Thou dost my gloomy thoughts remove,
+    And purge my brain with gentle heat.
+
+  Tobacco, charmer of my mind,
+    When, like the meteor's transient gleam.
+  Thy substance gone to air I find,
+    I think, alas, my life's the same!
+
+  What else but lighted dust am I?
+    Then shew'st me what my fate will be;
+  And when thy sinking ashes die,
+    I learn that I must end like thee.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+CIGARETTE RINGS.
+
+
+  How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night;
+  I'm too sleepy to read and too lazy to write;
+  So I'll watch the blue rings, as they eddy and twirl,
+  And in gossamer wreathings coquettishly curl.
+  In the stillness of night and the sparseness of chimes
+  There's a fleetness in fancy, a frolic in rhymes;
+  There's a world of romance that persistently clings
+  To the azurine curving of Cigarette Rings!
+
+  What a picture comes back from the passed-away times!
+  They are lounging once more 'neath the sweet-scented limes;
+  See how closely he watches the Queen of Coquettes,
+  As her white hands roll deftly those small cigarettes!
+  He believes in her smiles and puts faith in her sighs
+  While he's dazzled by light from her fathomless eyes.
+  Ah, the dearest of voices delightfully sings
+  Through the wind intertwining of Cigarette Rings!
+
+  How sweet was her song in the bright summer-time,
+  When winds whispered low 'neath the tremulous lime!
+  How sweet, too, that bunch of forget-me-nots blue--
+  The love he thought lasting, the words he thought true!
+  _Ah, the words of a woman concerning such things_
+  _Are weak and unstable as Cigarette Rings!_
+
+J. ASHBY-STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.
+
+
+    The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently
+    sufficient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he
+    designated himself, "Ralph Erskine, V.D.M." The peasantry
+    throughout the North of England always called it "Erskine
+    Song;" and not only is his name given as the author in
+    numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of "Gospel
+    Sonnets," from an early copy of which this version is
+    transcribed. The discovery, however, by Mr. Collier of the
+    First Part in a MSS. temp. James I., with the initials "G.W."
+    affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honor of
+    the entire authorship. G.W. is supposed to be George
+    Wither; but this is purely conjectural, and it is not at
+    all improbable that G.W. really stands for W.G., as it was
+    a common practice among anonymous writers to reverse their
+    initials.
+
+    The history, then, of the poem seems to be this: that the
+    First Part, as it is now printed, originally constituted the
+    whole production, being complete in itself; that the Second
+    Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine, and that
+    both parts came subsequently to be ascribed to him, as his
+    was the only name published in connection with the song. See
+    "Ballads of the Peasantry," Bell's edition. Variants of
+    this song will be found on pages 86 and 150 of the present
+    collection; the first is ascribed to George Wither, and
+    the other is taken from the first volume of "Pills to purge
+    Melancholy."
+
+
+PART I.
+
+  This Indian weed, now withered quite.
+  Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,
+        Shows thy decay,
+        All flesh is hay:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe, so lily-like and weak,
+  Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;
+        Thou art e'en such--
+        Gone with a touch:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And when the smoke ascends on high,
+  Then thou behold'st the vanity
+        Of worldly stuff--
+        Gone with a puff:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And when the pipe grows foul within,
+  Think on thy soul defiled with sin;
+        For then the fire
+        It doth require:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And seest the ashes cast away,
+  Then to thyself thou mayest say,
+        That to the dust
+        Return thou must:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+
+PART II.
+
+  Was this small plant for thee cut down?
+  So was the Plant of Great Renown,
+        Which Mercy sends
+        For nobler ends:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  Does juice medicinal proceed
+  From such a naughty foreign weed?
+        Then what's the power
+        Of Jesse's Flower?
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The promise, like the pipe, inlays,
+  And by the mouth of faith conveys
+        What virtue flows
+        From Sharon's Rose:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  In vain the unlighted pipe you blow;
+  Your pains in outward means are so,
+        'Till heavenly fire
+        Your heart inspire:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The smoke, like burning incense, towers:
+  So should a praying heart of yours,
+        With ardent cries,
+        Surmount the skies:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED.
+
+
+  Tobacco's but an Indian weed,
+  Grows green at morn, cut down at eve;
+  It shows decay; we are but clay;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so lily white,
+  Wherein so many take delight,
+  Is broke with a touch,--man's life is such;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so foul within
+  Shows how man's soul is stained with sin,
+  And then the fire it doth require;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The ashes that are left behind
+  Do serve to put us all in mind
+  That unto dust return we must;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The smoke that does so high ascend
+  Shews us man's life must have an end;
+  The vapor's gone,--man's life is done;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+From "_Pills to Purge Melancholy_."
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Let poets rhyme of what they will,
+  Youth, Beauty, Love, or Glory, still
+        My theme shall be Tobacco!
+  Hail, weed, eclipsing every flow'r,
+  Of thee I fain would make my bow'r,
+  When fortune frowns, or tempests low'r,
+        Mild comforter of woe!
+
+  They say in truth an angel's foot
+  First brought to life thy precious root,
+        The source of every pleasure!
+  Descending from the skies he press'd
+  With hallowed touch Earth's yielding breast;
+  Forth sprang the plant, and then was bless'd,
+        As man's chief treasure!
+
+  Throughout the world who knows thee not?
+  Of palace and of lowly cot
+        The universal guest,--
+  The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew,
+  To all a stay, to none untrue,
+  The balm that can our ills subdue,
+        And soothe us into rest!
+
+  With thee the poor man can abide
+  Oppression, want, the scorn of pride,
+        The curse of penury.
+  Companion of his lonely state,
+  He is no longer desolate,
+  And still can brave an adverse fate
+        With honest worth and thee!
+
+  All honor to the patriot bold
+  Who brought, instead of promised gold,
+        Thy leaf to Britain's shore.
+  It cost him life; but thou shalt raise
+  A cloud of fragrance to his praise,
+  And bards shall hail in deathless lays
+        The valiant knight of yore.
+
+  Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time
+  Shall ring his last oblivious chime,
+        The fruitful theme of story;
+  And man in ages hence shall tell
+  How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,
+  When England sounded out thy knell,
+        And dimmed her ancient glory.
+
+  And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name
+  Unwithered in the scroll of fame,
+        And teach us to remember;
+  He gave with thee content and peace,
+  Bestow'd on life a longer lease,
+  And bidding every trouble cease,
+        Made summer of December.
+
+THOMAS JONES.
+
+
+
+
+THE CIGAR.
+
+
+  Some sigh for this and that,
+    My wishes don't go far;
+  The world may wag at will,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some fret themselves to death
+    With Whig and Tory jar;
+  I don't care which is in,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Sir John requests my vote,
+    And so does Mr. Marr;
+  I don't care how it goes,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some want a German row,
+    Some wish a Russian war;
+  I care not. I'm at peace
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I never see the "Post,"
+    I seldom read the "Star;"
+  The "Globe" I scarcely heed,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Honors have come to men
+    My juniors at the Bar;
+  No matter--I can wait,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Ambition frets me not;
+    A cab or glory's car
+  Are just the same to me,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I worship no vain gods,
+    But serve the household Lar;
+  I'm sure to be at home,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I do not seek for fame,
+    A general with a scar;
+  A private let me be,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  To have my choice among
+    The toys of life's bazaar,
+  The deuce may take them all
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some minds are often tost
+    By tempests like a tar;
+  I always seem in port,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  The ardent flame of love,
+    My bosom cannot char,
+  I smoke but do not burn,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  They tell me Nancy Low
+    Has married Mr. R.;
+  The jilt! but I can live,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+THOMAS HOOD.
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND TOBACCO.
+
+
+  When my pipe burns bright and clear,
+  The gods I need not envy here;
+  And as the smoke fades in the wind,
+  Our fleeting life it brings to mind.
+
+  Noble weed! that comforts life,
+  And art with calmest pleasures rife;
+  Heaven grant thee sunshine and warm rain,
+  And to thy planter health and gain.
+
+  Through thee, friend of my solitude,
+  With hope and patience I'm endued,
+  Deep sinks thy power within my heart,
+  And cares and sorrows all depart.
+
+  Then let non-smokers rail forever;
+  Shall their hard words true friends dissever?
+  Pleasure's too rare to cast away
+  My pipe, for what the railers say!
+
+  When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me,
+  When friends are fled, thy presence charms me;
+  If thou art full, though purse be bare,
+  I smoke, and cast away all care!
+
+_German Folk Song._
+
+
+
+
+THE LATEST CONVERT.
+
+
+  I've been in love some scores of times,
+    With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary--
+  To name them all would stretch my rhymes
+    From here as far as Demerary.
+
+  But each has wed some other man,--
+    Girls always do, I find, in real life,--
+  And I am left alone to scan
+    The horizon of my own ideal life.
+
+  I still survive. I was, I think,
+    Not born to run in double harness;
+  I did not shirk my food and drink
+    When Nellie married Harry Carnice.
+
+  But I am wedded to my pipe!
+    That faithful friend, nought can provoke it;
+  Should it grow cold, I gently wipe
+    Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.
+
+  But it is sweet to kiss; and I
+    Should love to kiss a wife and pet her--
+  She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;
+    Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.
+
+  There's merry Maud--with her I'd dare
+    To brave the matrimonial ocean;
+  _She_ would not pout or fret, but wear
+    A constant smile of sweet devotion.
+
+  How know I that she will not change,
+    My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
+  (Pray this in smallest type arrange)
+    She smokes--at times--a cigareto.
+
+F.W. LITTLETON HAY.
+
+
+
+
+CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.
+
+
+  I owe to smoking, more or less,
+  Through life the whole of my success;
+  With my cigar I'm sage and wise,--
+  Without, I'm dull as cloudy skies.
+  When smoking, all my ideas soar,
+  When not, they sink upon the floor.
+  The greatest men have all been smokers,
+  And so were all the greatest jokers.
+  Then ye who'd bid adieu to care,
+  Come here and smoke it into air.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+  Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth,
+    How sweet for thee to know
+  King James, who never smoked on earth,
+    Is smoking down below.
+
+
+
+
+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.
+  Even in the wane of dull October
+  I smoke my pipe and sip my "robar."
+  November's soaking show'rs require
+  The smoking pipe and blazing fire.
+  The darkest day in drear December's--
+  That's lighted by their glowing embers.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.
+
+
+  As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,
+  And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,
+  So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy design
+  I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
+  As I turn it low, to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,
+  And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
+  Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the smoke.
+
+  'Tis a fragrant retrospection, for the loving thoughts that start
+  Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart;
+  And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine--
+  When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,
+  The voices of my children and the mother as she sings,
+  I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
+  When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.
+
+  In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm
+  To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm;
+  For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine
+  That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace,
+  Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;
+  And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes,
+  As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.
+
+  I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress
+  She wore when first I kissed her, and she answered the caress
+  With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine
+  Grew round the stump," she loved me,--that old sweetheart of mine!
+
+  And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,
+  As we used to talk together of the future we had planned:
+  When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do
+  But write the tender verses that she set the music to;
+
+  When we should live together in a cozy little cot,
+  Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,
+  Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,
+  And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine;
+
+  And I should be her lover forever and a day,
+  And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;
+  And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb
+  They would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss had come.
+
+  But ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,
+  And the door is softly opened, and my wife is standing there!
+  Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign
+  To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
+
+
+
+
+A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+        Let the learned talk of books,
+        The glutton of cooks,
+  The lover of Celia's soft smack--O!
+        No mortal can boast
+        So noble a toast
+  As a pipe of accepted tobacco.
+
+        Let the soldier for fame,
+        And a general's name,
+  In battle get many a thwack--O!
+        Let who will have most,
+        Who will rule the rooste,
+  Give me but a pipe of tobacco.
+
+        Tobacco gives wit
+        To the dullest old cit,
+  And makes him of politics crack--O!
+        The lawyers i' the hall
+        Were not able to bawl,
+  Were it not for a whiff of tobacco.
+
+        The man whose chief glory
+        Is telling a story,
+  Had never arrived at the smack--O!
+        Between ever heying,
+        And as I was saying,
+  Did he not take a whiff of tobacco.
+
+        The doctor who places
+        Much skill in grimaces,
+  And feels your pulse running tic-tack--O!
+        Would you know his chief skill?
+        It is only to fill
+  And smoke a good pipe of tobacco.
+
+        The courtiers alone
+        To this weed are not prone;
+  Would you know what 'tis makes them so slack--O?
+        'Twas because it inclined
+        To be honest the mind,
+  And therefore they banished tobacco.
+
+HENRY FIELDING.
+
+
+
+
+  Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.
+  What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?
+  In country or in town, on land or sea,
+  The weed is still delightful company.
+  In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
+  We fly to thee for solace once again.
+  Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
+  'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+  Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic,
+  That rules half the world in a way quite despotic;
+  So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks,
+  We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY CIGAR.
+
+  The warmth of thy glow,
+    Well-lighted cigar,
+  Makes happy thoughts flow,
+    And drives sorrow afar.
+
+  The stronger the wind blows,
+    The brighter thou burnest!
+  The dreariest of life's woes,
+    Less gloomy thou turnest!
+
+  As I feel on my lip
+    Thy unselfish kiss,
+  Like thy flame-colored tip,
+    All is rosy-hued bliss.
+
+  No longer does sorrow
+    Lay weight on my heart;
+  And all fears of the morrow,
+    In joy-dreams depart.
+
+  Sweet cheerer of sadness!
+    Life's own happy star!
+  I greet thee with gladness,
+    My friendly cigar!
+
+FRIEDRICH MARC.
+
+
+
+
+CIGARS AND BEER.
+
+
+        Here
+        With my beer
+    I sit,
+    While golden moments flit.
+        Alas!
+        They pass
+  Unheeded by;
+  And, as they fly,
+        I,
+        Being dry,
+        Sit idly sipping here
+        My beer.
+
+    Oh, finer far
+    Than fame or riches are
+    The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!
+        Why
+        Should I
+        Weep, wail, or sigh?
+        What if luck has passed me by?
+    What if my hopes are dead,
+    My pleasures fled?
+        Have I not still
+        My fill
+    Of right good cheer,--
+    Cigars and beer?
+
+  Go, whining youth,
+  Forsooth!
+      Go, weep and wail,
+      Sigh and grow pale,
+      Weave melancholy rhymes
+      On the old times,
+  Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,--
+  But leave me to my beer!
+      Gold is dross,
+      Love is loss;
+  So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
+  Or see them drown
+  In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
+  Then do I wear the crown
+      Without a cross!
+
+GEORGE ARNOLD.
+
+
+
+
+EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.
+
+
+  Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire,
+          Your fame to raise,
+          Upon its blaze,
+  Alas! ye do but light your funeral pyre!
+          Tempting Fate's stroke;
+  Ye fall, and all your glory ends in smoke.
+  Safe in my chair from wounds and woe,
+  _My_ fire and smoke from mine own mouth I blow.
+
+  Ye booksellers! who deal, like me, in puffs,
+          The public smokes,
+          You and your hoax,
+  And turns your empty vapor to rebuffs.
+          Ye through the nose
+  Pay for each puff; when mine the same way flows,
+  It does not run me into debt;
+  And thus, the more I fume, the less I fret.
+
+  Authors! created to be puff'd to death,
+          And fill the mouth
+          Of some uncouth
+  Bookselling wight, who sucks your brains and breath,
+          Your leaves thus far
+  (Without its fire) resemble my cigar;
+  But vapid, uninspired, and flat:
+  When, when, O Bards, will ye _compose_ like _that_?
+
+  Since life and the anxieties that share
+          Our hopes and trust,
+          Are smoke and dust,
+  Give me the smoke and dust that banish care.
+          The roll'd leaf bring,
+  Which from its ashes, Phoenix-like, can spring;
+  The fragrant leaf whose magic balm
+  Can, like Nepenthe, all our sufferings charm.
+
+  Oh, what supreme beatitude is this!
+          What soft and sweet
+          Sensations greet
+  My soul, and wrap it in Elysian bliss!
+          I soar above
+  Dull earth in these ambrosial clouds, like Jove,
+  And from my empyrean height
+  Look down upon the world with calm delight.
+
+HORACE SMITH.
+
+
+
+
+A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+      Some praise taking snuff;
+      And 'tis pleasant enough
+  To those who have got the right knack, O!
+      But give me, my boys,
+      Those exquisite joys,
+  A pot, and a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      When fume follows fume
+      To the top of the room,
+  In circles pursuing their track, O!
+      How sweet to inhale
+      The health-giving gale
+  Of a pipe of Virginia tobacco.
+
+      Let soldiers so bold
+      For fame or for gold
+  Their enemies cut, slash, and hack, O!
+      We have fire and smoke,
+      Though all but in joke,
+  In a peaceable pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Should a mistress, unkind,
+      Be inconstant in mind,
+  And on your affections look black, O!
+      Let her wherrit and tiff,
+      'Twill blow off in a whiff,
+  If you take but a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      The miserly elf,
+      Who, in hoarding his pelf,
+  Keeps body and soul on the rack, O!
+      Would he bless and be blest,
+      He might open his chest
+  By taking a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Politicians so wise,
+      All ears and all eyes
+  For news, till their addled pates crack, O!
+      After puzzling their brains,
+      Will not get for their pains
+  The worth of a pipe of tobacco
+
+      If your land in the claw
+      Of a limb of the law
+  You trust, or your health to a quack, O!
+      'Tis fifty to one
+      They're both as soon gone
+  As you'd puff out a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Life's short, 'tis agreed;
+      So we'll try from the weed,
+  Of man a brief emblem to tack, O!
+      When his spirit ascends,
+      Die he must,--and he ends
+  In dust, like a pipe of tobacco.
+
+_From "The Universal Songster, or Museum of Mirth."_
+
+
+
+
+IF I WERE KING.
+
+
+  If I were king, my pipe should be premier.
+  The skies of time and chance are seldom clear,
+    We would inform them all, with bland blue weather.
+  Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
+    For dream and deed should war no more together.
+
+  Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;
+    Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
+  And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere,
+            If I were king.
+
+  But politics should find no harbour near;
+    The Philistine should fear to slip his tether;
+  Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
+    In fact, in room of this, the age of leather,
+  An age of gold all radiant should appear,
+            If I were king.
+
+W.E. HENLEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.
+
+
+  There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes as well,
+  There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes--things jes made to sell;
+  But any pipe that kin be bought fer marbles, chalk, or pelf,
+  Ain't ekal to the flaver of th' pipe you make yourself.
+
+  Jest take a common corn cob an' whittle out the middle,
+  Then plug up one end of it as tight as any fiddle;
+  Fit a stem into th' side an' lay her on th' shelf,
+  An' when she's dry you take her down, that pipe you made yourself.
+
+  Cram her full clar to th' brim with nachral leaf, you bet--
+  'T will smoke a trifle better for bein' somewhat wet--
+  Take your worms and fishin' pole, and a jug along for health,
+  An' you'll get a taste o' heaven from that pipe you made yourself.
+
+  There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes as well,
+  There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes--things jes made to sell;
+  But any pipe that kin be bought for marbles, chalk, or pelf,
+  Ain't ekal to th' flayer of the pipe you make yourself.
+
+HENRY E. BROWN.
+
+
+
+
+CHIBOUQUE.
+
+
+  At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
+    The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
+    Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
+  While round-limbed almées dance near his divan.
+
+  Slaves lure away _ennui_ with flowers and fan;
+    And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
+    In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
+  The prophet sings of in the Al-Korán!
+
+  Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
+    Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,
+    With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke,--
+  Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,
+    Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear
+    Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke!
+
+FRANCIS S. SALTUS.
+
+
+
+
+IN ROTTEN ROW.
+
+
+  In Rotten Row a cigarette
+  I sat and smoked, with no regret
+    For all the tumult that had been.
+    The distances were still and green,
+  And streaked with shadows cool and wet.
+
+  Two sweethearts on a bench were set,
+  Two birds among the boughs were met;
+    So love and song were heard and seen
+            In Rotten Row.
+
+  A horse or two there was to fret
+  The soundless sand; but work and debt,
+    Fair flowers and falling leaves between,
+    While clocks are chiming clear and keen,
+  A man may very well forget
+            In Rotten Row.
+
+W.E. HENLEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE DUET.
+
+
+  I was smoking a cigarette;
+    Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,
+  Were singing together a blithe duet,
+  And days it were better I should forget
+    Came suddenly back to me,--
+  Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,
+  And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.
+
+  As they sang together, the whole scene fled,
+    The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air,
+    Stately Maud, with her proud blond head,
+  And I seemed to see in her place instead
+    A wealth of blue-black hair,
+  And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
+  A face it were wiser I should forget.
+
+  We were back--well, no matter when or where;
+    But you remember, I know, Lisette.
+  I saw you, dainty and debonair,
+  With the very same look that you used to wear
+    In the days I should forget.
+  And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
+  Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.
+
+  Two small slippers with big rosettes
+    Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
+  While we sat smoking our cigarettes
+  (Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
+    And singing that self-same air:
+  And between the verses, for interlude,
+  I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.
+
+  You were so full of a subtle fire,
+    You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
+  You were everything men admire;
+  And there were no fetters to make us tire,
+    For you were--a pretty grisette.
+  But you loved as only such natures can,
+  With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.
+
+  They have ceased singing that old duet,
+    Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
+  "You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
+  And _qu'avez vous_, dearest, your lids are wet,"
+    Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
+  And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
+  "Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."
+
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  Ma pauvre petite,
+  My little sweet,
+    Why do you cry?
+  Why this small tear,
+  So pure and clear,
+    In each blue eye?
+
+  "My cigarette--
+  I 'm smoking yet?"
+    (I'll be discreet.)
+  I toss it, see,
+  Away from me
+    Into the street.
+
+  You see I do
+  All things for you.
+    Come, let us sup.
+  (But, oh, what joy
+  To be that boy
+    Who picked it up.)
+
+TOM HALL.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S VIEWS.
+
+
+    A pipe, a book,
+    A cosy nook,
+  A fire,--at least its embers;
+    A dog, a glass:--
+    'Tis thus we pass
+  Such hours as one remembers.
+
+    Who'd wish to wed?
+    Poor Cupid's dead
+  These thousand years, I wager.
+    The modern maid
+    Is but a jade,
+  Not worth the time to cage her.
+
+    In silken gown
+    To "take" the town
+  Her first and last ambition.
+    What good is she
+    To you or me
+  Who have but a "position"?
+
+    So let us drink
+    To her,--but think
+  Of him who has to keep her;
+    And _sans_ a wife
+    Let's spend our life
+  In bachelordom,--it's cheaper.
+
+TOM HALL.
+
+
+
+
+PIPES AND BEER.
+
+
+  Before I was famous I used to sit
+    In a dull old under-ground room I knew,
+  And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,
+    With a wild Bohemian friend or two.
+
+  And oh, it was joy to loiter thus,
+    At peace in the heart of the city's stir,
+  Entombed, while life hurried over us,
+    In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.
+
+  There was artist George, with the blond Greek head,
+    And the startling creeds, and the loose cravat;
+  There was splenetic journalistic Fred,
+    Of the sharp retort and the shabby hat;
+
+  There was dreamy Frank, of the lounging gait,
+    Who lived on nothing a year, or less,
+  And always meant to be something great,
+    But only meant, and smoked to excess;
+
+  And last myself, whom their funny sneers
+    Annoyed no whit as they laughed and said,
+  I listened to all their grand ideas
+    And wrote them out for my daily bread!
+
+  The Teuton beer-bibbers came and went,
+    Night after night, and stared, good folk,
+  At our table, noisy with argument,
+    And our chronic aureoles of smoke.
+
+  And oh, my life! but we all loved well
+    The talk,--free, fearless, keen, profound,--
+  The rockets of wit that flashed and fell
+    In that dull old tavern under-ground!
+
+  But there came a change in my days at last,
+    And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
+  And the people chose to admire aghast
+    The book I had eaten dirt to print.
+
+  And new friends gathered about me then,
+    New voices summoned me there and here;
+  The world went down in my dingy den,
+    And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
+
+  I took the stamp of my altered lot,
+    As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
+  And slowly, whether I would or not,
+    I felt myself growing a gentleman.
+
+  But now and then I would break the thrall,
+    I would yield to a pang of dumb regret,
+  And steal to join them, and find them all,
+    With the amber wassail near them yet,--
+
+  Find, and join them, and try to seem
+    A fourth for the old queer merry three,
+  With my fame as much of a yearning dream
+    As my morrow's dinner was wont to be.
+
+  But the wit would lag, and the mirth would lack,
+    And the god of jollity hear no call,
+  And the prosperous broadcloth on my back
+    Hung over their spirits like a pall!
+
+  It was not that they failed, each one, to try
+    Their warmth of welcome to speak and show;
+  I should just have risen and said good-bye,
+    With a haughty look, had they served me so.
+
+  It was rather that each would seem, instead,
+    With not one vestige of spleen or pride,
+  Across a chasm of change to spread
+    His greeting hands to the further side.
+
+  And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,
+    Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
+  And the nights were no more the nights of old
+    Than spring would be spring without the birds!
+
+  So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,
+    'Till I married the heiress, ending here.
+  For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
+    She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
+
+  And now 'tis years since I saw these men,
+    Years since I knew them living yet.
+  And of this alone I am sure since then,--
+    That none has gained what he toiled to get.
+
+  For I keep strict watch on the world of art,
+    And George, with his wide, rich-dowered brain!
+  His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,
+    Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in vain.
+
+  And Fred, for all he may sparkle bright
+    In caustic column, in clever quip,
+  Of a truth must still be hiding his light
+    Beneath the bushel of journalship.
+
+  And dreamy Frank must be dreaming still,
+    Lounging through life, if yet alive,
+  Smoking his vast preposterous fill,
+    Lounging, smoking, striving to strive.
+
+  And I, the fourth in that old queer throng,
+    Fourth and least, as my soul avows,--
+  I alone have been counted strong,
+    I alone have the laurelled brows!
+
+  Well, and what has it all been worth?
+    May not my soul to my soul confess
+  That "succeeding," here upon earth,
+    Does not alway assume success?
+
+  I would cast, and gladly, from this gray head
+    Its crown, to regain one sweet lost year
+  With artist George, with splenetic Fred,
+    With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and beer!
+
+EDGAR FAWCETT.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S INVOCATION.
+
+
+  When all my plans have come to grief,
+      And every bill is due,
+  And every faith that's worth belief
+      Has proved itself untrue;
+  And when, as now, I've jilted been
+      By every girl I've met,
+  Ah! then I flee for peace to thee,
+      My darling cigarette.
+
+  Hail, sorceress! whose cloudy spells
+      About my senses driven,
+  Alone can loose their prison cells
+      And waft my soul to heaven.
+  Above all earthly loves, I swear,
+      I hold thee best--and yet,
+  Would I could see a match for thee,
+      My darling cigarette.
+
+  With lips unstained to thee I bring
+      A lover's gentle kiss,
+  And woo thee, see, with this fair ring,
+      And this, and this, and this.
+  But ah, the rings no sooner cease
+      (Inconstant, vain coquette!)
+  Than, like the rest, thou vanishest
+      In smoke, my cigarette.
+
+_Pall Mall Gazette_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
+
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+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type"
+          content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" />
+
+    <title>Pipe and Pouch.</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+    /*<![CDATA[*/
+
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+    body                 {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    p                    {text-align: justify;}
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+
+    hr                   {text-align: center; width: 50%;}
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+    hr.short             {text-align: center; width: 20%;}
+    html>body hr.short   {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; width: 20%;}
+
+    span.pagenum
+    {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; text-indent: 0;}
+
+    .poem
+    {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;}
+    .poem .stanza        {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
+    .poem p              {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
+    .poem p.i2           {margin-left: 1em;}
+    .poem p.i4           {margin-left: 2em;}
+    .poem p.i6           {margin-left: 3em;}
+    .poem p.i8           {margin-left: 4em;}
+    .poem p.i10          {margin-left: 5em;}
+
+    .figure, .figcenter, .figright, .figleft
+    {padding: 1em; margin: 0; text-align: center; font-size: 0.8em;}
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+</head>
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Pipe and Pouch
+       The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 3, 2005 [EBook #14887]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPE AND POUCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Newman, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+    <div class="figcenter"
+         style="width:75%;">
+        <a href="images/cover.jpg"><img width="100%"
+             src="images/cover.jpg"
+             alt="Cover" /></a>
+    </div>
+
+    <div class="figcenter"
+         style="width:50%;">
+        <a href="images/3.png"><img width="100%"
+             src="images/3.png"
+             alt="Smoker" /></a>
+    </div>
+
+    <h1>PIPE AND POUCH</h1>
+
+    <h3>THE</h3>
+
+    <h2>Smoker's Own Book of Poetry</h2>
+
+    <h4>COMPILED BY</h4>
+
+    <h3>JOSEPH KNIGHT</h3>
+
+    <div class="figcenter"
+         style="width:25%;">
+        <a href="images/6.png"><img width="100%"
+             src="images/6.png"
+             alt="" /></a>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>BOSTON</h4>
+
+    <h4>JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY</h4>
+
+    <h4>1895</h4>
+    <hr />
+    <span class="pagenum"><a name="pageiv"
+       id="pageiv"></a>[pg iv]</span>
+
+    <h4><i>Copyright, 1894,</i></h4>
+
+    <h4>BY JOSEPH KNIGHT.</h4>
+
+    <h4>University Press:</h4>
+
+    <h4>JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.</h4>
+    <hr />
+    <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagev"
+       id="pagev"></a>[pg v]</span>
+
+    <h3>Dedicated</h3>
+
+    <h4>TO MY FRIEND AND FELLOW-SMOKER,</h4>
+
+    <h3>WALTER MONTGOMERY JACKSON.</h3>
+    <hr />
+    <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagevii"
+       id="pagevii"></a>[pg vii]</span>
+
+    <h2>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+    <p>This is an age of anthologies. Collections of poetry
+    covering a wide range of subjects have appeared of late, and
+    seem to have met with favor and approval. Not to the busy man
+    only, but to the student of literature such compilations are of
+    value. It is sometimes objected that they tend to discourage
+    wide reading and original research; but the overwhelming flood
+    of books would seem to make them a necessity. Unless one has
+    the rare gift of being able to sprint through a book, as Andrew
+    Lang says Mr. Gladstone does, it is surely well to make use of
+    the labors of the industrious compiler. Such collections are
+    often the result of wide reading and patient labor. Frequently
+    the larger part is made up of single poems, the happy and
+    perhaps only inspiration of the writer, gleaned from the poet's
+    corner of the newspaper or the pages of a magazine. This is
+    specially true of the present compilation, the first on the
+    subject aiming at <span class="pagenum"><a name="pageviii"
+       id="pageviii"></a>[pg viii]</span> anything like
+       completeness. Brief collections of prose and poetry combined
+       have already been published; but so much of value has been
+       omitted that there seemed to be room for a better book. A
+       vast amount has been written in praise of tobacco, much of
+       it commonplace or lacking in poetic quality. While some of
+       the verse here gathered is an obvious echo, or passes into
+       unmistakable parody, it has been the aim of the compiler to
+       maintain, as far as possible, a high standard and include
+       only the best. From the days of Raleigh to the present time,
+       literature abounds in allusions to tobacco. The Elizabethan
+       writers constantly refer to it, often in praise though
+       sometimes in condemnation. The incoming of the "Indian weed"
+       created a great furore, and scarcely any other of the New
+       World discoveries was talked about so much. Ben Jonson,
+       Marlowe, Fletcher, Spenser, Dekker, and many other of the
+       poets and dramatists of the time, make frequent reference to
+       it; and no doubt at the Mermaid tavern, pipes and tobacco
+       found a place beside the sack and ale. Singular to say,
+       Shakespeare makes no reference to it; and only once in his
+       essay "Of Plantations," as far as the compiler has been able
+       to discover, does Bacon speak of it. Shakespeare's silence
+       has been explained on the
+       <span class="pagenum"><a name="pageix"
+       id="pageix"></a>[pg ix]</span> theory that he could not
+       introduce any reference to the newly discovered plant
+       without anachronism; but he did not often let a little thing
+       of this kind stand in his way. It has been suggested, on the
+       other hand, that he avoided all reference to it out of
+       deference to King James I., who wrote the famous
+       "Counterblast." Whichever theory is correct, the fact
+       remains, and it may be an interesting contribution to the
+       Bacon-Shakespeare controversy. Queen Elizabeth never showed
+       any hostility to tobacco; but her successors, James I. and
+       the two Charleses, and Cromwell were its bitter opponents.
+       Notwithstanding its enemies, who just as fiercely opposed
+       the introduction of tea and coffee, its use spread over
+       Europe and the world, and prince and peasant alike yielded
+       to its mild but irresistible sway. Poets and philosophers
+       drew solace and inspiration from the pipe. Milton, Addison,
+       Fielding, Hobbes, and Newton were all smokers. It is said
+       Newton was smoking under a tree in his garden when the
+       historic apple fell. Scott, Campbell, Byron, Hood, and Lamb
+       all smoked, and Carlyle and Tennyson were rarely without a
+       pipe in their mouths. The great novelists, Thackeray,
+       Dickens, and Bulwer were famous smokers; and so were the
+       great soldiers, Napoleon, Blücher, and Grant. While
+       <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagex"
+       id="pagex"></a>[pg x]</span> nearly all the poems here
+       gathered together were written, and perhaps could only have
+       been written, by smokers, several among the best are the
+       work of authors who never use the weed,&mdash;one by a man,
+       two or three by women. Among the more recent writers there
+       has been no more devoted smoker than Mr. Lowell, as his
+       recently published letters testify. Three of the most
+       delightful poems in praise of smoking are his, and with Mr.
+       Aldrich's charming "Latakia" are the gems of the collection.
+       The compiler desires to express his grateful acknowledgments
+       to friends who have permitted him to use their work and have
+       otherwise aided him from time to time; and to the many
+       unknown authors whose poems are here gathered, and whom it
+       was quite impossible to reach; and to Messrs. Houghton,
+       Mifflin, &amp; Company, Harper &amp; Brothers, The
+       Bowen-Merrill Company, and the publishers of "Outlook," for
+       their gracious permission to include copyrighted poems.</p>
+
+    <p class="author">J.K.</p>
+
+    <p>BOSTON, July, 1894.</p>
+    <hr />
+    <span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexi"
+       id="pagexi"></a>[pg xi]</span>
+
+    <h3>CONTENTS.</h3>
+
+    <h4>A.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i10">PAGE</p>
+
+            <p>Acrostic <i>J.H.</i> <a href="#page44">44</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ad Nicotina <i>E.N.S.</i>
+            <a href="#page118">118</a></p>
+
+            <p>Another Match <i>Cope's Tobacco Plant</i>
+            <a href="#page45">45</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ashes <i>De Witt Sterry</i>
+            <a href="#page47">47</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>B.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Bachelor's Invocation, A <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>
+            <a href="#page182">182</a></p>
+
+            <p>Bachelor's Views, A <i>Tom Hall</i>
+            <a href="#page177">177</a></p>
+
+            <p>Bachelor's Soliloquy <i>Cigar and Tobacco World</i>
+            <a href="#page95">95</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ballad of the Pipe, The <i>Hermann Rave</i>
+            <a href="#page69">69</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ballade of Tobacco, The <i>Brander Matthews</i>
+            <a href="#page54">54</a></p>
+
+            <p>Betrothed, The <i>Rudyard Kipling</i>
+            <a href="#page108">108</a></p>
+
+            <p>Brief Puff of Smoke, A <i>Selim</i>
+            <a href="#page19">19</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>C.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Cannon Song <i>H.P. Peck</i>
+            <a href="#page85">85</a></p>
+
+            <p>Chibouque <i>Francis S. Saltus</i>
+            <a href="#page173">173</a></p>
+
+            <p>Choosing a wife by a Pipe of Tobacco <i>Gentleman's
+            Magazine</i> <a href="#page48">48</a></p>
+
+            <p>Cigar, The <i>Thomas Hood</i>
+            <a href="#page153">153</a></p>
+
+            <p>Cigarette Rings <i>J. Ashby-Sterry</i>
+            <a href="#page147">147</a></p>
+
+            <p>Cigars and Beer <i>George Arnold</i>
+            <a href="#page166">166</a></p>
+
+            <p>Clouds <i>Bauernfeld</i>
+            <a href="#page52">52</a></p>
+
+            <p>Confession of a Cigar Smoker <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page158">158</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexii"
+       id="pagexii"></a>[pg xii]</span>
+
+    <h4>D.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Discovery of Tobacco <i>Cigar and Tobacco World</i>
+            <a href="#page64">64</a></p>
+
+            <p>Dreamer's Pipe, The <i>New Orleans Times
+            Democrat</i> <a href="#page96">96</a></p>
+
+            <p>Duet, The <i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i>
+            <a href="#page174">174</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>E.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Edifying Reflections of a Tobacco Smoker
+            <i>Translated from the German</i>
+            <a href="#page58">58</a></p>
+
+            <p>Effusion by a Cigar Smoker <i>Horace Smith</i>
+            <a href="#page167">167</a></p>
+
+            <p>Encomium on Tobacco, An <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page36">36</a></p>
+
+            <p>Epitaph <i>Anon.</i> <a href="#page17">17</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>F.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Farewell to Tobacco, A <i>Charles Lamb</i>
+            <a href="#page100">100</a></p>
+
+            <p>Farmer's Pipe, The <i>George Cooper</i>
+            <a href="#page7">7</a></p>
+
+            <p>Forsaken of all comforts <i>Sir Robert Ayton</i>
+            <a href="#page140">140</a></p>
+
+            <p>Free Puff, A <i>Arthur Irving Gray</i>
+            <a href="#page121">121</a></p>
+
+            <p>Friend of my youth <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page164">164</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>G.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Geordie to his Tobacco Pipe <i>George S.
+            Phillips</i> <a href="#page25">25</a></p>
+
+            <p>Glass is Good, A <i>John O'Keefe</i>
+            <a href="#page94">94</a></p>
+
+            <p>Good Cigar, A <i>Norris Bull</i>
+            <a href="#page93">93</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>H.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Happy Smoking Ground, The <i>Richard Le
+            Gallienne</i> <a href="#page145">145</a></p>
+
+            <p>Her Brother's Cigarette <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page79">79</a></p>
+
+            <p>He Respondeth <i>Life</i>
+            <a href="#page55">55</a></p>
+
+            <p>How it Once Was <i>New York Sun</i>
+            <a href="#page78">78</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>I.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If I were King <i>W.E. Henley</i>
+            <a href="#page171">171</a></p>
+
+            <p>I like Cigars <i>Ella Wheeler Wilcox</i>
+            <a href="#page121">121</a></p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexiii"
+               id="pagexiii"></a>[pg xiii]</span>
+
+            <p>In Favor of Tobacco <i>Samuel Rowlands</i>
+            <a href="#page52">52</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ingin Summer <i>Eva Wilder McGlasson</i>
+            <a href="#page57">57</a></p>
+
+            <p>Inscription for a Tobacco Jar <i>Cope's Tobacco
+            Plant</i> <a href="#page12">12</a></p>
+
+            <p>In Rotten Row <i>W.E. Henley</i>
+            <a href="#page174">174</a></p>
+
+            <p>In the ol' Tobacker Patch <i>S.Q. Lapius</i>
+            <a href="#page80">80</a></p>
+
+            <p>In the smoke of my dear cigarito <i>Camilla K. von
+            K.</i> <a href="#page92">92</a></p>
+
+            <p>Invocation to Tobacco <i>Henry James Mellen</i>
+            <a href="#page31">31</a></p>
+
+            <p>In wreaths of Smoke <i>Frank Newton Holman</i>
+            <a href="#page46">46</a></p>
+
+            <p>It may be Weeds <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page23">23</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>K.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Keats took Snuff" <i>The Globe</i>
+            <a href="#page68">68</a></p>
+
+            <p>Knickerbocker <i>Austin Dobson</i>
+            <a href="#page63">63</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>L.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Last Pipe, The <i>London Spectator</i>
+            <a href="#page12">12</a></p>
+
+            <p>Latakia <i>T.B. Aldrich</i>
+            <a href="#page142">142</a></p>
+
+            <p>Latest Comfort, The <i>F.W. Littleton Hay</i>
+            <a href="#page157">157</a></p>
+
+            <p>Loss, A <i>Judy</i> <a href="#page128">128</a></p>
+
+            <p>Lost Lotus, The <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page60">60</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>M.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Mćcenas Bids his Friend to Dine <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page81">81</a></p>
+
+            <p>Meerschaum <i>Wrongfellow</i>
+            <a href="#page119">119</a></p>
+
+            <p>Motto for a Tobacco Jar <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page12">12</a></p>
+
+            <p>My After-Dinner Cloud <i>Henry S. Leigh</i>
+            <a href="#page143">143</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Cigar <i>Arthur W. Gundry</i>
+            <a href="#page2">2</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Cigarette <i>Richard Barnard</i>
+            <a href="#page52">52</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Cigarette <i>Charles F. Lummis</i>
+            <a href="#page113">113</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Cigarette <i>Tom Hall</i>
+            <a href="#page176">176</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Friendly Pipe <i>Detroit Tribune</i>
+            <a href="#page94">94</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Little Brown Pipe <i>Amelia E. Barr</i>
+            <a href="#page138">138</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Meerschaum Pipe <i>Johnson M. Mundy</i>
+            <a href="#page123">123</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Meerschaums <i>Charles F. Lummis</i>
+            <a href="#page131">131</a></p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexiv"
+               id="pagexiv"></a>[pg xiv]</span>
+
+            <p>My Pipe <i>German Smoking Song</i>
+            <a href="#page7">7</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Pipe and I <i>Elton J. Buckley</i>
+            <a href="#page106">106</a></p>
+
+            <p>My Three Loves <i>Henry S. Leigh</i>
+            <a href="#page50">50</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>O.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ode of Thanks, A <i>James Russell Lowell</i>
+            <a href="#page33">33</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ode to My Pipe <i>Andrew Wynter</i>
+            <a href="#page14">14</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ode to Tobacco <i>Daniel Webster</i>
+            <a href="#page95">95</a></p>
+
+            <p>Ode to Tobacco <i>C.S. Calverly</i>
+            <a href="#page134">134</a></p>
+
+            <p>Old Clay Pipe, The <i>A.B. Van Fleet</i>
+            <a href="#page71">71</a></p>
+
+            <p>Old Pipe of Mine <i>John J. Gormley</i>
+            <a href="#page83">83</a></p>
+
+            <p>Old Sweetheart of Mine, An <i>James Whitcomb
+            Riley</i> <a href="#page165">165</a></p>
+
+            <p>On a Broken Pipe <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page112">112</a></p>
+
+            <p>On a Tobacco Jar <i>Bernard Barker</i>
+            <a href="#page38">38</a></p>
+
+            <p>On Receipt of a Rare Pipe <i>W.H.B.</i>
+            <a href="#page135">135</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>P.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Patriotic Smoker's Lament <i>St. James Gazette</i>
+            <a href="#page41">41</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pernicious Weed <i>William Cowper</i>
+            <a href="#page73">73</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipe and Tobacco <i>German Folk Song</i>
+            <a href="#page156">156</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipe Critic, The <i>Walter Littlefield</i>
+            <a href="#page115">115</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipe of Tobacco, A <i>John Usher</i>
+            <a href="#page15">15</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipe of Tobacco, A <i>Henry Fielding</i>
+            <a href="#page163">163</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipes and Beer <i>Edgar Fawcett</i>
+            <a href="#page178">178</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pipe you make Yourself, The <i>Henry E. Brown</i>
+            <a href="#page172">172</a></p>
+
+            <p>Poet's Pipe, The <i>Charles Baudelaire</i>
+            <a href="#page2">2</a></p>
+
+            <p>Pot and a Pipe of Tobacco, A <i>Universal
+            Songster</i> <a href="#page169">169</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>S.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Scent of a good Cigar, The <i>Kate A. Carrington</i>
+            <a href="#page61">61</a></p>
+
+            <p>Seasonable Sweets <i>C.</i>
+            <a href="#page23">23</a></p>
+
+            <p>Sic Transit <i>W.B. Anderson</i>
+            <a href="#page108">108</a></p>
+
+            <p>Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page158">158</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoke and Chess <i>Samuel W. Duffield</i>
+            <a href="#page10">10</a></p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexv"
+               id="pagexv"></a>[pg xv]</span>
+
+            <p>Smoke is the Food of Lovers <i>Jacob Cats</i>
+            <a href="#page51">51</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoker's Reverie, The <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page17">17</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoker's Calendar, The <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page159">159</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoke Traveller, The <i>Irving Browne</i> #74</p>
+
+            <p>Smoking Away <i>Francis Miles Finch</i>
+            <a href="#page98">98</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoking Song <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page77">77</a></p>
+
+            <p>Smoking Spiritualized <i>Ralph Erskine</i>
+            <a href="#page148">148</a></p>
+
+            <p>Song of the Smoke-Wreaths <i>L.T.A.</i>
+            <a href="#page9">9</a></p>
+
+            <p>Song without a Name, A <i>W. Lloyd</i>
+            <a href="#page117">117</a></p>
+
+            <p>Sublime Tobacco <i>Lord Byron</i>
+            <a href="#page97">97</a></p>
+
+            <p>Sweet Smoking Pipe <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page146">146</a></p>
+
+            <p>Symphony in Smoke, A <i>Harper's Bazaar</i>
+            <a href="#page22">22</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>T.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Those Ashes <i>R.K. Munkittrick</i>
+            <a href="#page130">130</a></p>
+
+            <p>Titlepage Dedication <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page44">44</a></p>
+
+            <p>To an Old Pipe <i>De Witt Sterry</i>
+            <a href="#page43">43</a></p>
+
+            <p>To a Pipe of Tobacco <i>Gentleman's Magazine</i>
+            <a href="#page91">91</a></p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco <i>George Wither</i>
+            <a href="#page86">86</a></p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco <i>Thomas Jones</i>
+            <a href="#page151">151</a></p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco is an Indian Weed <i>From "Pills to Purge
+            Melancholy"</i> <a href="#page150">150</a></p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco, some say <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page164">164</a></p>
+
+            <p>To C.F. Bradford <i>James Russell Lowell</i>
+            <a href="#page5">5</a></p>
+
+            <p>To My Cigar <i>Charles Sprague</i>
+            <a href="#page62">62</a></p>
+
+            <p>To My Cigar <i>Friedrich Marc</i>
+            <a href="#page165">165</a></p>
+
+            <p>To My Meerschaum <i>P.D.R.</i>
+            <a href="#page82">82</a></p>
+
+            <p>Too Great a Sacrifice <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page90">90</a></p>
+
+            <p>To see her Pipe Awry <i>C.F.</i>
+            <a href="#page55">55</a></p>
+
+            <p>To the Rev. Mr. Newton <i>William Cowper</i>
+            <a href="#page126">126</a></p>
+
+            <p>To the Tobacco Pipe <i>The Meteor, London</i>
+            <a href="#page39">39</a></p>
+
+            <p>True Leucothoë, The <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page129">129</a></p>
+
+            <p>'Twas off the Blue Canaries <i>Joseph Warren
+            Fabens</i> <a href="#page140">140</a></p>
+
+            <p>Two other Hearts <i>London Tobacco</i>
+            <a href="#page73">73</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="pagexvi"
+       id="pagexvi"></a>[pg xvi]</span>
+
+    <h4>V.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Valentine, A <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page113">113</a></p>
+
+            <p>Virginia's kingly Plant <i>Anon.</i>
+            <a href="#page87">87</a></p>
+
+            <p>Virginia Tobacco <i>Stanley Gregson</i>
+            <a href="#page31">31</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>W.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Warning, A <i>Arthur Lovell</i>
+            <a href="#page124">124</a></p>
+
+            <p>What I Like <i>H.L.</i>
+            <a href="#page131">131</a></p>
+
+            <p>Winter Evening Hymn to My Fire, A <i>James Russell
+            Lowell</i> <a href="#page105">105</a></p>
+
+            <p>With Pipe and Book <i>Richard Le Gallienne</i>
+            <a href="#page1">1</a></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+    <span class="pagenum"><a name="page1"
+       id="page1"></a>[pg 1]</span>
+
+    <h1>PIPE AND POUCH</h1>
+    <hr class="short" />
+
+    <h2>WITH PIPE AND BOOK.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With Pipe and Book at close of day,</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, what is sweeter, mortal, say?</p>
+
+            <p>It matters not what book on knee,</p>
+
+            <p>Old Izaak or the Odyssey,</p>
+
+            <p>It matters not meerschaum or clay.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And though one's eyes will dream astray,</p>
+
+            <p>And lips forget to sue or sway,</p>
+
+            <p>It is "enough to merely be,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With Pipe and Book.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What though our modern skies be gray,</p>
+
+            <p>As bards aver, I will not pray</p>
+
+            <p>For "soothing Death" to succor me,</p>
+
+            <p>But ask this much, O Fate, of thee,</p>
+
+            <p>A little longer yet to stay</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With Pipe and Book.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">RICHARD LE
+    GALLIENNE.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2"
+       id="page2"></a>[pg 2]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A POET'S PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>From the French of Charles Baudelaire.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A poet's pipe am I,</p>
+
+            <p>And my Abyssinian tint</p>
+
+            <p>Is an unmistakable hint</p>
+
+            <p>That he lays me not often by.</p>
+
+            <p>When his soul is with grief o'erworn</p>
+
+            <p>I smoke like the cottage where</p>
+
+            <p>They are cooking the evening fare</p>
+
+            <p>For the laborer's return.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I enfold and cradle his soul</p>
+
+            <p>In the vapors moving and blue</p>
+
+            <p>That mount from my fiery mouth;</p>
+
+            <p>And there is power in my bowl</p>
+
+            <p>To charm his spirit and soothe,</p>
+
+            <p>And heal his weariness too.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In spite of my physician, who is, <i>entre nous</i>,
+            a fogy,</p>
+
+            <p>And for every little pleasure has some pathologic
+            bogy,</p>
+
+            <p>Who will bear with no small vices, and grows
+            dismally prophetic</p>
+
+            <p>If I wander from the weary way of virtue
+            dietetic;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page3"
+               id="page3"></a>[pg 3]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In spite of dire forewarnings that my brains will
+            all be scattered,</p>
+
+            <p>My memory extinguished, and my nervous system
+            shattered,</p>
+
+            <p>That my hand will take to trembling, and my heart
+            begin to flutter,</p>
+
+            <p>My digestion turn a rebel to my very bread and
+            butter;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As I puff this mild Havana, and its ashes slowly
+            lengthen,</p>
+
+            <p>I feel my courage gather and my resolution
+            strengthen:</p>
+
+            <p>I will smoke, and I will praise you, my cigar, and I
+            will light you</p>
+
+            <p>With tobacco-phobic pamphlets by the learnéd prigs
+            who fight you!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let him who has a mistress to her eyebrow write a
+            sonnet,</p>
+
+            <p>Let the lover of a lily pen a languid ode upon
+            it;</p>
+
+            <p>In such sentimental subjects I'm a Philistine and
+            cynic,</p>
+
+            <p>And prefer the inspiration drawn from sources
+            nicotinic.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So I sing of you, dear product of (I trust you are)
+            Havana,</p>
+
+            <p>And if there's any question as to how my verses
+            scan, a</p>
+
+            <p>Reason is my shyness in the Muses' aid invoking,</p>
+
+            <p>As, like other ancient maidens, they perchance
+            object to
+            smoking.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page4"
+               id="page4"></a>[pg 4]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I have learnt with you the wisdom of contemplative
+            quiescence,</p>
+
+            <p>While the world is in a ferment of unmeaning
+            effervescence,</p>
+
+            <p>That its jar and rush and riot bring no good
+            one-half so sterling</p>
+
+            <p>As your fleecy clouds of fragrance that are now
+            about me curling.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So, let stocks go up or downward, and let
+            politicians wrangle,</p>
+
+            <p>Let the parsons and philosophers grope in a wordy
+            tangle,</p>
+
+            <p>Let those who want them scramble for their dignities
+            or dollars,</p>
+
+            <p>Be millionnaires or magnates, or senators or
+            scholars.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I will puff my mild Havana, and I quietly will
+            query,</p>
+
+            <p>Whether, when the strife is over, and the combatants
+            are weary,</p>
+
+            <p>Their gains will be more brilliant than its faint
+            expiring flashes,</p>
+
+            <p>Or more solid than this panful of its dead and sober
+            ashes.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ARTHUR W.
+    GUNDRY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page5"
+       id="page5"></a>[pg 5]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO C.F. BRADFORD.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>On the Gift of a Meerschaum Pipe.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe came safe, and welcome, too,</p>
+
+            <p>As anything must be from you;</p>
+
+            <p>A meerschaum pure, 'twould float as light</p>
+
+            <p>As she the girls called Amphitrite.</p>
+
+            <p>Mixture divine of foam and clay,</p>
+
+            <p>From both it stole the best away:</p>
+
+            <p>Its foam is such as crowns the glow</p>
+
+            <p>Of beakers brimmed by Veuve Clicquot;</p>
+
+            <p>Its clay is but congested lymph</p>
+
+            <p>Jove chose to make some choicer nymph;</p>
+
+            <p>And here combined,&mdash;why, this must be</p>
+
+            <p>The birth of some enchanted sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Shaped to immortal form, the type</p>
+
+            <p>And very Venus of a pipe.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When high I heap it with the weed</p>
+
+            <p>From Lethe wharf, whose potent seed</p>
+
+            <p>Nicotia, big from Bacchus, bore</p>
+
+            <p>And cast upon Virginia's shore,</p>
+
+            <p>I'll think,&mdash;So fill the fairer bowl</p>
+
+            <p>And wise alembic of thy soul,</p>
+
+            <p>With herbs far-sought that shall distil,</p>
+
+            <p>Not fumes to slacken thought and will,</p>
+
+            <p>But bracing essences that nerve</p>
+
+            <p>To wait, to dare, to strive, to
+            serve.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page6"
+               id="page6"></a>[pg 6]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When curls the smoke in eddies soft,</p>
+
+            <p>And hangs a shifting dream aloft,</p>
+
+            <p>That gives and takes, though chance-designed,</p>
+
+            <p>The impress of the dreamer's mind,</p>
+
+            <p>I'll think,&mdash;So let the vapors bred</p>
+
+            <p>By passion, in the heart or head,</p>
+
+            <p>Pass off and upward into space,</p>
+
+            <p>Waving farewells of tenderest grace,</p>
+
+            <p>Remembered in some happier time,</p>
+
+            <p>To blend their beauty with my rhyme.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>While slowly o'er its candid bowl</p>
+
+            <p>The color deepens (as the soul</p>
+
+            <p>That burns in mortals leaves its trace</p>
+
+            <p>Of bale or beauty on the face),</p>
+
+            <p>I'll think,&mdash;So let the essence rare</p>
+
+            <p>Of years consuming make me fair;</p>
+
+            <p>So, 'gainst the ills of life profuse,</p>
+
+            <p>Steep me in some narcotic juice;</p>
+
+            <p>And if my soul must part with all</p>
+
+            <p>That whiteness which we greenness call,</p>
+
+            <p>Smooth back, O Fortune, half thy frown,</p>
+
+            <p>And make me beautifully brown!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Dream-forger, I refill thy cup</p>
+
+            <p>With reverie's wasteful pittance up,</p>
+
+            <p>And while the fire burns slow away,</p>
+
+            <p>Hiding itself in ashes gray,</p>
+
+            <p>I'll think,&mdash;As inward Youth retreats,</p>
+
+            <p>Compelled to spare his wasting
+            heats,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page7"
+               id="page7"></a>[pg 7]</span>
+
+            <p>When Life's Ash-Wednesday comes about,</p>
+
+            <p>And my head's gray with fires burnt out,</p>
+
+            <p>While stays one spark to light the eye,</p>
+
+            <p>With the last flash of memory,</p>
+
+            <p>'Twill leap to welcome C.F.B.,</p>
+
+            <p>Who sent my favorite pipe to me.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me;</p>
+
+            <p>When friends are fled, thy presence charms me.</p>
+
+            <p>If thou art full, though purse be bare,</p>
+
+            <p>I smoke, and cast away all care!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>German Smoking Song.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE FARMER'S PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Make a picture, dreamy smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In my still and cosey room;</p>
+
+            <p>From the fading past evoke</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Forms that breathe of summer's bloom.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Bashful Will and rosy Nell&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ah, I watch them now at play</p>
+
+            <p>By the mossy wayside well</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As I did twelve years
+            to-day.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page8"
+               id="page8"></a>[pg 8]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We were younger then, my pipe:</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You are dingy now and worn;</p>
+
+            <p>And my fruit is more than ripe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And my fields are brown and shorn.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nell has merry eyes of blue,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And is timid, pure, and mild;</p>
+
+            <p>Will is fair and brave and true,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And a neighboring farmer's child.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Little maid is busy, too,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Making rare, fictitious pies,</p>
+
+            <p>Just as any wife would do,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Looking, meanwhile, wondrous wise.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Drawing water from the well,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Delving sand upon the hill,</p>
+
+            <p>Going here and there for Nell,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That's her helpmate, willing Will.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Yonder, in the waning light,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Hand in hand the truants come,</p>
+
+            <p>Nell so fearful lest the night</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Should fall around her far from home.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Fading, fading, skyward flies</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">This joy-picture you have limned;</p>
+
+            <p>Pipe of mine, the quiet skies</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of my life you leave
+            undimmed.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page9"
+               id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nell and Will are lovers now;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There they stray in dying light.</p>
+
+            <p>That's a kiss! Ah, well, somehow</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nell's no more afraid at night!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">GEORGE COOPER.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>Sung to the Smokers.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Not like clouds that cap the mountains,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Not like mists that mask the sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Not like vapors round the fountains,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Soft and clear and warm are we.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Hear the tempest, how its minions</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tear the clouds and heap the snows!</p>
+
+            <p>No storm-rage is in our pinions;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Soaring from the burning censers,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Stealing forth through all the air,</p>
+
+            <p>Hovering as the mild dispensers</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Over you of blisses rare,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Softly float we, softly blend we,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tinted from the deep blue sky,</p>
+
+            <p>Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Downward to you ere we
+            die.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page10"
+               id="page10"></a>[pg 10]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ease we bring, and airy fancies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Sober thoughts with visions gay,</p>
+
+            <p>Peace profound with daring glances</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Through the clouds to endless day.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Not like clouds that cap the mountains,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Not like mists that mask the sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Not like vapors round the fountains,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Soft and clear and warm are we.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">L.T.A., in <i>London Society</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SMOKE AND CHESS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;</p>
+
+            <p>And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,</p>
+
+            <p>With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The cherry stem, with its amber tip,</p>
+
+            <p>Thoughtfully rested on his lip,</p>
+
+            <p>As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And, looking out through the early green,</p>
+
+            <p>He called on his patron saint, I ween,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>While ever rested that crown so fair,</p>
+
+            <p>Poised in the warm and pulseless air,</p>
+
+            <p>On the carven chessman's ivory
+            hair.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page11"
+               id="page11"></a>[pg 11]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Dreamily wandered the game along,</p>
+
+            <p>Quietly moving at even-song,</p>
+
+            <p>While the striving kings stood firm and strong,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Until that one which of late was crowned</p>
+
+            <p>Flinched from a knight's determined bound,</p>
+
+            <p>And in sullen majesty left the ground,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Reeling back; and it came to pass</p>
+
+            <p>That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,</p>
+
+            <p>A bishop had dealt him the <i>coup de grace</i>.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And so, as we sat, we reasoned still</p>
+
+            <p>Of fate and of fortune, of human will,</p>
+
+            <p>And what are the purposes men fulfil.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For we see at last, when the truth arrives,</p>
+
+            <p>The moves on the chess-board of our
+            lives,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>That fields may be lost, though the king
+            survives.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Not always he whom the world reveres</p>
+
+            <p>Merits its honor or wins its cheers,</p>
+
+            <p>Standing the best at the end of the years.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Not always he who has lost the fight</p>
+
+            <p>Rises again with the coming light,</p>
+
+            <p>Battles anew for his ancient right.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">SAMUEL W.
+    DUFFIELD.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page12"
+       id="page12"></a>[pg 12]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise,</p>
+
+            <p>You'll find <i>a jar</i> the gates of Paradise.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Copes Tobacco Plant.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MOTTO FOR A TOBACCO JAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But woo the goddess through a yard of
+            clay;</p>
+
+            <p>And soon you'll own she is the fairest maid</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To stifle pain, and drive old Care
+            away.</p>
+
+            <p>Nor deem it waste; what though to ash she burns,</p>
+
+            <p>If for your outlay you get good returns!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE LAST PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When head is sick and brain doth swim,</p>
+
+            <p>And heavy hangs each unstrung limb,</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis sweet through smoke-puffs, wreathing slow,</p>
+
+            <p>To watch the firelight flash or glow.</p>
+
+            <p>As each soft cloud floats up on high,</p>
+
+            <p>Some worry takes its wings to fly;</p>
+
+            <p>And Fancy dances with the flame,</p>
+
+            <p>Who lay so labor-crammed and lame;</p>
+
+            <p>While the spent Will, the slack Desire,</p>
+
+            <p>Re-kindle at the dying fire,</p>
+
+            <p>And burn to meet the morrow's sun</p>
+
+            <p>With all its day's work to be
+            done.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page13"
+               id="page13"></a>[pg 13]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The tedious tangle of the Law,</p>
+
+            <p>Your work ne'er done without some flaw;</p>
+
+            <p>Those ghastly streets that drive one mad,</p>
+
+            <p>With children joyless, elders sad,</p>
+
+            <p>Young men unmanly, girls going by</p>
+
+            <p>Bold-voiced, with eyes unmaidenly;</p>
+
+            <p>Christ dead two thousand years agone,</p>
+
+            <p>And kingdom come still all unwon;</p>
+
+            <p>Your own slack self that will not rise</p>
+
+            <p>Whole-hearted for the great emprise,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Well, all these dark thoughts of the day</p>
+
+            <p>As thin smoke's shadow drift away.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And all those magic mists unclose,</p>
+
+            <p>And a girl's face amid them grows,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The very look she's wont to wear,</p>
+
+            <p>The wild rose blossoms in her hair,</p>
+
+            <p>The wondrous depths of her pure eyes,</p>
+
+            <p>The maiden soul that 'neath them lies,</p>
+
+            <p>That fears to meet, yet will not fly,</p>
+
+            <p>Your stranger spirit drawing nigh.</p>
+
+            <p>What if our times seem sliding down?</p>
+
+            <p>She lives, creation's flower and crown.</p>
+
+            <p>What if your way seems dull and long?</p>
+
+            <p>Each tiny triumph over wrong,</p>
+
+            <p>Each effort up through sloth and fear,</p>
+
+            <p>And she and you are brought more near.</p>
+
+            <p>So rapping out these ashes light,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>"My pipe, you've served me well to-night."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>London
+    Spectator</i>.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page14"
+       id="page14"></a>[pg 14]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ODE TO MY PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O Blessed pipe,</p>
+
+            <p>That now I clutch within my gripe,</p>
+
+            <p>What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">As black as coal!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So sweetly wed</p>
+
+            <p>To thy blanched, gradual thread,</p>
+
+            <p>Like Desdemona to the Moor,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Thou pleasure's core.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What woman's lip</p>
+
+            <p>Could ever give, like thy red tip,</p>
+
+            <p>Such unremitting store of bliss,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Or such a kiss?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, let me toy,</p>
+
+            <p>Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;</p>
+
+            <p>Thy stem with a most gentle slant</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">I eye askant!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Unseen, unheard,</p>
+
+            <p>Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,</p>
+
+            <p>The while serenity astride</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Thy neck doth ride.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A burly cloud</p>
+
+            <p>Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:</p>
+
+            <p>And now a film doth upward creep,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Cuddling the
+            cheek.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page15"
+               id="page15"></a>[pg 15]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And now a ring,</p>
+
+            <p>A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;</p>
+
+            <p>Another and another mount on high,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Then spread and die.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They say in story</p>
+
+            <p>That good men have a crown of glory;</p>
+
+            <p>O beautiful and good, behold</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The crowns unfold!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How did they live?</p>
+
+            <p>What pleasure could the Old World give</p>
+
+            <p>That ancient miserable lot</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">When thou wert not?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, woe betide!</p>
+
+            <p>My oldest, dearest friend hath died,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Died in my hand quite unaware,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Oh, Baccy rare!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANDREW WYNTER.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A PIPE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or with alcohol moisten his thrapple,</p>
+
+            <p>Only give me, I pray, a good pipe of soft clay,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nicely tapered and thin in the
+            stapple;</p>
+
+            <p>And I shall puff, puff, let who will say,
+            "Enough!"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">No luxury else I'm in lack o',</p>
+
+            <p>No malice I hoard 'gainst queen, prince, duke, or
+            lord,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While I pull at my pipe of
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page16"
+               id="page16"></a>[pg 16]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When I feel the hot strife of the battle of
+            life,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the prospect is aught but
+            enticin',</p>
+
+            <p>Mayhap some real ill, like a protested bill,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Dims the sunshine that tinged the
+            horizon:</p>
+
+            <p>Only let me puff, puff,&mdash;be they ever so
+            rough,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">All the sorrows of life I lose track
+            o',</p>
+
+            <p>The mists disappear, and the vista is clear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With a soothing mild pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when joy after pain, like the sun after
+            rain,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Stills the waters, long turbid and
+            troubled,</p>
+
+            <p>That life's current may flow with a ruddier
+            glow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the sense of enjoyment be
+            doubled,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Oh! let me puff, puff, till I feel <i>quantum
+            suff.</i>,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Such luxury still I'm in lack o';</p>
+
+            <p>Be joy ever so sweet, it would be incomplete,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Without a good pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Should my recreant muse&mdash;sometimes apt to
+            refuse</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The guidance of bit and of
+            bridle&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Still blankly demur, spite of whip and spur,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Unimpassioned, inconstant, or idle;</p>
+
+            <p>Only let me puff, puff, till the brain cries,
+            "Enough!"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Such excitement is all I'm in lack
+            o',</p>
+
+            <p>And the poetic vein soon to fancy gives rein,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Inspired by a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when, with one accord, round the jovial
+            board,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In friendship our bosoms are glowing,</p>
+
+            <p>While with toast and with song we the evening
+            prolong,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And with nectar the goblets are
+            flowing;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page17"
+               id="page17"></a>[pg 17]</span>
+
+            <p>Still let us puff, puff,&mdash;be life smooth, be it
+            rough,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Such enjoyment we're ever in lack o';</p>
+
+            <p>The more peace and good-will will abound as we
+            fill</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A jolly good pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JOHN USHER.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>EPITAPH</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>On a Young Lady who Desired that Tobacco Might be
+    Planted Over her Grave.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let no cold marble o'er my body rise&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>But only earth above, and sunny skies.</p>
+
+            <p>Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest,</p>
+
+            <p>Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast.</p>
+
+            <p>Green let it grow above this clay of mine,</p>
+
+            <p>Deriving strength from strength that I resign.</p>
+
+            <p>So in the days to come, when I'm beyond</p>
+
+            <p>This fickle life, will come my lovers fond,</p>
+
+            <p>And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain</p>
+
+            <p>In whispering, "Lo! dear Anna blooms again!"</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.</h2>
+
+    <h4>(<i>October.</i>)</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,</p>
+
+            <p>With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;</p>
+
+            <p>While they cling to the stems like old age unto
+            life,</p>
+
+            <p>I dream of the days when I'll rest from this
+            strife,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And in peace smoke my brierwood
+            pipe.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page18"
+               id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O my brierwood pipe!&mdash;of bright fancy the
+            twin,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What a medley of forms you create;</p>
+
+            <p>Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair</p>
+
+            <p>As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in
+            air,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While the dreamer dreams on of his
+            fate.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The fleecy white clouds that now float in the
+            sky,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Form the visions I love most to see;</p>
+
+            <p>Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first
+            dreams</p>
+
+            <p>Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there
+            gleams</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A bright future, in waiting for me.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As that fair form and face steal
+            above;</p>
+
+            <p>See, she beckons me on to where roses are
+            spread,</p>
+
+            <p>And she points to my fancy the bright land
+            ahead,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Where the winds whisper nothing but
+            love.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When it changes to dreams of the
+            past?</p>
+
+            <p>When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as
+            sere</p>
+
+            <p>As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me
+            here,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Will the tree's <i>heart</i> be chilled
+            by the blast?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>While musing, around me has gathered a heap</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;</p>
+
+            <p>And I see in my reverie plainly revealed</p>
+
+            <p>The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood
+            concealed</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">By the forms that fair fancy had
+            bred.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page19"
+               id="page19"></a>[pg 19]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>While I sit on the banks of the beautiful
+            stream,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Picking roses that bloom by its side,</p>
+
+            <p>I know that the shallop will certainly come,</p>
+
+            <p>When the roses are withered, to carry me home,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And that life will go out with the
+            tide.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light</p>
+
+            <p>When memory supplanteth the dream;</p>
+
+            <p>When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam
+            remain,</p>
+
+            <p>And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance
+            retain,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig,</p>
+
+            <p>Ne'er deemed the smoke-cloud <i>infra dig.</i>,</p>
+
+            <p>In which you could not see his wig,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Involved in clouds of smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Quaint Lamb his wit would oft enshroud</p>
+
+            <p>In smoke-igniting laughter loud,</p>
+
+            <p>Like summer thunder in the cloud,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The lightning in the smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Dean Swift "died at the top;" his head</p>
+
+            <p>Had drifting clouds when wit had fled:</p>
+
+            <p>Dull care lurked in his brain, instead</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Of blowing out in
+            smoke.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page20"
+               id="page20"></a>[pg 20]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And Cowper mild&mdash;no smoker he,</p>
+
+            <p>Bard of the sofa and bohea&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Complained his "dear friend Bull" not free</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">From lowering Stygian smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Clouds in his non-inebriate nob</p>
+
+            <p>Were doomed the tea tables to rob,</p>
+
+            <p>Inflicting many a painful throb</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">On one who could not smoke!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Smoke on! it is the steam of life,</p>
+
+            <p>The smoother of the waves of strife;</p>
+
+            <p>Where chimneys smoke, or scolds the wife,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The counteraction&mdash;smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We ride and work and weave by steam,</p>
+
+            <p>Till ages past seem like a dream</p>
+
+            <p>In a new world whose dawning beam</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Is redolent of smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We travel like a comet wild</p>
+
+            <p>On which some distant sun had smiled,</p>
+
+            <p>And from his orbit thus beguiled</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">With a long tail of smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The clouds arise from smoking seas,</p>
+
+            <p>And give, with each conveying breeze,</p>
+
+            <p>Life to the "weed," and herbs, and trees,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Which turn again to
+            smoke.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page21"
+               id="page21"></a>[pg 21]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>All nations smoke! Havana's pother</p>
+
+            <p>Smokes friendly with its Broseley brother:</p>
+
+            <p>The world's one end puffs to the other,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">In amicable smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When plague and pestilence go forth,</p>
+
+            <p>And to diseases dire give birth,</p>
+
+            <p>Which walk in darkness through the earth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">I clothe myself in smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I smoke through desolating years,</p>
+
+            <p>Tabooed from fever, void of fears,</p>
+
+            <p>And when some dreaded pest appears,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">I call in Doctor Smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Go, reader! perfume ladies' hair</p>
+
+            <p>And scent the ringlets of the fair</p>
+
+            <p>With eau Cologne and odors rare</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Aloof from healthy smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Go babble at the ball and rout,</p>
+
+            <p>And smirk with high-born dames who doubt:</p>
+
+            <p>Thy flames are quenched, thy fires are out,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">And sinking into smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Better," said Johnson, great in name,</p>
+
+            <p>"It were, when poets droop in fame,</p>
+
+            <p>To see smoke brighten into flame,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Than flames sink into smoke."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">SELIM: <i>Eclectic
+    Magazine</i>.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page22"
+       id="page22"></a>[pg 22]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A SYMPHONY IN SMOKE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,</p>
+
+            <p>Who likes to muse and take her ease,</p>
+
+            <p>She loves to smoke a cigarette;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To dream in silken hammockette,</p>
+
+            <p>And sing and swing beneath the trees,</p>
+
+            <p>A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Her Christian name is Violet;</p>
+
+            <p>Her eyes are blue as summer skies;</p>
+
+            <p>She loves to smoke a cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As calm as babe in bassinette,</p>
+
+            <p>She swingeth in the summer breeze,</p>
+
+            <p>A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>She ponders o'er a novelette;</p>
+
+            <p>Her parasol is Japanese;</p>
+
+            <p>She loves to smoke a cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>She loves a fume without a fret;</p>
+
+            <p>Her frills are white, her frock
+            <i>cérise</i>,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>She almost goes to sleep, and yet,</p>
+
+            <p>Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,</p>
+
+            <p>She loves to smoke a
+            cigarette.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page23"
+               id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A winsome, clever, cool coquette,</p>
+
+            <p>Who flouts all Grundian decrees,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>pretty, pouting, piquant pet,</p>
+
+            <p>That loves to smoke a cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Harper's Bazaar</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IT MAY BE WEEDS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It may be weeds</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I've gathered too;</p>
+
+            <p>But even weeds may be</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As fragrant as</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The fairest flower</p>
+
+            <p>With some sweet memory.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SEASONABLE SWEETS.</h2>
+
+    <h4>"<i>Don't be flowery, Jacob.</i>"&mdash;CHARLES
+    DICKENS.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When the year is young, what sweets are flung</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">By the violets, hiding, dim,</p>
+
+            <p>And the lilac that sways her censers high,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!</p>
+
+            <p>How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When blithe spring decks each spray,</p>
+
+            <p>And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Through the beautiful month of May!</p>
+
+            <p>What a dainty pet is the mignonette,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Whose sweets wide scattered are!</p>
+
+            <p>But sweeter to me than all these yet</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is the scent of a prime
+            cigar!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page24"
+               id="page24"></a>[pg 24]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Delicious airs waft the fields of June,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When the beans are all in flower;</p>
+
+            <p>The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the woodbine in the bower.</p>
+
+            <p>Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For the blithe hours as they run,</p>
+
+            <p>And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That is all in love with the sun,</p>
+
+            <p>Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Flings odorous airs afar;</p>
+
+            <p>Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is the scent of a prime cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When all the beauties of Flora's court</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Smile on the gay parterre,</p>
+
+            <p>What glorious color, what exquisite form,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And dainty scents are there!</p>
+
+            <p>They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Like beautiful nymphs at play,</p>
+
+            <p>Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To the glorious God of Day.</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And death doth their sweetness mar;</p>
+
+            <p>But fragrance fine is forever thine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My well-beloved cigar!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">C.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page25"
+       id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>GEORDIE TO HIS TOBACCO-PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored
+            friend,</p>
+
+            <p>Whom I have smoked these fourteen years and
+            more,</p>
+
+            <p>My best companion, faithful to the end,</p>
+
+            <p>Faithful to death through all thy fiery core,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How shall I sing thy praises, or proclaim</p>
+
+            <p>The generous virtues which I've found in thee?</p>
+
+            <p>I know thou carest not a whit for fame,</p>
+
+            <p>And hast no thought but how to comfort me,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And serve my needs, and humor every mood;</p>
+
+            <p>But love and friendship do my heart constrain</p>
+
+            <p>To give thee all I can for much of good</p>
+
+            <p>Which thou hast rendered me in joy and pain.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Say, then, old honest meerschaum! shall I weave</p>
+
+            <p>Thy history together with my own?</p>
+
+            <p>Of late I never see thee but I grieve</p>
+
+            <p>For him whose gift thou wert&mdash;forever gone!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Gone to his grave amidst the vines of France,</p>
+
+            <p>He, all so good, so beautiful, and wise;</p>
+
+            <p>And this dear giver doth thyself enhance,</p>
+
+            <p>And makes thee doubly precious in mine eyes.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For he was one of Nature's rarest men,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Poet and preacher, lover of his kind,</p>
+
+            <p>True-hearted man of God, whose like again</p>
+
+            <p>In this world's journey I may never
+            find.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page26"
+               id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I know not if the shadow of his soul,</p>
+
+            <p>Or the divine effulgence of his heart,</p>
+
+            <p>Has through thy veins in mystic silence stole;</p>
+
+            <p>But thou to me dost seem of him a part.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>His hands have touched thee, and his lips have
+            drawn,</p>
+
+            <p>As mine, full many an inspiring cloud</p>
+
+            <p>From thy great burning heart, at night and morn;</p>
+
+            <p>And thou art here, whilst he lies in his shroud!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And here am I, his friend and thine, old pipe!</p>
+
+            <p>And he has often sat my chair beside,</p>
+
+            <p>As he was wont to sit in living type,</p>
+
+            <p>Of many companies the flower and pride,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sat by my side, and talked to me the while,</p>
+
+            <p>Invisible to every eye save mine,</p>
+
+            <p>And smiled upon me as he used to smile</p>
+
+            <p>When we three sat o'er our good cups of wine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ah, happy days, when the old Chapel House,</p>
+
+            <p>Of the old Forest Chapel, rang with mirth,</p>
+
+            <p>And the great joy of our divine carouse,</p>
+
+            <p>As we hobnobbed it by the blazing hearth!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We never more, old pipe, shall see those days,</p>
+
+            <p>Whose memories lie like pictures in my mind;</p>
+
+            <p>But thou and I will go the self-same ways,</p>
+
+            <p>E'en though we leave all other friends
+            behind.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page27"
+               id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And for thy sake, and for my own, and his,</p>
+
+            <p>We will be one, as we have ever been,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou dear old friend, with thy most honest phiz,</p>
+
+            <p>And no new faces come our loves between.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>II.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thou hast thy separate virtues, honest pipe!</p>
+
+            <p>Apart from all the memory of friends:</p>
+
+            <p>For thou art mellow, old, and black, and ripe;</p>
+
+            <p>And the good weed that in its smoke ascends</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>From thy rare bowl doth scent the liberal air</p>
+
+            <p>With incense richer than the woods of Ind.</p>
+
+            <p>E'en to the barren palate of despair</p>
+
+            <p>(Inhaled through cedar tubes from glorious
+            Scinde!)</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It hath a charm would quicken into life,</p>
+
+            <p>And make the heart gush out in streams of love,</p>
+
+            <p>And the earth, dead before, with beauty rife,</p>
+
+            <p>And full of flowers as heaven of stars above.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It is thy virtue and peculiar gift,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou sooty wizard of the potent weed;</p>
+
+            <p>No other pipe can thus the soul uplift,</p>
+
+            <p>Or such rare fancies and high musings breed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I've tried full many of thy kith and kind,</p>
+
+            <p>Dug from thy native Asiatic clay,</p>
+
+            <p>Fashioned by cunning hand and curious mind</p>
+
+            <p>Into all shapes and features, grave and
+            gay,&mdash;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page28"
+               id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Black niggers' heads with their white-livered
+            eyes</p>
+
+            <p>Glaring in fiery horror through the smoke,</p>
+
+            <p>And monstrous dragons stained with bloody dyes,</p>
+
+            <p>And comelier forms; but all save thee I broke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For though, like thee, each pipe was black and
+            old,</p>
+
+            <p>They were not wiser for their many years,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor knew thy sorcery though set in gold,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor had thy tropic taste,&mdash;these proud
+            compeers!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Like great John Paul, who would have loved thee
+            well,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou art the "only one" of all thy race;</p>
+
+            <p>Nor shall another comrade near thee dwell,</p>
+
+            <p>Old King of pipes! my study's pride and grace!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>III.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thus have I made "assurance doubly sure,"</p>
+
+            <p>And sealed it twice, that thou shalt reign
+            alone!</p>
+
+            <p>And as the dainty bee doth search for pure,</p>
+
+            <p>Sweet honey till his laden thighs do groan</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With their sweet burden, tasting nothing foul,</p>
+
+            <p>So thou of best tobacco shalt be filled;</p>
+
+            <p>And when the starry midnight wakes the owl,</p>
+
+            <p>And the lorn nightingale her song has trilled,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I, with my lamp and books, as is my wont,</p>
+
+            <p>Will give thee of the choicest of all
+            climes,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Black Cavendish, full-flavored, full of juice,</p>
+
+            <p>Pale Turkish, famed through all the Osman
+            times,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page29"
+               id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Dark Latakia, Syrian, Persia's pride,</p>
+
+            <p>And sweet Virginian, sweeter than them all!</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, rich bouquet of plants! fit for a bride</p>
+
+            <p>Who, blushing, waits the happy bridegroom's
+            call!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And these shall be thy food, thy dainty food,</p>
+
+            <p>And we together will their luxury share,</p>
+
+            <p>Voluptuous tumults stealing through the blood,</p>
+
+            <p>Voluptuous visions filling all the air!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I will not thee profane with impious shag,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor poison thee with nigger-head and twist,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor with Kentucky, though the planters brag</p>
+
+            <p>That it hath virtues all the rest have missed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>These are for porters, loafers, and the scum,</p>
+
+            <p>Who have no sense for the diviner weeds,</p>
+
+            <p>Who drink their muddy beer and muddier rum,</p>
+
+            <p>Insatiate, like dogs in all their greeds.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But not for thee nor me these things obscene;</p>
+
+            <p>We have a higher pleasure, purer taste.</p>
+
+            <p>My draughts have been with thee of hippocrene,</p>
+
+            <p>And our delights intelligent and chaste.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>IV.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Intelligent and chaste since we have held</p>
+
+            <p>Commune together on the world's highway;</p>
+
+            <p>No Falstaff failings have my mind impelled</p>
+
+            <p>To do misdeeds of sack by night or
+            day;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page30"
+               id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But we have ever erred on virtue's side&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>At least we should have done&mdash;but woe is
+            me!</p>
+
+            <p>I fear in this my statement I have lied,</p>
+
+            <p>For ghosts, like moonlight shadows on the sea,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Crowd thick around me from the shadowy
+            past,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Ghosts of old memories reeling drunk with wine!</p>
+
+            <p>And boon companions, Lysius-like, and vast</p>
+
+            <p>In their proportions as the god divine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I do confess my sins, and here implore</p>
+
+            <p>The aid of "Rare Old Ben" and other ghosts</p>
+
+            <p>That I may sin again, but rarely more,</p>
+
+            <p>Responsive only unto royal toasts.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For, save these sins, I am a saintly man,</p>
+
+            <p>And live like other saints on prayer and praise,</p>
+
+            <p>My long face longer, if life be a span,</p>
+
+            <p>Than any two lives in these saintly days.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So let me smoke and drink and do good deeds,</p>
+
+            <p>And boast the doing like a Pharisee;</p>
+
+            <p>Am I not holy if I love the creeds,</p>
+
+            <p>Even though my drinking sins choke up the sea?</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">GEORGE S. PHILLIPS (JANUARY SEARLE):<br />
+    <i>The Gypsies of the Dane's
+    Dike.</i></p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page31"
+       id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>INVOCATION TO TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth,</p>
+
+            <p>Killer of dulness, parent of mirth,</p>
+
+            <p>Come in the sad hour, come in the gay,</p>
+
+            <p>Appear in the night, or in the day,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Still thou art welcome as June's blooming rose,</p>
+
+            <p>Joy of the palate, delight of the nose.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Weed of the green field, weed of the wild,</p>
+
+            <p>Fostered in freedom, America's child,</p>
+
+            <p>Come in Virginia, come in Havana,</p>
+
+            <p>Friend of the universe, sweeter than
+            manna,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Still thou art welcome, rich, fragrant, and
+            ripe,</p>
+
+            <p>Pride of the tube-case, delight of the pipe.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Weed of the savage, weed of each pole,</p>
+
+            <p>Comforting, soothing, philosophy's soul,</p>
+
+            <p>Come in the snuff-box, come in cigar,</p>
+
+            <p>In Strasburgh and King's, come from afar,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Still thou art welcome, the purest, the best,</p>
+
+            <p>Joy of earth's millions, forever carest.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HENRY JAMES MELLEN.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>VIRGINIA TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Two maiden dames of sixty-two</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Together long had dwelt;</p>
+
+            <p>Neither, alas! of love so true</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The bitter pang had
+            felt.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page32"
+               id="page32"></a>[pg 32]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But age comes on, they say, apace,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To warn us of our death,</p>
+
+            <p>And wrinkles mar the fairest face,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">At last it stops our breath.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>One of these dames tormented sore</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With that curst pang, toothache,</p>
+
+            <p>Was at a loss for such a bore</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What remedy to take.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"I've heard," thought she, "this ill to cure,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A pipe is good, they say.</p>
+
+            <p>Well then, tobacco I'll endure,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And smoke the pain away."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe was lit, the tooth soon well,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And she retired to rest,</p>
+
+            <p>When then the other ancient belle</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Her spinster maid addressed,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Let me request a favor, pray"&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">"I'll do it if I can"&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>"Oh! well, then, love, smoke every day,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2"><i>You smell so like a man!</i>"</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">Attributed to JOHN STANLEY
+    GREGSON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page33"
+       id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>AN ODE OF THANKS FOR CERTAIN CIGARS.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>To Charles Eliot Norton.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Luck, my dear Norton, still makes shifts,</p>
+
+            <p>To mix a mortal with her gifts,</p>
+
+            <p>Which he may find who duly sifts.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sweets to the sweet,&mdash;behold the clue!</p>
+
+            <p>Why not, then, new things to the gnu,</p>
+
+            <p>And trews to Highland clansmen true?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Twas thus your kindly thought decreed</p>
+
+            <p>These weeds to one who is indeed,</p>
+
+            <p>And feels himself, a very weed,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A weed from which, when bruised and shent,</p>
+
+            <p>Though some faint perfume may be rent,</p>
+
+            <p>Yet oftener much without a cent.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But imp, O Muse, a stronger wing</p>
+
+            <p>Mount, leaving self below, and sing</p>
+
+            <p>What thoughts these Cuban exiles bring!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>He that knows aught of mythic lore</p>
+
+            <p>Knows how god Bacchus wandered o'er</p>
+
+            <p>The earth, and what strange names he bore.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The Bishop of Avranches supposes</p>
+
+            <p>That all these large and varying doses</p>
+
+            <p>Of fable mean naught else than
+            Moses;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page34"
+               id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But waiving doubts, we surely know</p>
+
+            <p>He taught mankind to plough and sow,</p>
+
+            <p>And from the Tigris to the Po</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Planted the vine; but of his visit</p>
+
+            <p>To this our hemisphere, why is it</p>
+
+            <p>We have no statement more explicit?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>He gave to us a leaf divine</p>
+
+            <p>More grateful to the serious Nine</p>
+
+            <p>Than fierce inspirings of the vine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And that <i>he</i> loved it more, this
+            proved,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>He gave his name to what he loved,</p>
+
+            <p>Distorted now, but not removed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tobacco, sacred herb, though lowly,</p>
+
+            <p>Baffles old Time, the tyrant, wholly,</p>
+
+            <p>And makes him turn his hour-glass slowly;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nay, makes as 'twere of every glass six,</p>
+
+            <p>Whereby we beat the heathen classics</p>
+
+            <p>With their weak Chians and their Massics.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>These gave his glass a quicker twist,</p>
+
+            <p>And flew the hours like driving mist,</p>
+
+            <p>While Horace drank and Lesbia kissed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How are we gainers when all's done,</p>
+
+            <p>If Life's swift clepsydra have run</p>
+
+            <p>With wine for water? 'Tis all
+            one.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page35"
+               id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But this rare plant delays the stream</p>
+
+            <p>(At least if things are what they seem)</p>
+
+            <p>Through long eternities of dream.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What notes the antique Muse had known</p>
+
+            <p>Had she, instead of oat-straws, blown</p>
+
+            <p>Our wiser pipes of clay or stone!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Rash song, forbear! Thou canst not hope,</p>
+
+            <p>Untutored as thou art, to cope</p>
+
+            <p>With themes of such an epic scope.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Enough if thou give thanks to him</p>
+
+            <p>Who sent these leaves (forgive the whim)</p>
+
+            <p>Plucked from the dream-tree's sunniest limb.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My gratitude feels no eclipse,</p>
+
+            <p>For I, whate'er my other slips,</p>
+
+            <p>Shall have his kindness on my lips.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The prayers of Christian, Turk, and Jew</p>
+
+            <p>Have one sound up there in the blue,</p>
+
+            <p>And one smell all their incense, too.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Perhaps that smoke with incense ranks</p>
+
+            <p>Which curls from 'mid life's jars and clanks,</p>
+
+            <p>Graceful with happiness and thanks.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I pledge him, therefore, in a puff,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>rather frailish kind of stuff,</p>
+
+            <p>But still professional
+            enough.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page36"
+               id="page36"></a>[pg 36]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Hock-cups breed hiccups; let us feel</p>
+
+            <p>The god along our senses steel</p>
+
+            <p>More nobly and without his reel.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Each temperately 'baccy <i>plenus</i>,</p>
+
+            <p>May no grim fate of doubtful genus</p>
+
+            <p>E'er blow the smallest cloud between us.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And as his gift I shall devote</p>
+
+            <p>To fire, and o'er their ashes gloat,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Let him do likewise with this note.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</p>
+
+    <p>[From "The Letters of James Russell Lowell." Copyright,
+    1893, by Harper &amp; Brothers.]</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>AN ENCOMIUM ON TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thrice happy isles that stole the world's
+            delight,</p>
+
+            <p>And thus produce so rich a Margarite!</p>
+
+            <p>It is the fountain whence all pleasure springs,</p>
+
+            <p>A potion for imperial and mighty kings.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>He that is master of so rich a store</p>
+
+            <p>May laugh at Croesus and esteem him poor;</p>
+
+            <p>And with his smoky sceptre in his fist,</p>
+
+            <p>Securely flout the toiling alchemist,</p>
+
+            <p>Who daily labors with a vain expense</p>
+
+            <p>In distillations of the quintessence,</p>
+
+            <p>Not knowing that this golden herb alone</p>
+
+            <p>Is the philosopher's admired
+            stone.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page37"
+               id="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It is a favor which the gods doth please,</p>
+
+            <p>If they do feed on smoke, as Lucian says.</p>
+
+            <p>Therefore the cause that the bright sun doth
+            rest</p>
+
+            <p>At the low point of the declining west&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>When his oft-wearied horses breathless
+            pant&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Is to refresh himself with this sweet plant,</p>
+
+            <p>Which wanton Thetis from the west doth bring,</p>
+
+            <p>To joy her love after his toilsome ring:</p>
+
+            <p>For 'tis a cordial for an inward smart,</p>
+
+            <p>As is dictamnum to the wounded hart.</p>
+
+            <p>It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe;</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis like the thorn that doth on Pelion grow,</p>
+
+            <p>With which whoe'er his frosty limbs anoints,</p>
+
+            <p>Shall feel no cold in fat or flesh or joints.</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis like the river, which whoe'er doth taste</p>
+
+            <p>Forgets his present griefs and sorrows past.</p>
+
+            <p>Music, which makes grim thoughts retire,</p>
+
+            <p>And for a while cease their tormenting
+            fire,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Music, which forces beasts to stand and gaze,</p>
+
+            <p>And fills their senseless spirits with
+            amaze,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Compared to this is like delicious strings,</p>
+
+            <p>Which sound but harshly while Apollo sings.</p>
+
+            <p>The train with this infumed, all quarrel ends,</p>
+
+            <p>And fiercest foemen turn to faithful friends;</p>
+
+            <p>The man that shall this smoky magic prove,</p>
+
+            <p>Will need no philtres to obtain his love.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Yet the sweet simple, by misordered use,</p>
+
+            <p>Death or some dangerous sickness may produce.</p>
+
+            <p>Should we not for our sustentation eat</p>
+
+            <p>Because a surfeit comes from too much
+            meat?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page38"
+               id="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span>
+
+            <p>So our fair plant&mdash;that doth as needful
+            stand</p>
+
+            <p>As heaven, or fire, or air, or sea, or land;</p>
+
+            <p>As moon, or stars that rule the gloomy night,</p>
+
+            <p>Or sacred friendship, or the sunny light&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Her treasured virtue in herself enrolls,</p>
+
+            <p>And leaves the evil to vainglorious souls.</p>
+
+            <p>And yet, who dies with this celestial breath</p>
+
+            <p>Shall live immortal in a joyful death.</p>
+
+            <p>All goods, all pleasures it in one can
+            link&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis physic, clothing, music, meat, and drink.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Gods would have revell'd at their feasts of
+            mirth</p>
+
+            <p>With this pure distillation of the earth;</p>
+
+            <p>The marrow of the world, star of the West,</p>
+
+            <p>The pearl whereby this lower orb is blest;</p>
+
+            <p>The joy of mortals, umpire of all strife,</p>
+
+            <p>Delight of nature, mithridate of life;</p>
+
+            <p>The daintiest dish of a delicious feast,</p>
+
+            <p>By taking which man differs from a beast.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANONYMOUS: <i>Time, James I.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ON A TOBACCO JAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Three hundred years ago or soe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">One worthy knight and gentlemanne</p>
+
+            <p>Did bring me here, to charm and chere,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To physical and mental manne.</p>
+
+            <p>God bless his soule who filled ye bowle,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And may our blessings find him;</p>
+
+            <p>That he not miss some share of blisse</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who left soe much behind him.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">BERNARD
+    BARKER.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page39"
+       id="page39"></a>[pg 39]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO THE TOBACCO PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Dear piece of fascinating clay!</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis thine to smooth life's rugged way,</p>
+
+            <p>To give a happiness unknown</p>
+
+            <p>To those&mdash;who let a pipe alone;</p>
+
+            <p>Thy tube can best the vapors chase,</p>
+
+            <p>By raising&mdash;others in their place;</p>
+
+            <p>Can give the face staid Wisdom's air,</p>
+
+            <p>And teach the lips&mdash;to ope with care;</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis hence thou art the truest friend</p>
+
+            <p>(Where least is said there's least to mend),</p>
+
+            <p>And he who ventures many a joke</p>
+
+            <p>Had better oft be still and smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Whatever giddy foplings think,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou giv'st the highest zest to drink.</p>
+
+            <p>When fragrant clouds thy fumes exhale,</p>
+
+            <p>And hover round the nut-brown ale,</p>
+
+            <p>Who thinks of claret or champagne?</p>
+
+            <p>E'en burgundy were pour'd in vain.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis not in city smoke alone,</p>
+
+            <p>Midst fogs and glooms thy charms are known.</p>
+
+            <p>With thee, at morn, the rustic swain</p>
+
+            <p>Tracks o'er the snow-besprinkled plain,</p>
+
+            <p>To seek some neighb'ring copse's side,</p>
+
+            <p>And rob the woodlands of their
+            pride:</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page40"
+               id="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span>
+
+            <p>With thee, companion of his toil,</p>
+
+            <p>His active spirits ne'er recoil;</p>
+
+            <p>Though hard his daily task assign'd,</p>
+
+            <p>He bears it with an equal mind.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The fisher 'board some little bark,</p>
+
+            <p>When all around is drear and dark,</p>
+
+            <p>With shortened pipe beguiles the hour,</p>
+
+            <p>Though bleak the wind and cold the show'r,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor thinks the morn's approach too slow,</p>
+
+            <p>Regardless of what tempests blow.</p>
+
+            <p>Midst hills of sand, midst ditches, dikes,</p>
+
+            <p>Midst cannons, muskets, halberts, pikes;</p>
+
+            <p>With thee, as still, Mynheer can stay,</p>
+
+            <p>As Neddy 'twixt two wisps of hay;</p>
+
+            <p>Heedless of Britain and of France,</p>
+
+            <p>Smokes on&mdash;and looks to the main chance.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And sure the solace thou canst give</p>
+
+            <p>Must make thy fame unrivalled live,</p>
+
+            <p>So long as men can temper clay</p>
+
+            <p>(For as thou art, e'en so are they),</p>
+
+            <p>The sun mature the Indian weed,</p>
+
+            <p>And rolling years fresh sorrows breed.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">From <i>The Meteors</i>,
+    London.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page41"
+       id="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Briton of the truest type,</p>
+
+            <p>When that too devoted valet</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Quenched your first-recorded pipe,</p>
+
+            <p>Were you pondering the opinion,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As you watched the airy coil,</p>
+
+            <p>That the virtue of Virginia</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Might be bred in British soil?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You transplanted the potato,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Twas a more enduring gift</p>
+
+            <p>Than the wisdom of a Plato</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To our poverty and thrift.</p>
+
+            <p>That respected root has flourished</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nobly for a nation's need,</p>
+
+            <p>But our brightest dreams are nourished</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ever on a foreign weed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>From the deepest meditation</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of the philosophic scribe,</p>
+
+            <p>From the poet's inspiration,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For the cynic's polished gibe,</p>
+
+            <p>We invoke narcotic nurses</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In their jargon from afar,</p>
+
+            <p>I indite these modest verses</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On a polyglot
+            cigar.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page42"
+               id="page42"></a>[pg 42]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Leaf that lulls a Turkish Aga</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">May a scholar's soul renew,</p>
+
+            <p>Fancy spring from Larranaga,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">History from honey-dew.</p>
+
+            <p>When the teacher and the tyro</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Spirit-manna fondly seek,</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis the cigarette from Cairo,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or a compound from the Greek.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But no British-born aroma</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is fit incense to the Queen,</p>
+
+            <p>Nature gives her best diploma</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To the alien nicotine.</p>
+
+            <p>We are doomed to her ill-favor,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For the plant that's native grown</p>
+
+            <p>Has a patriotic flavor</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Too exclusively our own.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O my country, could your smoker</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Boast your "shag," or even "twist,"</p>
+
+            <p>Every man were mediocre</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Save the blest tobacconist!</p>
+
+            <p>He will point immortal morals,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Make all common praises mute,</p>
+
+            <p>Who shall win our grateful laurels</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With a national cheroot.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>The St. James
+    Gazette</i>.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page43"
+       id="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO AN OLD PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Once your smoothly polished face</p>
+
+            <p>Nestled lightly in a case;</p>
+
+            <p>'Twas a jolly cosy place,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">I surmise;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And a zealous subject blew</p>
+
+            <p>On your cheeks, until they grew</p>
+
+            <p>To the fascinating hue</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Of her eyes.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Near a rusty-hilted sword,</p>
+
+            <p>Now upon my mantel-board,</p>
+
+            <p>Where my curios are stored,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">You recline.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You were pleasant company when</p>
+
+            <p>By the scribbling of her pen</p>
+
+            <p>I was sent the ways of men</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">To repine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tell me truly (you were there</p>
+
+            <p>When she ceased that debonair</p>
+
+            <p>Correspondence and affair)</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">I suppose</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>That she laughed and smiled all day;</p>
+
+            <p>Or did gentle tear-drops stray</p>
+
+            <p>Down her charming <i>retroussée</i></p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Little
+            nose?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page44"
+               id="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Where the sunbeams, coyly still,</p>
+
+            <p>Fall upon the mantel-sill,</p>
+
+            <p>You perpetually will</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Silence woo;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And I fear that she herself,</p>
+
+            <p>By the little chubby elf.</p>
+
+            <p>Will be laid upon the shelf</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Just as you.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">DE WITT STERRY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Let those smoke now who never smoked before,</p>
+
+            <p>And those who always smoked&mdash;now smoke the
+            more."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ACROSTIC.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles,</p>
+
+            <p>O'er cankered care bring radiant smiles,</p>
+
+            <p>Best gift of Love to mortals given!</p>
+
+            <p>At once the bud and bliss of Heaven!</p>
+
+            <p>Crownless are kings uncrowned by thee;</p>
+
+            <p>Content the serf in thy sweet liberty,</p>
+
+            <p>O charm of life! O foe to misery!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    J.H.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page45"
+       id="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ANOTHER MATCH.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>After A.C. Swinburne.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If love were dhudeen olden,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were like the weed,</p>
+
+            <p>Oh! we would live together</p>
+
+            <p>And love the jolly weather,</p>
+
+            <p>And bask in sunshine golden,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Rare pals of choicest breed;</p>
+
+            <p>If love were dhudeen olden,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were like the weed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If you were oil essential,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were nicotine,</p>
+
+            <p>We'd hatch up wicked treason,</p>
+
+            <p>And spoil each smoker's reason,</p>
+
+            <p>Till he grew penitential,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And turned a bilious green;</p>
+
+            <p>If you were oil essential,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were nicotine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If you were snuff, my darling,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I, your love, the box.</p>
+
+            <p>We'd live and sneeze together,</p>
+
+            <p>Shut out from all the weather,</p>
+
+            <p>And anti-snuffers snarling,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In neckties orthodox;</p>
+
+            <p>If you were snuff, my darling,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I, your love, the
+            box.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page46"
+               id="page46"></a>[pg 46]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If you were the aroma,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were simply smoke,</p>
+
+            <p>We'd skyward fly together,</p>
+
+            <p>As light as any feather;</p>
+
+            <p>And flying high as Homer,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">His gray old ghost we'd choke;</p>
+
+            <p>If you were the aroma,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I were simply smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">From <i>Cope's Tobacco Plant</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Faces of olden days uprise,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And in his dreamers revery</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">They haunt the smoker's brain, and he</p>
+
+            <p>Breathes for the past regretful sighs.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft
+            skies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Faces that more he'll only see</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">In wreaths of smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>How youth-time passion droops and dies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And all the countless visions flee!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How worn would all those faces be,</p>
+
+            <p>Were they not swathed in soft disguise</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">In wreaths of smoke!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">FRANK NEWTON
+    HOLMAN.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page47"
+       id="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ASHES.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,</p>
+
+            <p>Alone I puff my brier brown,</p>
+
+            <p>And watch the ashes settle down</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">In lambent flashes;</p>
+
+            <p>While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,</p>
+
+            <p>I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,</p>
+
+            <p>Upon the half-forgotten days</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">That left but ashes.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Again we wander through the lane,</p>
+
+            <p>Beneath the elms and out again,</p>
+
+            <p>Across the rippling fields of grain,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Where softly flashes</p>
+
+            <p>A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,</p>
+
+            <p>At every sigh my pulses burn,</p>
+
+            <p>At every thought I slowly turn</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And find but ashes.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What made my fingers tremble so,</p>
+
+            <p>As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,</p>
+
+            <p>Around them, now with movements slow</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And now with dashes?</p>
+
+            <p>Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,</p>
+
+            <p>Maybe a tear within them lies;</p>
+
+            <p>But as I puff my pipe there flies</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">A cloud of
+            ashes.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page48"
+               id="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Perhaps you did not understand,</p>
+
+            <p>How lightly flames of love were fanned.</p>
+
+            <p>Ah, every thought and wish I've planned</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">With something clashes!</p>
+
+            <p>And yet within my lonely den</p>
+
+            <p>Over a pipe, away from men,</p>
+
+            <p>I love to throw aside my pen</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And stir the ashes.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">DE WITT STERRY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tube, I love thee as my life;</p>
+
+            <p>By thee I mean to choose a wife.</p>
+
+            <p>Tube, thy <i>color</i> let me find,</p>
+
+            <p>In her <i>skin</i>, and in her <i>mind</i>.</p>
+
+            <p>Let her have a <i>shape</i> as fine;</p>
+
+            <p>Let her breath be sweet as thine;</p>
+
+            <p>Let her, when her lips I kiss,</p>
+
+            <p><i>Burn</i> like thee, to give me bliss;</p>
+
+            <p>Let her, in some <i>smoke</i> or other,</p>
+
+            <p>All my failings kindly smother.</p>
+
+            <p>Often when my thoughts are <i>low</i>,</p>
+
+            <p>Send them where they ought to go;</p>
+
+            <p>When to study I incline,</p>
+
+            <p>Let her aid be such as thine;</p>
+
+            <p>Such as thine the charming power</p>
+
+            <p>In the vacant social
+            hour.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page49"
+               id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span>
+
+            <p>Let her live to give delight,</p>
+
+            <p>Ever <i>warm</i> and ever <i>bright</i>;</p>
+
+            <p>Let her deeds, whene'er she dies,</p>
+
+            <p>Mount as incense to the skies.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Gentleman's Magazine</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY THREE LOVES.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When Life was all a summer day,</p>
+
+            <p>And I was under twenty,</p>
+
+            <p>Three loves were scattered in my way&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>And three at once are plenty.</p>
+
+            <p>Three hearts, if offered with a grace,</p>
+
+            <p>One thinks not of refusing;</p>
+
+            <p>The task in this especial case</p>
+
+            <p>Was only that of choosing.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">I knew not which to make my
+            pet,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">My pipe, cigar, or cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To cheer my night or glad my day</p>
+
+            <p>My pipe was ever willing;</p>
+
+            <p>The meerschaum or the lowly clay</p>
+
+            <p>Alike repaid the filling.</p>
+
+            <p>Grown men delight in blowing clouds,</p>
+
+            <p>As boys in blowing bubbles,</p>
+
+            <p>Our cares to puff away in crowds</p>
+
+            <p>And vanish all our troubles.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">My pipe I nearly made my pet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Above cigar or
+            cigarette.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page50"
+               id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A tiny paper, tightly rolled</p>
+
+            <p>About some Latakia,</p>
+
+            <p>Contains within its magic fold</p>
+
+            <p>A mighty <i>panacea</i>.</p>
+
+            <p>Some thought of sorrow or of strife</p>
+
+            <p>At ev'ry whiff will vanish;</p>
+
+            <p>And all the scenery of life</p>
+
+            <p>Turn picturesquely Spanish.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">But still I could not quite forget</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Cigar and pipe for cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To yield an after-dinner puff</p>
+
+            <p>O'er <i>demi-tasse</i> and brandy,</p>
+
+            <p>No cigarettes are strong enough,</p>
+
+            <p>No pipes are ever handy.</p>
+
+            <p>However fine may be the feed,</p>
+
+            <p>It only moves my laughter</p>
+
+            <p>Unless a dry delicious weed</p>
+
+            <p>Appears a little after.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">A prime cigar I firmly set</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Above a pipe or cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But after all I try in vain</p>
+
+            <p>To fetter my opinion;</p>
+
+            <p>Since each upon my giddy brain</p>
+
+            <p>Has boasted a dominion.</p>
+
+            <p>Comparisons I'll not provoke,</p>
+
+            <p>Lest <i>all</i> should be
+            offended.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page51"
+               id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span>
+
+            <p>Let this discussion end in smoke</p>
+
+            <p>As many more have ended.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And each I'll make a special pet;</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">My pipe, cigar, and cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HENRY S. LEIGH.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SMOKE IS THE FOOD OF LOVERS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose</p>
+
+            <p>Was just the very one you might suppose.</p>
+
+            <p>Love keep a shop?&mdash;his trade, oh! quickly
+            name!</p>
+
+            <p>A dealer in tobacco&mdash;fie, for shame!</p>
+
+            <p>No less than true, and set aside all joke,</p>
+
+            <p>From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke;</p>
+
+            <p>Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made;</p>
+
+            <p>Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade;</p>
+
+            <p>His capital all smoke, smoke all his store,</p>
+
+            <p>'Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no
+            more&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>And thousands enter daily at his door!</p>
+
+            <p>Hence it was ever, and it e'er will be</p>
+
+            <p>The trade most suited to his faculty:</p>
+
+            <p>Fed by the vapors of their heart's desire,</p>
+
+            <p>No other food his votaries require;</p>
+
+            <p>For that they seek&mdash;the favor of the
+            fair&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JACOB CATS: <i>Moral
+    Emblems</i>.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page52"
+       id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CLOUDS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Mortals say their heart is light</p>
+
+            <p>When the clouds around disperse;</p>
+
+            <p>Clouds to gather, thick as night,</p>
+
+            <p>Is the smoker's universe.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>From the German of Bauernfeld</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IN FAVOR OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Much victuals serves for gluttony</p>
+
+            <p>To fatten men like swine;</p>
+
+            <p>But he's a frugal man indeed</p>
+
+            <p>That with a leaf can dine,</p>
+
+            <p>And needs no napkin for his hands,</p>
+
+            <p>His fingers' ends to wipe,</p>
+
+            <p>But keeps his kitchen in a box,</p>
+
+            <p>And roast meat in a pipe.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">SAMUEL ROWLANDS: <i>Knave of Clubs</i>
+    (1611).</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY CIGARETTE.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>Words and music by Richard Barnard</i>.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To my sweet cigarette I am singing</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">This joyous and bright bacca-role;</p>
+
+            <p>Just now to my lips she was clinging,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Her spirit was soothing my
+            soul.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page53"
+               id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span>
+
+            <p>With figure so slender and dapper</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I feel the soft touch of it yet,</p>
+
+            <p>Adorned in her dainty white wrapper,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How fair is my own cigarette!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Twere better, perhaps, that we part,
+            love;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Twere better, if never we'd met.</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Alas, you are part of my heart, love,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Destructive but sweet cigarette!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Though matchless, by matches she's fired,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And glows both with pleasure and
+            pride;</p>
+
+            <p>By her soft, balmy breath I'm inspired,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And kiss and caress my new bride.</p>
+
+            <p>E'en the clouds of her nature are joyous,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Though other clouds cause us regret;</p>
+
+            <p>From worry and care they decoy us,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The clouds of a sweet cigarette.</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Twere better, etc.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The houris in paradise living</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Dissolve in the first love embrace,</p>
+
+            <p>Their life to their love freely giving,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And so with my love 'tis the case;</p>
+
+            <p>For when her life's last spark is flying,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Still sweet to the end is my pet,</p>
+
+            <p>Who helps me, although she is dying,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To light up a fresh cigarette!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Twere better, etc.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page54"
+       id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE BALLADE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When verdant youth sees life afar,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And first sets out wild oats to sow,</p>
+
+            <p>He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And quaffs champagne of Mumm &amp;
+            Co.</p>
+
+            <p>He likes not smoking yet; but though</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tobacco makes him sick indeed,</p>
+
+            <p>Cigars and wine he can't forego,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A slave is each man to the weed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In time his tastes more dainty are</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And delicate. Become a beau,</p>
+
+            <p>From out the country of the czar</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">He brings his cigarettes, and lo!</p>
+
+            <p>He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thus keener relish shall succeed</p>
+
+            <p>The baser liking we outgrow,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A slave is each man to the weed</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When age and his own lucky star</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To him perfected wisdom show,</p>
+
+            <p>The schooner glides across the bar,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And beer for him shall freely flow;</p>
+
+            <p>A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To which he turns in direst need,</p>
+
+            <p>To seek in smoke surcease of woe,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A slave is each man to the weed.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page55"
+       id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span>
+
+    <h4>ENVOI.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Smokers, who doubt or con or pro,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And ye who dare to drink, take heed!</p>
+
+            <p>And see in smoke a friendly foe,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A slave is each man to the weed.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">BRANDER MATTHEWS.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>HE RESPONDETH.</h2>
+
+    <h4>SHE.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You still persist in using,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I observe with great regret,</p>
+
+            <p>The needlessly expensive</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza"></div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <h4>HE.</h4>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You should set a good example;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But you seem to quite forget</p>
+
+            <p>That you use a thirty-dollar</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Vinaigrette.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Life.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Betty bouncer kept a stall</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">At the corner of a street,</p>
+
+            <p>And she had a smile for all.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Many were the friends she'd greet</p>
+
+            <p>With kindly nod on passing by,</p>
+
+            <p>Who, smiling, saw her pipe
+            awry.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page56"
+               id="page56"></a>[pg 56]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Poor old lass! she loved her pipe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A constant friend it seemed to be;</p>
+
+            <p>As she sold her apples ripe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With an apple on each knee,</p>
+
+            <p>How she'd make the smoke-wreaths fly,</p>
+
+            <p>As I've watched her pipe awry!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Seasons came and seasons went,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Only changing Betty's store;</p>
+
+            <p>Youngsters with her always spent</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Their little all and wished they'd
+            more:</p>
+
+            <p>Timidly with upturned eye</p>
+
+            <p>Staring at her pipe awry.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Bet was always at her post</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Early morn or even late;</p>
+
+            <p>Ginger beer or chestnut roast,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Served she as she sat in state,</p>
+
+            <p>On two bushel-baskets high;</p>
+
+            <p>You should have seen her pipe awry!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Little care old Betty had,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">She quietly jogged on her way;</p>
+
+            <p>Never did her face look sad.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Although she fumed the livelong day.</p>
+
+            <p>Guiltless seemed she of a sigh.</p>
+
+            <p>I never saw her pipe her eye!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    C.F.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page57"
+       id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>INGIN SUMMER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Jest about the time when Fall</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Gits to rattlin' in the trees,</p>
+
+            <p>An' the man thet knows it all,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Spicions frost in every breeze,</p>
+
+            <p>When a person tells hisse'f</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thet the leaves look mighty thin,</p>
+
+            <p>Then thar blows a meller breaf!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ingin summer's hyere agin.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Spins acrost the mountain-side,</p>
+
+            <p>An' the heavy mornin' dews</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Greens the grass up far an' wide,</p>
+
+            <p>Natur' raly 'pears as ef</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">She wuz layin' off a day,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Sort-uh drorin in her breaf</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Fore she freezes up to stay.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nary lick o' work I strike,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Long about this time of year!</p>
+
+            <p>I'm a sort-uh slowly like,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Right when Ingin summer's here.</p>
+
+            <p>Wife and boys kin do the work;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But a man with natchel wit,</p>
+
+            <p>Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ef he has a turn for
+            it.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page58"
+               id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Time when grapes set in to ripe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">All I ast off any man</p>
+
+            <p>Is a common co'n-cob pipe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With terbacker to my han';</p>
+
+            <p>Then jest loose me whar the air</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!</p>
+
+            <p>Promised lands ull find me thar;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Wings ull fahly sprout on me!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,</p>
+
+            <p>When I stretch my marrer-bones</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Jest outside the cabin door!</p>
+
+            <p>An' the sunshine peepin' down</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On my old head, bald an' gray,</p>
+
+            <p>'Pears right like the gilted crown,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I expect to w'ar some day.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>Set to music by Johann Sebastian Bach. Author unknown.
+    Translated by Edward Breck.</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As oft I fill my faithful pipe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To while away the moments glad,</p>
+
+            <p>With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My mind perceives an image sad,</p>
+
+            <p>So that I can but clearly see</p>
+
+            <p>How very like it is to
+            me.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page59"
+               id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My pipe is made of earth and clay,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From which my mortal part is wrought;</p>
+
+            <p>I, too, must turn to earth some day.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It often falls, as quick as thought,</p>
+
+            <p>And breaks in two,&mdash;puts out its flame;</p>
+
+            <p>My fate, alas! is but the same!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My pipe I color not, nor paint;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">White it remains, and hence 'tis true</p>
+
+            <p>That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My lips shall wear the ashen hue;</p>
+
+            <p>And as it blackens day by day,</p>
+
+            <p>So black the grave shall turn my clay!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when the pipe is put alight</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The smoke ascends, then trembles,
+            wanes,</p>
+
+            <p>And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And but the whitened ash remains.</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis so man's glory crumble must,</p>
+
+            <p>E'en as his body, into dust!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How oft the filler is mislaid;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And, rather than to seek in vain,</p>
+
+            <p>I use my finger in its stead,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And fancy as I feel the pain,</p>
+
+            <p>If coals can burn to such degree,</p>
+
+            <p>How hot, O Lord, must Hades
+            be!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page60"
+               id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So in tobacco oft I find,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Lessons of such instructive type;</p>
+
+            <p>And hence with calm, contented mind</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I live, and smoke my faithful pipe</p>
+
+            <p>In reverence where'er I roam,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>On land, on water, and at home.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE LOST LOTUS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There dwelt a race whose softly flowing
+            hours</p>
+
+            <p>Passed like the vision of a royal feast,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">By Nero given in the Baian bowers;</p>
+
+            <p>Thanks to the lotus-blossom spell,</p>
+
+            <p>Their lives were one long miracle.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In after years the passing sons of men</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Looked for those lotus blossoms all in
+            vain,</p>
+
+            <p>Through every hillside, glade, and glen</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And e'en the isles of many a main;</p>
+
+            <p>Yet through the centuries some doom,</p>
+
+            <p>Forbade them see the lotus bloom.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The Old World wearied of the long pursuit,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And called the sacred leaf a poet's
+            theme,</p>
+
+            <p>When lo! the New World, rich in flower and
+            fruit,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Revealed the lotus, lovelier than the
+            dream</p>
+
+            <p>That races of the long past days did
+            haunt,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The green-leaved, amber-tipped tobacco plant.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    ANON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page61"
+       id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What is it comes through the deepening
+            dusk,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Something sweeter than jasmine scent,</p>
+
+            <p>Sweeter than rose and violet blent,</p>
+
+            <p>More potent in power than orange or musk?</p>
+
+            <p>The scent of a good cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I am all alone in my quiet room,</p>
+
+            <p>And the windows are open wide and free</p>
+
+            <p>To let in the south wind's kiss for me,</p>
+
+            <p>While I rock in the softly gathering gloom,</p>
+
+            <p>And that subtle fragrance steals.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Just as a loving, tender hand</p>
+
+            <p>Will sometimes steal in yours,</p>
+
+            <p>It softly comes through the open doors,</p>
+
+            <p>And memory wakes at its command,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The scent of that good cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And what does it say? Ah! that's for me</p>
+
+            <p>And my heart alone to know;</p>
+
+            <p>But that heart thrills with a sudden glow,</p>
+
+            <p>Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>From the scent of that good cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">KATE A.
+    CARRINGTON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page62"
+       id="page62"></a>[pg 62]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO MY CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Yes, social friend, I love thee well,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In learned doctor's spite;</p>
+
+            <p>Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And lap me in delight.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What though they tell, with phizzes long,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My years are sooner past!</p>
+
+            <p>I would reply with reason strong,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">They're sweeter while they last.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When in the lonely evening hour,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Attended but by thee,</p>
+
+            <p>O'er history's varied page I pore,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Man's fate in thine I see.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oft as the snowy column grows,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Then breaks and falls away,</p>
+
+            <p>I trace how mighty realms thus rose,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thus tumbled to decay.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Awhile like thee earth's masters burn</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And smoke and fume around;</p>
+
+            <p>And then, like thee, to ashes turn,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And mingle with the ground.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And Time's the wasting breath</p>
+
+            <p>That, late or early, we behold</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Gives all to dusty
+            death.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page63"
+               id="page63"></a>[pg 63]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">One common doom is passed;</p>
+
+            <p>Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Must all burn out at last.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And what is he who smokes thee now?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A little moving heap,</p>
+
+            <p>That soon, like thee, to fate must bow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With thee in dust must sleep.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But though thy ashes downward go,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thy essence rolls on high;</p>
+
+            <p>Thus, when my body lieth low,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My soul shall cleave the sky.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">CHARLES SPRAGUE.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>KNICKERBOCKER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,</p>
+
+            <p>Help me sing of Knickerbocker!</p>
+
+            <p>Boughton, had you bid me chant</p>
+
+            <p>Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant,</p>
+
+            <p>Had you bid me sing of Wouter,</p>
+
+            <p>He, the onion head, the doubter!</p>
+
+            <p>But to rhyme of this one&mdash;Mocker!</p>
+
+            <p>Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?</p>
+
+            <p>Nay, but where my hand must fail,</p>
+
+            <p>There the more shall yours avail;</p>
+
+            <p>You shall take your brush and paint</p>
+
+            <p>All that ring of figures
+            quaint,&mdash;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page64"
+               id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span>
+
+            <p>All those Rip Van Winkle jokers,</p>
+
+            <p>All those solid-looking smokers,</p>
+
+            <p>Pulling at their pipes of amber,</p>
+
+            <p>In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Only art like yours can touch</p>
+
+            <p>Shapes so dignified&mdash;and Dutch;</p>
+
+            <p>Only art like yours can show</p>
+
+            <p>How the pine logs gleam and glow,</p>
+
+            <p>Till the firelight laughs and passes</p>
+
+            <p>'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,</p>
+
+            <p>Touching with responsive graces</p>
+
+            <p>All those grave Batavian faces,</p>
+
+            <p>Making bland and beatific</p>
+
+            <p>All that session soporific.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then I come and write beneath:</p>
+
+            <p>Boughton, he deserves the wreath;</p>
+
+            <p>He can give us form and hue&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>This the Muse can never do!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">AUSTIN DOBSON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>A Sailor's Version</i>.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They were three jolly sailors bold,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who sailed across the sea;</p>
+
+            <p>They'd braved the storm, and stood the gale,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And got to Virgin-ee.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page65"
+       id="page65"></a>[pg 65]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or p'raps a bit before,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>And now these here three sailors bold</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Went cruising on the shore.</p>
+
+            <p>A lurch to starboard, one to port,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Now forrard, boys, go we,</p>
+
+            <p>With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your
+            sort!"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To find out Tobac-kee.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Says Jack, "This here's a rummy land."</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Says Tom, "Well, shiver me!</p>
+
+            <p>The sun shines out as precious hot</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As ever I did see."</p>
+
+            <p>Says Dick, "Messmates, since here we be,"&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And gave his eye a wink,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>"We've come to find out Tobac-kee,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Which means a drop to drink."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Says Jack, says he, "The Injins think&mdash;"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Says Tom, "I'll swear as they</p>
+
+            <p>Don't think at all." Says Dick, "You're right;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It ain't their nat'ral way.</p>
+
+            <p>But I want to find out, my lads,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">This stuff of which they tell;</p>
+
+            <p>For if as it ain't meant to drink,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Why, it must be meant to smell."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Says Tom, says he, "To drink or smell,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I don't think this here's meant."</p>
+
+            <p>Says Jack, says he, "Blame my old eyes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If I'll believe it's
+            scent."</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page66"
+               id="page66"></a>[pg 66]</span>
+
+            <p>"Well, then," says Dick, "if that ain't square,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It must be meant for meat;</p>
+
+            <p>So come along, my jovial mates,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To find what's good to eat."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They came across a great big plant,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A-growing tall and true.</p>
+
+            <p>Says Jack, says he, "I'm precious dry,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And picked a leaf to chew.</p>
+
+            <p>While Tom takes up a sun-dried bit,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A-lying by the trees;</p>
+
+            <p>He rubs it in his hands to dust</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And then begins to sneeze.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Another leaf picks nimble Dick,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And dries it in the sun,</p>
+
+            <p>And rolls it up all neat and tight.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">"My lads," says he, in fun,</p>
+
+            <p>"I mean to cook this precious weed."</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And then from out his poke</p>
+
+            <p>With burning-glass he lights the end,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And quick blows up the smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Says Jack, says he, "Of Paradise</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I've heerd some people tell."</p>
+
+            <p>Says Tom, says he, "This here will do;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Let's have another smell."</p>
+
+            <p>Says Dick, his face all pleasant smiles,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A-looking through a cloud,</p>
+
+            <p>"It strikes me here's the cap'en bold,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And now we'll all be
+            rowed."</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page67"
+               id="page67"></a>[pg 67]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Up comes brave Hawkins on the beach;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">"Shiver my hull!" he cries,</p>
+
+            <p>"What's these here games, my merry men?"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And then, "Why, blame my eyes!</p>
+
+            <p>Here's one as chaws, and one as snuffs,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And t' other of the three</p>
+
+            <p>Is smoking like a chimbley-pot&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>They've found out Tobac-kee!"</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So if ever you should hear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of Raleigh, and them lies</p>
+
+            <p>About his sarvant and his pipe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And him as "Fire!" cries,</p>
+
+            <p>You say as 'twas three sailors bold</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As sailed to Virgin-ee</p>
+
+            <p>In brave old Hawkins' gallant ship</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who found out Tobac-kee.</p>
+
+            <p>A lurch to starboard, one to port,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Now forrard, boys, go we,</p>
+
+            <p>With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your
+            sort!"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To find out Tobac-kee.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Cigar and Tobacco World</i>,
+    London.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page68"
+       id="page68"></a>[pg 68]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>"KEATS TOOK SNUFF."</h2>
+
+    <blockquote>
+        <p>"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the
+        praise-worthy editorial research of Mr. Burton Forman."</p>
+    </blockquote>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So "Keats took snuff?" A few more years,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When we are dead and famous&mdash;eh?</p>
+
+            <p>Will they record our pipes and beers,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And if we smoked cigars or clay?</p>
+
+            <p>Or will the world cry "Quantum suff"</p>
+
+            <p>To tattle such as "Keats took snuff"?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Perhaps some chronicler would wish</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To know what whiskey we preferred,</p>
+
+            <p>And if we ever dined on fish,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or only took the joint and bird.</p>
+
+            <p>Such facts are quite as worthy stuff,</p>
+
+            <p>Good chronicler, as "Keats took snuff."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You answer: "But, if you were Keats&mdash;"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tut! never mind your buts and ifs,</p>
+
+            <p>Of little men record their meats,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Their drinks, their troubles, and their
+            tiffs,</p>
+
+            <p>Of the great dead there's gold enough</p>
+
+            <p>To spare us such as "Keats took
+            snuff."</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page69"
+               id="page69"></a>[pg 69]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Well, go your ways, you little folk,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who polish up the great folk's lives;</p>
+
+            <p>Record the follies that they spoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And paint their squabbles with their
+            wives.</p>
+
+            <p>Somewhere, if ever ghosts be gruff,</p>
+
+            <p>I trust some Keats will "give you snuff."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>The Globe</i>, London.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,</p>
+
+            <p>An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What care I for the weather?</p>
+
+            <p>Though winter freeze and summer broil</p>
+
+            <p>We rest us from our days of toil</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My Pipe and I together!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Like to a priest of sacred fane,</p>
+
+            <p>I nightly light the glow again</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With reverence and pleasure;</p>
+
+            <p>For through this plain and modest bowl</p>
+
+            <p>I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And many trippings measure!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's comfort in each puff of smoke,</p>
+
+            <p>Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And happiness forever!</p>
+
+            <p>There grows a volume full of thought</p>
+
+            <p>And humor, than the book you bought</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Holds nothing half so
+            clever!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page70"
+               id="page70"></a>[pg 70]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The summer fragrance, all pent up</p>
+
+            <p>Among the leaves, is here sent up</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In dreams of summer glory;</p>
+
+            <p>And these blue clouds that slowly rise</p>
+
+            <p>Were colored by the summer skies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And tell a summer story.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And oh! the happiest, sweetest times</p>
+
+            <p>Come ringing all their silver chimes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of merry songs and laughter;</p>
+
+            <p>And all that may be well and worth</p>
+
+            <p>For Mother Future to bring forth</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I do imagine after.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What care I if my poor means</p>
+
+            <p>Clad not my walls with splendid scenes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And pictures by the masters;</p>
+
+            <p>Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow</p>
+
+            <p>Bold hills and lovely vales below,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And brooks with nodding asters.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>All that on earth is fair and fine,</p>
+
+            <p>This fragrant magic makes it mine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And gives me sole dominion;</p>
+
+            <p>And if you call me fanciful,</p>
+
+            <p>I only take a stronger pull,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And laugh at your opinion.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let others fret and fume with care,</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis easy finding everywhere,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But happiness is
+            rarer;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page71"
+               id="page71"></a>[pg 71]</span>
+
+            <p>And if I find it sweet and ripe,</p>
+
+            <p>In this tobacco and my pipe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I'll count it all the fairer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then give me but Virginia's weed,</p>
+
+            <p>An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What care I for the weather?</p>
+
+            <p>Though winter freeze, or summer broil</p>
+
+            <p>We rest us from the days of toil,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My Pipe and I together.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HERMANN RAVE.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE OLD CLAY PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's a lot of solid comfort</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In an old clay pipe, I find,</p>
+
+            <p>If you're kind of out of humor</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or in trouble in your mind.</p>
+
+            <p>When you're feeling awful lonesome</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And don't know just what to do,</p>
+
+            <p>There's a heap of satisfaction</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If you smoke a pipe or two.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The ten thousand pleasant memories</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That are buried in your soul</p>
+
+            <p>Are playing hide and seek with you</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Around that smoking bowl.</p>
+
+            <p>These are mighty restful moments:</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You're at peace with all the world,</p>
+
+            <p>And the panorama changes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As the thin blue smoke is
+            curled.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page72"
+               id="page72"></a>[pg 72]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Now you enter pleasant lands,</p>
+
+            <p>And before an open doorway,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You will linger to shake hands</p>
+
+            <p>With a lithe and girlish figure</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That is coming through the door;</p>
+
+            <p>Ah! you recognize the features:</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You have seen that face before.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You are at the dear old homestead</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Where you spent those happy years;</p>
+
+            <p>You are romping with the children;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You are smiling through your tears;</p>
+
+            <p>You have fought and whipped the bully</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You are eight and he is ten.</p>
+
+            <p>Oh! how rapidly we travel,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You are now a boy again.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You approach the open doorway,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And before the old armchair</p>
+
+            <p>You will stop and kiss the grandma,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You will smooth the thin white hair;</p>
+
+            <p>You will read the open Bible,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For the lamp is lit, you see.</p>
+
+            <p>It is now your hour for bed-time</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And you kneel at mother's knee.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Still you linger at the hearthstone;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You are loath to leave the place.</p>
+
+            <p>When an apple cut's in progress:</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You must wait and dance with
+            Grace.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page73"
+               id="page73"></a>[pg 73]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What's the matter with the music?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Only this: The pipe is broke,</p>
+
+            <p>And a thousand pleasant fancies</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Vanish promptly with the smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">A.B. VAN FLEET.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>PERNICIOUS WEED!</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,</p>
+
+            <p>Makes half a sentence at a time enough;</p>
+
+            <p>The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,</p>
+
+            <p>Then pause and puff, and speak, and pause again.</p>
+
+            <p>Such often, like the tube they so admire,</p>
+
+            <p>Important triflers! have more smoke than fire.</p>
+
+            <p>Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,</p>
+
+            <p>Unfriendly to society's chief joys,</p>
+
+            <p>Thy worst effect is banishing for hours</p>
+
+            <p>The sex whose presence civilizes ours.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">WILLIAM COWPER.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TWO OTHER HEARTS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Full tender beamed the light of love down from his
+            manly face,</p>
+
+            <p>As he pressed her to his bosom in a fervent, fond
+            embrace.</p>
+
+            <p>No cost of others' happiness found place within his
+            thought;</p>
+
+            <p>The weakness of life's brittle thread no dim
+            forebodings
+            brought.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page74"
+               id="page74"></a>[pg 74]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But tenderer than the light of love, more brittle
+            than life's thread,</p>
+
+            <p>The shrouds that wrapped two other hearts gave up
+            their withered dead;</p>
+
+            <p>For, crumbling in his waistcoat, their glowing
+            future dashed,</p>
+
+            <p>Two excellent Havanas were very badly smashed.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>London Tobacco</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE SMOKE TRAVELLER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When I puff my cigarette,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Straight I see a Spanish girl,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Mantilla, fan, coquettish curl,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Languid airs and dimpled face,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Calculating, fatal grace;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Hear a twittering serenade</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Under lofty balcony played;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Queen at bull-fight, naught she cares</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What her agile lover dares;</p>
+
+            <p>She can love and quick forget.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let me but my meerschaum light,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I behold a bearded man,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Built upon capacious plan,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Sabre-slashed in war or duel,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Gruff of aspect, but not cruel,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Metaphysically
+            muddled,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page75"
+               id="page75"></a>[pg 75]</span>
+
+            <p class="i2">With strong beer a little fuddled,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Slow in love, and deep in books,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">More sentimental than he looks,</p>
+
+            <p>Swears new friendships every night.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let me my chibouk enkindle,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In a tent I'm quick set down</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With a Bedouin, lean and brown,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Plotting gain of merchandise,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or perchance of robber prize;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Clumsy camel load upheaving,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Woman deftly carpet-weaving,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Meal of dates and bread and salt,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While in azure heavenly vault</p>
+
+            <p>Throbbing stars begin to dwindle.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Glowing coal in clay dudheen</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Carries me to sweet Killarney,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Full of hypocritic blarney,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Huts with babies, pigs, and hens</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Mixed together, bogs and fens,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Shillalahs, praties, usquebaugh,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tenants defying hated law,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fair blue eyes with lashes black,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Eyes black and blue from
+            cudgel-thwack,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>So fair, so foul, is Erin green.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My nargileh once inflamed,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Quick appears a Turk with turban,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Girt with guards in palace urban,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or in house by summer
+            sea</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page76"
+               id="page76"></a>[pg 76]</span>
+
+            <p class="i2">Slave-girls dancing languidly,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Bow-string, sack, and bastinado,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Black boats darting in the shadow;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Let things happen as they please,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Whether well or ill at ease,</p>
+
+            <p>Fate alone is blessed or blamed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With my ancient calumet</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I can raise a wigwam's smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the copper tribe invoke,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Scalps and wampum, bows and knives,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Slender maidens, greasy wives,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Papoose hanging on a tree,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Chieftains squatting silently,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Feathers, beads, and hideous paint,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Medicine-man and wooden-saint,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Forest-framed the vision set.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My cigar breeds many forms,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Planter of the rich Havana</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Mopping brow with sheer bandanna,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Russian prince in fur arrayed,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Paris fop on dress parade,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">London swell just after dinner,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Wall Street broker&mdash;gambling
+            sinner!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Delver in Nevada mine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Scotch laird bawling "Auld Lang
+            Syne."</p>
+
+            <p>Thus Raleigh's weed my fancy warms.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Life's review in smoke goes past,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fickle fortune, stubborn fate,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Right discovered all too
+            late,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page77"
+               id="page77"></a>[pg 77]</span>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beings loved and gone before,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beings loved but friends no more,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Self-reproach and futile sighs,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Vanity in birth that dies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Longing, heart-break,
+            adoration,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nothing sure in expectation</p>
+
+            <p>Save ash-receiver at the last.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">IRVING BROWNE.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SMOKING SONG.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As mist from the waterfall given,</p>
+
+            <p>Or the locks that float round beauty's throat</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In the whispering air of even.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p><i>Chorus</i>. Then drown the fears of the coming
+            years,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the dread of change before us;</p>
+
+            <p>The way is sweet to our willing feet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With the smoke-wreaths twining o'er
+            us.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As the light beams through the ringlets blue,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Will hope beam through our sorrow,</p>
+
+            <p>While the gathering wreath of the smoke we
+            breathe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Shuts out the fear of to-morrow.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A magic charm in the evening calm</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Calls thought from mem'ry's treasure;</p>
+
+            <p>But clear and bright in the liquid light</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Are the smoke-called dreams of
+            pleasure.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page78"
+               id="page78"></a>[pg 78]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then who shall chide, with boasting pride,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Delights they ne'er have tasted?</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, let them smile while we beguile</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The hour with joys they've wasted.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>College Song.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>HOW IT ONCE WAS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Right stout and strong the worthy burghers
+            stood,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Or rather, sat,</p>
+
+            <p>Drank beer in plenty, ate abundant food;</p>
+
+            <p>For they to ancient customs still were true,</p>
+
+            <p>And smoked, and smoked, because they surely knew</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">What they were at.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>William the Testy ruled New Amsterdam,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">A tall man he,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Whose rule was meant by him to be no sham,</p>
+
+            <p>But rather like the stern paternal style</p>
+
+            <p>That sways the city now. He made the while</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">A rough decree.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>He ordered that the pipes should cease to smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">From that day on.</p>
+
+            <p>The people took the order as a joke;</p>
+
+            <p>They did not think, who smoked from childhood
+            up,</p>
+
+            <p>That one man such delight would seek to stop,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Even in
+            fun.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page79"
+               id="page79"></a>[pg 79]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But when at last it dawned upon their minds</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">That this was meant,</p>
+
+            <p>They closed their houses, shut their window
+            blinds,</p>
+
+            <p>Brought forth tobacco from their ample hoard,</p>
+
+            <p>And to the governor's house with one accord</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The burghers went.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They carried chairs, and sat without a word</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Before his porch,</p>
+
+            <p>And smoked, and smoked, and not a sound was
+            heard,</p>
+
+            <p>Till Kieft came forth to take the morning air,</p>
+
+            <p>With speech that would have burned them then and
+            there</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">If words could scorch.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But they, however savagely he spoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Made no reply.</p>
+
+            <p>Higher and thicker rose the clouds of smoke,</p>
+
+            <p>And Kieft, perceiving that they would be free</p>
+
+            <p>Tried not to put in force his harsh decree,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">But let it die.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>New York Sun</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>HER BROTHER'S CIGARETTE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Like raven's wings her locks of jet,</p>
+
+            <p>Her soft eyes touched with fond regret,</p>
+
+            <p>Doubt and desire her mind beset,</p>
+
+            <p>Fondling her brother's
+            cigarette.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page80"
+               id="page80"></a>[pg 80]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Roses with dewy diamonds set,</p>
+
+            <p>Drooped o'er the window's parapet;</p>
+
+            <p>With grace she turned a match to get,</p>
+
+            <p>And lit her brother's cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Her puffs of smoky violet</p>
+
+            <p>Twined in fantastic silhouette;</p>
+
+            <p>She blushed, laughed, coughed a little, yet,</p>
+
+            <p>She smoked her brother's cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Her eyes with briny tears were wet,</p>
+
+            <p>Her bang grew limp beneath its net,</p>
+
+            <p>Her brow was gemmed with beaded sweat,</p>
+
+            <p>And to her bed she went, you bet.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know
+            what to do,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When I think about them days we used to
+            spend</p>
+
+            <p>A hoein' out tobacker in th' clearin'&mdash;me an'
+            you&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">An' a wishin' that the day was at an
+            end.</p>
+
+            <p>For the dewdrops was a sparklin' on the beeches'
+            tender leaves</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As we started out a workin' in the
+            morn;</p>
+
+            <p>An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower of
+            burnin' sheaves</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When we heard the welcome-soundin'
+            dinner-horn.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page81"
+               id="page81"></a>[pg 81]</span>
+
+            <p>An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of
+            ghostly batch,</p>
+
+            <p>'Fore we started home from workin' in that ol'
+            tobacker patch.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I'm a feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun'
+            to-day,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For I see th' change that's taken place
+            since then.</p>
+
+            <p>All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods is
+            cleared away;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You an' me has changed from ragged boys
+            to men;</p>
+
+            <p>You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream
+            about;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I am still a dwellin' here upon the
+            place,</p>
+
+            <p>But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so
+            straight and stout,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on
+            my face.</p>
+
+            <p>You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been
+            your match,</p>
+
+            <p>But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker
+            patch.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">S.Q. LAPIUS.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MĆCENAS BIDS HIS FRIEND TO DINE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I beg you come to-night and dine.</p>
+
+            <p>A welcome waits you, and sound wine,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The Roederer chilly to a charm,</p>
+
+            <p>As Juno's breath the claret warm,</p>
+
+            <p>The sherry of an ancient
+            brand.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page82"
+               id="page82"></a>[pg 82]</span>
+
+            <p>No Persian pomp, you understand,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A soup, a fish, two meats, and then</p>
+
+            <p>A salad fit for aldermen</p>
+
+            <p>(When aldermen, alas the days!</p>
+
+            <p>Were really worth their <i>mayonnaise</i>);</p>
+
+            <p>A dish of grapes whose clusters won</p>
+
+            <p>Their bronze in Carolinian sun;</p>
+
+            <p>Next, cheese&mdash;for you the Neufchâtel,</p>
+
+            <p>A bit of Cheshire likes me well;</p>
+
+            <p>Café au lait or coffee black,</p>
+
+            <p>With Kirsch or Kümmel or cognac</p>
+
+            <p>(The German band in Irving Place</p>
+
+            <p>By this time purple in the face);</p>
+
+            <p>Cigars and pipes. These being through,</p>
+
+            <p>Friends shall drop in, a very few&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Shakespeare and Milton, and no more.</p>
+
+            <p>When these are guests I bolt the door,</p>
+
+            <p>With "Not at home" to any one</p>
+
+            <p>Excepting Alfred Tennyson.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO MY MEERSCHAUM.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's a charm in the sun-crested hills,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In the quivering light of a star,</p>
+
+            <p>In the flash of a silvery rill,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Yet to me thou art lovelier far,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My
+            Meerschaum!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page83"
+               id="page83"></a>[pg 83]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's a love in her witching dark eye,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There's a love in her tresses at
+            play,</p>
+
+            <p>Yet her love would be worth not a sigh,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If from thee she could lure me away,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My Meerschaum!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let revellers sing of their wine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As they toss it in ecstasy down,</p>
+
+            <p>But the bowl I call for is thine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With its deepening amber and brown,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My Meerschaum!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For when trouble would bid me despair,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I call for a flagon of beer,</p>
+
+            <p>And puff a defiance to care,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Till sorrows in smoke disappear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My Meerschaum!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Though mid pleasures unnumbered I whirl,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Though I traverse the billowy sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Yet the waving and beautiful curl</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of thy smoke's ever dearer to me,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My Meerschaum!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">P.D.R.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>OLD PIPE OF MINE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Companion of my lonely hours,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Full many a time 'twixt night and
+            morn</p>
+
+            <p>Thy muse hath roamed through poesy's bowers</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Upon thy fragrant pinions
+            borne.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page84"
+               id="page84"></a>[pg 84]</span>
+
+            <p>Let others seek the bliss that reigns</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In homage paid at beauty's shrine,</p>
+
+            <p>We envy not such foolish gains,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In sweet content, old pipe of mine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ah! you have been a travelled pipe;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But now, of course, you're getting
+            stale,</p>
+
+            <p>Just like myself, and rather ripe;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You've had your fill of cakes and
+            ale,</p>
+
+            <p>And half-forgotten memories, too.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And all the pensive thoughts that
+            twine</p>
+
+            <p>Around a past that, <i>entre nous</i>,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Has pleasant been, old pipe of mine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Old pipe of mine, for many a year</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What boon companions we have been!</p>
+
+            <p>With here a smile and there a tear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How many changes we have seen!</p>
+
+            <p>How many hearts have ceased to beat,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How many eyes have ceased to shine,</p>
+
+            <p>How many friends will never meet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Since first we met, old pipe of mine!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Though here and there the road was deep,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And now and then the rain would fall;</p>
+
+            <p>We managed every time to keep</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A sturdy forehead to them all!</p>
+
+            <p>And even when she left my side,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We didn't wait to fret or pine,</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, no; we said the world was wide,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And luck would turn, old pipe of
+            mine!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page85"
+       id="page85"></a>[pg 85]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CANNON SONG.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And it has turned since you and I</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Set out to face the world alone;</p>
+
+            <p>And, in a garret near the sky,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Had scarce a crust to call our own,</p>
+
+            <p>But many a banquet, Barmecide;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And many a dream of hope divine,</p>
+
+            <p>Lie buried in the moaning tide,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That drowns the past, old pipe of
+            mine!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But prosing isn't quite the thing,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And so, I guess, I'll give it up:</p>
+
+            <p>Just wait a moment while I sing;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We'll have another parting cup,</p>
+
+            <p>And then to bed. The stars are low;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;</p>
+
+            <p>So here she goes, and off we go</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JOHN J. GORMLEY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CANNON SONG.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Your richest incense raise;</p>
+
+            <p>Let's take a smoke, a parting smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For good old by-gone days!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p><i>Chorus</i>. For good old by-gone days,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We'll smoke for good old by-gone
+            days!</p>
+
+            <p>We'll take a smoke, a parting smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For good old by-gone
+            days!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page86"
+               id="page86"></a>[pg 86]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We'll crown the cannon with a cloud,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We'll celebrate its praise;</p>
+
+            <p>Recalling <i>its</i> old parting smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For good old by-gone days!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We'll smoke to these we leave behind</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In devious college ways;</p>
+
+            <p>We'll smoke to songs we've sung before,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In good old by-gone days.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We'll smoke to <i>Alma Mater's</i> name;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">She loves the cloud we raise!</p>
+
+            <p>For well she knows the "biggest guns"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Are in the coming days!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We'll smoke the times, the good old times,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When we were called <i>fire</i>!</p>
+
+            <p>Their light shall blaze in memory,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Till the lamp of life expire!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then let each smoking pipe be broke,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Hurrah for coming days!</p>
+
+            <p>We'll take a march, a merry march,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To meet the coming days!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">H.P. PECK.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The Indian weed, withered quite,</p>
+
+            <p>Green at noon, cut down at night,</p>
+
+            <p>Shows thy decay; all flesh is hay,</p>
+
+            <p>Thus thinke, then drinke
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page87"
+               id="page87"></a>[pg 87]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe that is so lily-white,</p>
+
+            <p>Shows thee to be a mortal wight;</p>
+
+            <p>And even such, gone with a touch,</p>
+
+            <p>Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when the smoke ascends on high,</p>
+
+            <p>Thinke thou beholdst the vanity</p>
+
+            <p>Of worldly stuffe, gone with a puffe,</p>
+
+            <p>Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when the pipe grows foul within,</p>
+
+            <p>Think on thy soule defil'd with sin,</p>
+
+            <p>And then the fire it doth require.</p>
+
+            <p>Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The ashes that are left behind,</p>
+
+            <p>May serve to put thee still in mind,</p>
+
+            <p>That unto dust return thou must.</p>
+
+            <p>Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">GEORGE WITHER, 1620.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>VIRGINIA'S KINGLY PLANT.</h2>
+
+    <h4><i>By an "Old Salt."</i></h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, muse! grant me the power</p>
+
+            <p>(I have the will) to sing</p>
+
+            <p>How oft in lonely hour,</p>
+
+            <p>When storms would round me lower,</p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco's proved a
+            king!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page88"
+               id="page88"></a>[pg 88]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Philanthropists, no doubt</p>
+
+            <p>With good intentions ripe,</p>
+
+            <p>Their dogmas may put out,</p>
+
+            <p>And arrogantly shout</p>
+
+            <p>The evils of the pipe.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Kind moralists, with tracts,</p>
+
+            <p>Opinions fine may show;</p>
+
+            <p>Produce a thousand facts,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>How ill tobacco acts</p>
+
+            <p>Man's system to o'erthrow.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Learn'd doctors have employed</p>
+
+            <p>Much patience, time, and skill,</p>
+
+            <p>To prove tobacco cloyed</p>
+
+            <p>With acrid alkaloid,</p>
+
+            <p>With power the nerves to kill.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>E'en popes have curst the plant;</p>
+
+            <p>Kings bade its use to cease;</p>
+
+            <p>But all the pontiff's rant</p>
+
+            <p>And royal James's cant</p>
+
+            <p>Ne'er made its use decrease.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Teetotalers may stamp</p>
+
+            <p>And roar at pipes and beer;</p>
+
+            <p>But place them in a swamp,</p>
+
+            <p>When nights are dark and damp,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Their tunes would change, I
+            fear.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page89"
+               id="page89"></a>[pg 89]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>No advocate am I</p>
+
+            <p>Of excess in one or t'other,</p>
+
+            <p>And ne'er essayed to try</p>
+
+            <p>In wine to drown a sigh,</p>
+
+            <p>Or a single care to smother.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Yet, in moderation pure,</p>
+
+            <p>A glass is well enough;</p>
+
+            <p>But a troubled heart to cure,</p>
+
+            <p>Kind feelings to insure,</p>
+
+            <p>Give me a cheerful puff.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How oft a learn'd divine</p>
+
+            <p>His sermons will prepare,</p>
+
+            <p>Not by imbibing wine,</p>
+
+            <p>But 'neath th' influence fine</p>
+
+            <p>Of a pipe of "baccy" rare!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How many a pleasing scene,</p>
+
+            <p>How many a happy joke,</p>
+
+            <p>How many a satire keen,</p>
+
+            <p>Or problem sharp, has been</p>
+
+            <p>Evolved or born of smoke!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How oft amidst the jar,</p>
+
+            <p>Of storms on ruin bent,</p>
+
+            <p>On shipboard, near or far,</p>
+
+            <p>To the drenched and shiv'ring tar,</p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco's solace
+            lent!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page90"
+               id="page90"></a>[pg 90]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, tell me not 'tis bad,</p>
+
+            <p>Or that it shortens life!</p>
+
+            <p>Its charms can soothe the sad,</p>
+
+            <p>And make the wretched glad,</p>
+
+            <p>In trouble and in strife.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis used in every clime,</p>
+
+            <p>By all men, high and low;</p>
+
+            <p>It is praised in prose and rhyme,</p>
+
+            <p>And can but end with time;</p>
+
+            <p>So let the kind herb grow!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis a friend to the distress'd;</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis a comforter in need;</p>
+
+            <p>It is social, soothing, blest;</p>
+
+            <p>It has fragrance, force, and zest;</p>
+
+            <p>Then hail the kingly weed!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The maid, as by the papers doth appear,</p>
+
+            <p>Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear,</p>
+
+            <p>To test Lothario's passion, simply said,</p>
+
+            <p>"Forego the weed before we go to wed.</p>
+
+            <p>For smoke, take flame; I'll be that flame's bright
+            fanner.</p>
+
+            <p>To have your Anna, give up your Havana."</p>
+
+            <p>But he, when thus she brought him to the
+            scratch,</p>
+
+            <p>Lit his cigar, and threw away his match.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    ANON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page91"
+       id="page91"></a>[pg 91]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Belov'd and honored by the wise,</p>
+
+            <p>Come filled with honest "Weekly's best,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And kindled from the lofty skies.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>While round me clouds of incense roll,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With guiltless joys you charm the
+            sense,</p>
+
+            <p>And nobler pleasure to the soul</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In hints of moral truth dispense.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Soon as you feel th' enliv'ning ray,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To dust you hasten to return,</p>
+
+            <p>And teach me that my earliest day</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Began to give me to the urn.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But though thy grosser substance sink</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To dust, thy purer part aspires;</p>
+
+            <p>This when I see, I joy to think</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That earth but half of me requires.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Like thee, myself am born to die,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Made half to rise, and half to fall.</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, could I, while my moments fly,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The bliss you give me give to all!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Gentleman's Magazine</i>, July,
+    1745.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page92"
+       id="page92"></a>[pg 92]</span>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In the smoke of my dear cigarito</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall;</p>
+
+            <p>And Eros, divine muchachito,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With smiles hovers over it all.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But dreaming, forgetting to cherish</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The fire at my lips as it dies,</p>
+
+            <p>The dream and the rapture must perish,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And Eros descend from the skies.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O wicked and false muchachito,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Your rapture I yet may recall;</p>
+
+            <p>But, like my re-lit cigarito,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A bitterness tinges it all.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">CAMILLA K. VON K.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A GOOD CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, 'tis well and enough,</p>
+
+            <p>A whiff or a puff</p>
+
+            <p>From the heart of a pipe to get;</p>
+
+            <p>And a dainty maid</p>
+
+            <p>Or a budding blade</p>
+
+            <p>May toy with the cigarette;</p>
+
+            <p>But a man, when the time</p>
+
+            <p>Of a glorious prime</p>
+
+            <p>Dawns forth like a morning star,</p>
+
+            <p>Wants the dark-brown bloom</p>
+
+            <p>And the sweet perfume</p>
+
+            <p>That go with a good
+            cigar.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page93"
+               id="page93"></a>[pg 93]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To lazily float</p>
+
+            <p>In a painted boat</p>
+
+            <p>On a shimmering morning sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Or to flirt with a maid</p>
+
+            <p>In the afternoon shade</p>
+
+            <p>Seems good enough sport to be;</p>
+
+            <p>But the evening hour,</p>
+
+            <p>With its subtle power,</p>
+
+            <p>Is sweeter and better far,</p>
+
+            <p>If joined to the joy,</p>
+
+            <p>Devoid of alloy,</p>
+
+            <p>That lurks in a good cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When a blanket wet</p>
+
+            <p>Is solidly set</p>
+
+            <p>O'er hopes prematurely grown;</p>
+
+            <p>When ambition is tame,</p>
+
+            <p>And energy lame,</p>
+
+            <p>And the bloom from the fruit is blown;</p>
+
+            <p>When to dance and to dine</p>
+
+            <p>With women and wine</p>
+
+            <p>Past poverty pleasures are,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A man's not bereft</p>
+
+            <p>Of all peace, if there's left</p>
+
+            <p>The joy of a good cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">NORRIS
+    BULL.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page94"
+       id="page94"></a>[pg 94]</span>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A glass is good, and a lass is good,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And a pipe to smoke in cold weather;</p>
+
+            <p>The world is good, and the people are good,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And we're all good fellows together.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JOHN O'KEEFE: <i>Sprigs of Laurel</i>,<br />
+    Act ii. sc. i.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY FRIENDLY PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let sybarites still dream delights</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While smoking cigarettes,</p>
+
+            <p>Whose opiates get in their pates</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Till waking brings regrets;</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, let them doze, devoid of woes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of troubles, and of frets.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And let the chap who loves to nap</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With his cigar in hand</p>
+
+            <p>Pursue his way, and live his day,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As runs time's changing sand;</p>
+
+            <p>Let him delight by day and night</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In his peculiar brand.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But as for me, I love to be</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Provided with a pipe,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A rare old bowl to warm my soul,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A meerschaum brown and ripe,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>With good plug cut, no stump or butt,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nor filthy
+            gutter-snipe.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page95"
+               id="page95"></a>[pg 95]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My joys increase! It brings me peace</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As nothing else can do;</p>
+
+            <p>From all the strife of daily life</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Here my relief is true.</p>
+
+            <p>I watch its rings; it purrs and sings&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And then it's cheaper, too!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Detroit Tribune</i>.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ODE TO TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Come, and thy suppliant attend</p>
+
+            <p>In each dull, lonely hour;</p>
+
+            <p>And though misfortunes lie around,</p>
+
+            <p>Thicker than hailstones on the ground,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I'll rest upon thy power.</p>
+
+            <p>Then while the coxcomb, pert and proud,</p>
+
+            <p>The politician, learned and loud,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Keep one eternal clack,</p>
+
+            <p>I'll tread where silent Nature smiles,</p>
+
+            <p>Where Solitude our woe beguiles,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And chew thee, dear Tobac.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">DANIEL WEBSTER.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke;</p>
+
+            <p>I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That goes up the chimney in
+            smoke.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page96"
+               id="page96"></a>[pg 96]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Without wife or bairns to provoke,</p>
+
+            <p>And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">All go up the chimney in smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I try, but all vainly, to choke.</p>
+
+            <p>Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love
+            lights</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Won't go up the chimney in smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Cigar and Tobacco World</i>, London.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE DREAMER'S PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Meerschaum, thing with amber tip,</p>
+
+            <p>Clutched between the dreamer's lip,</p>
+
+            <p>Fragrant odors from thy bowl</p>
+
+            <p>Mingling with the dreamer's soul;</p>
+
+            <p>Curling wreaths of smoke ascending,</p>
+
+            <p>Comfort sweet with incense blending.</p>
+
+            <p>Joy and peace and solace sending</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">To the dreamer's heart.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Fashioned like a satyr's head,</p>
+
+            <p>Crowned with fire, glowing red,</p>
+
+            <p>Quaintly carved and softly sleek</p>
+
+            <p>As Afric maiden's downy cheek.</p>
+
+            <p>Comrade of each idle hour</p>
+
+            <p>In forest shade or leafy bower;</p>
+
+            <p>Lotus-eaters from thy power</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Ne'er can break
+            apart.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page97"
+               id="page97"></a>[pg 97]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Darkly colored from long use</p>
+
+            <p>With tobacco's balmy juice</p>
+
+            <p>From snowy white to ebon turned</p>
+
+            <p>By the incense daily burned.</p>
+
+            <p>Laid at night within thy case</p>
+
+            <p>Of velvet soft&mdash;thy resting place&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Whence with leering, stained face</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Daily thou must start,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To soothe the dreamer's every care,</p>
+
+            <p>To glow and burn and fill the air</p>
+
+            <p>With thy curling perfume rare:</p>
+
+            <p>As thou charmest gloom away,</p>
+
+            <p>With the dreamer rest for aye</p>
+
+            <p>Friend of youth, and manhood ripe</p>
+
+            <p>All hail to thee, thou meerschaum pipe!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>New Orleans Times Democrat.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SUBLIME TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But here the herald of the self-same mouth</p>
+
+            <p>Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,</p>
+
+            <p>Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,</p>
+
+            <p>But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,</p>
+
+            <p>Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had
+            blown</p>
+
+            <p>Its gentle odors over either zone,</p>
+
+            <p>And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,</p>
+
+            <p>Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,</p>
+
+            <p>Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,</p>
+
+            <p>And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows
+            unabashed,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page98"
+               id="page98"></a>[pg 98]</span>
+
+            <p>To Ćolus a constant sacrifice,</p>
+
+            <p>Through every change of all the varying skies.</p>
+
+            <p>And what was he who bore it? I may err,</p>
+
+            <p>But deem him sailor or philosopher.</p>
+
+            <p>Sublime tobacco! which from east to west</p>
+
+            <p>Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;</p>
+
+            <p>Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides</p>
+
+            <p>His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;</p>
+
+            <p>Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,</p>
+
+            <p>Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;</p>
+
+            <p>Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,</p>
+
+            <p>When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;</p>
+
+            <p>Like other charmers, wooing the caress</p>
+
+            <p>More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;</p>
+
+            <p>Yet thy true lovers more admire by far</p>
+
+            <p>Thy naked beauties,&mdash;give me a cigar!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">LORD BYRON:</p>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19.</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SMOKING AWAY.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Floating away like the fountains' spray,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,</p>
+
+            <p>The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With blissful fragrance laden.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p><i>Chorus.</i> Then smoke away till a golden ray</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Lights up the dawn of the morrow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will
+            bar,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The blows of care and
+            sorrow.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page99"
+               id="page99"></a>[pg 99]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That flash in the braids of Beauty;</p>
+
+            <p>It nerves each heart for the hero's part</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On the battle-plain of duty.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Sits the child of song and story,</p>
+
+            <p>But his heart is light, for his pipe burns
+            bright,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And his dreams are all of glory.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And infant arras surround him;</p>
+
+            <p>And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While the smoke-curls float around
+            him.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In the forest grand of our native land,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When the savage conflict ended,</p>
+
+            <p>The "pipe of peace" brought a sweet release</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From toil and terror blended.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Neath their arbor shades trip
+            lightly,</p>
+
+            <p>And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In the clasp of their lips burns
+            brightly</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With its rose-red burden streaming,</p>
+
+            <p>And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From the lips with love-buds teeming.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">FRANCIS MILES
+    FINCH.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page100"
+       id="page100"></a>[pg 100]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>May the Babylonish curse</p>
+
+            <p>Straight confound my stammering verse</p>
+
+            <p>If I can a passage see</p>
+
+            <p>In this word-perplexity,</p>
+
+            <p>Or a fit expression find,</p>
+
+            <p>Or a language to my mind</p>
+
+            <p>(Still the phrase is wide or scant),</p>
+
+            <p>To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!</p>
+
+            <p>Or in any terms relate</p>
+
+            <p>Half my love, or half my hate:</p>
+
+            <p>For I hate, yet love, thee so,</p>
+
+            <p>That, whichever thing I show,</p>
+
+            <p>The plain truth will seem to be</p>
+
+            <p>A constrain'd hyperbole,</p>
+
+            <p>And the passion to proceed</p>
+
+            <p>More from a mistress than a weed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sooty retainer to the vine,</p>
+
+            <p>Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;</p>
+
+            <p>Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon</p>
+
+            <p>Thy begrimed complexion,</p>
+
+            <p>And, for thy pernicious sake,</p>
+
+            <p>More and greater oaths to break</p>
+
+            <p>Than reclaimed lovers take</p>
+
+            <p>'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay</p>
+
+            <p>Much too in the female way,</p>
+
+            <p>While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath</p>
+
+            <p>Faster than kisses or than
+            death.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page101"
+               id="page101"></a>[pg 101]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,</p>
+
+            <p>That our worst foes cannot find us,</p>
+
+            <p>And ill-fortune, that would thwart us,</p>
+
+            <p>Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;</p>
+
+            <p>While each man, through thy height'ning steam</p>
+
+            <p>Does like a smoking Etna seem,</p>
+
+            <p>And all about us does express</p>
+
+            <p>(Fancy and wit in richest dress)</p>
+
+            <p>A Sicilian fruitfulness.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thou through such a mist dost show us,</p>
+
+            <p>That our best friends do not know us,</p>
+
+            <p>And, for those allowčd features,</p>
+
+            <p>Due to reasonable creatures,</p>
+
+            <p>Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,</p>
+
+            <p>Monsters that, who see us, fear us;</p>
+
+            <p>Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,</p>
+
+            <p>Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Bacchus we know, and we allow</p>
+
+            <p>His tipsy rites. But what art thou,</p>
+
+            <p>That but by reflex canst show</p>
+
+            <p>What his deity can do,</p>
+
+            <p>As the false Egyptian spell</p>
+
+            <p>Aped the true Hebrew miracle,</p>
+
+            <p>Some few vapors thou mayst raise</p>
+
+            <p>The weak brain may serve to amaze,</p>
+
+            <p>But to the reins and nobler heart</p>
+
+            <p>Canst nor life nor heat
+            impart.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page102"
+               id="page102"></a>[pg 102]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Brother of Bacchus, later born,</p>
+
+            <p>The Old World was sure forlorn</p>
+
+            <p>Wanting thee, that aidest more</p>
+
+            <p>The god's victories than before</p>
+
+            <p>All his panthers, and the brawls</p>
+
+            <p>Of his piping Bacchanals.</p>
+
+            <p>These, as stale, we disallow,</p>
+
+            <p>Or judge of <i>thee</i> meant; only thou</p>
+
+            <p>His true Indian conquest art;</p>
+
+            <p>And for ivy round his dart</p>
+
+            <p>The reformed god now weaves</p>
+
+            <p>A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Scent to match thy rich perfume</p>
+
+            <p>Chemic art did ne'er presume,</p>
+
+            <p>Through her quaint alembic strain,</p>
+
+            <p>None so sov'reign to the brain.</p>
+
+            <p>Nature, that did in thee excel,</p>
+
+            <p>Framed again no second smell.</p>
+
+            <p>Roses, violets, but toys</p>
+
+            <p>For the smaller sort of boys,</p>
+
+            <p>Or for greener damsels meant;</p>
+
+            <p>Thou art the only manly scent.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Stinking'st of the stinking kind,</p>
+
+            <p>Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,</p>
+
+            <p>Africa, that brags her foison,</p>
+
+            <p>Breeds no such prodigious poison,</p>
+
+            <p>Henbane, nightshade, both together,</p>
+
+            <p>Hemlock,
+            aconite&mdash;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page103"
+               id="page103"></a>[pg 103]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i10">Nay, rather,</p>
+
+            <p>Plant divine, of rarest virtue;</p>
+
+            <p>Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.</p>
+
+            <p>'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;</p>
+
+            <p>None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;</p>
+
+            <p>Irony all, and feign'd abuse,</p>
+
+            <p>Such as perplex'd lovers use</p>
+
+            <p>At a need when, in despair</p>
+
+            <p>To paint forth their fairest fair,</p>
+
+            <p>Or in part but to express</p>
+
+            <p>That exceeding comeliness</p>
+
+            <p>Which their fancies doth so strike,</p>
+
+            <p>They borrow language of dislike;</p>
+
+            <p>And, instead of Dearest Miss,</p>
+
+            <p>Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,</p>
+
+            <p>And those forms of old admiring,</p>
+
+            <p>Call her Cockatrice and Siren,</p>
+
+            <p>Basilisk, and all that's evil,</p>
+
+            <p>Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,</p>
+
+            <p>Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamore,</p>
+
+            <p>Monkey, Ape, and twenty more,</p>
+
+            <p>Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Not that she is truly so,</p>
+
+            <p>But no other way they know</p>
+
+            <p>A contentment to express,</p>
+
+            <p>Borders so upon excess</p>
+
+            <p>That they do not rightly wot</p>
+
+            <p>Whether it be pain or not.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Or as men, constrain'd to part</p>
+
+            <p>With what's nearest to their
+            heart.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page104"
+               id="page104"></a>[pg 104]</span>
+
+            <p>While their sorrow's at the height</p>
+
+            <p>Lose discrimination quite,</p>
+
+            <p>And their hasty wrath let fall,</p>
+
+            <p>To appease their frantic gall,</p>
+
+            <p>On the darling thing whatever</p>
+
+            <p>Whence they feel it death to sever,</p>
+
+            <p>Though it be, as they, perforce,</p>
+
+            <p>Guiltless of the sad divorce.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">For I must (nor let it grieve thee,</p>
+
+            <p>Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.</p>
+
+            <p>For thy sake, TOBACCO, I</p>
+
+            <p>Would do anything but die,</p>
+
+            <p>And but seek to extend my days</p>
+
+            <p>Long enough to sing thy praise.</p>
+
+            <p>But as she who once hath been</p>
+
+            <p>A king's consort is a queen</p>
+
+            <p>Ever after, nor will bate</p>
+
+            <p>Any tittle of her state,</p>
+
+            <p>Though a widow or divorced,</p>
+
+            <p>So I, from thy converse forced,</p>
+
+            <p>The old name and style retain,</p>
+
+            <p>A right Katherine of Spain;</p>
+
+            <p>And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys</p>
+
+            <p>Of the blest Tobacco Boys,</p>
+
+            <p>Where, though I by sour physician</p>
+
+            <p>Am debarr'd the full fruition</p>
+
+            <p>Of thy favors, I may catch</p>
+
+            <p>Some collateral sweets, and snatch</p>
+
+            <p>Sidelong odors, that give life</p>
+
+            <p>Like glances from a neighbor's
+            wife,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page105"
+               id="page105"></a>[pg 105]</span>
+
+            <p>And still live in the by-places</p>
+
+            <p>And the suburbs of thy graces,</p>
+
+            <p>And in thy borders take delight,</p>
+
+            <p>An unconquer'd Canaanite.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">CHARLES LAMB.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nicotia, dearer to the Muse</p>
+
+            <p>Than all the grape's bewildering juice,</p>
+
+            <p>We worship, unforbid of thee;</p>
+
+            <p>And as her incense floats and curls</p>
+
+            <p>In airy spires and wayward whirls,</p>
+
+            <p>Or poises on its tremulous stalk</p>
+
+            <p>A flower of frailest reverie,</p>
+
+            <p>So winds and loiters, idly free,</p>
+
+            <p>The current of unguided talk,</p>
+
+            <p>Now laughter-rippled, and now caught</p>
+
+            <p>In smooth dark pools of deeper thought</p>
+
+            <p>Meanwhile thou mellowest every word,</p>
+
+            <p>A sweetly unobtrusive third;</p>
+
+            <p>For thou hast magic beyond wine</p>
+
+            <p>To unlock natures each to each;</p>
+
+            <p>The unspoken thought thou canst divine;</p>
+
+            <p>Thou fill'st the pauses of the speech</p>
+
+            <p>With whispers that to dreamland reach,</p>
+
+            <p>And frozen fancy-springs unchain</p>
+
+            <p>In Arctic outskirts of the brain.</p>
+
+            <p>Sun of all inmost
+            confidences,</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page106"
+               id="page106"></a>[pg 106]</span>
+
+            <p>To thy rays doth the heart unclose</p>
+
+            <p>Its formal calyx of pretences,</p>
+
+            <p>That close against rude day's offences,</p>
+
+            <p>And open its shy midnight rose!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY PIPE AND I.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There may be comrades in this world,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As stanch and true as steel.</p>
+
+            <p>There are: and by their friendships firm</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is life made only real.</p>
+
+            <p>But, after all, of all these hearts</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That close with mine entwine,</p>
+
+            <p>None lie so near, nor seem so dear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As this old pipe of mine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My silent friend&mdash;whose voice is held</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fast for my ear alone&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Stays with me always, well content,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With Darby to be Joan.</p>
+
+            <p>No fickleness disturbs our lot;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">No jars its peace to smother;</p>
+
+            <p>Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Have wooed and won&mdash;each other.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>On clouds of curling incense sweet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We go&mdash;my pipe and I&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>To lands far off, where skies stay blue</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Through all the years that
+            fly.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page107"
+               id="page107"></a>[pg 107]</span>
+
+            <p>And nights and days, with rosy dreams</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Teems bright&mdash;an endless throng</p>
+
+            <p>That passing leave, in echoing wake,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Soft murmurings of song.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Does this dream fade? Another comes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To fill its place and more.</p>
+
+            <p>In castles silvern roam we now,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">They're ours! All! All are ours!</p>
+
+            <p>What'er the wreathing rings enfold</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Drops shimmering golden showers!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>No sordid cost our steps can stay,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We travel free as air.</p>
+
+            <p>Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That feather-light upbear.</p>
+
+            <p>Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thy roads creep far too slow;</p>
+
+            <p>We need thee not. My pipe and I</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Swifter than Time must go.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Well, well, the fire's out, too!</p>
+
+            <p>The dreams are gone&mdash;we're poor once more;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Life's pain begins anew.</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But may thy dreamings be,</p>
+
+            <p>Through slumbering hours hued as bright</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As those thou gav'st to me!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ELTON J.
+    BUCKLEY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page108"
+       id="page108"></a>[pg 108]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SIC TRANSIT.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Just a note that I found on my table,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">By the bills of a year buried o'er,</p>
+
+            <p>In a feminine hand and requesting</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My presence for tennis at four.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Half remorseful for leaving it lying</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In surroundings unworthy as those,</p>
+
+            <p>I carefully dusted and smoothed it,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And mutely begged pardon of Rose.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But I thought with a smile of the proverb</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Which says you may treat as you will</p>
+
+            <p>The vase which has once contained roses,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Their fragrance will cling to it
+            still.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For the writer I scarcely remember,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The occasion has vanished afar,</p>
+
+            <p>And the fragrance that clings to the letter</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Recalls&mdash;an Havana cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">W.B. ANDERSON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE BETROTHED.</h2>
+
+    <h4>"<i>You must choose between me and your cigar.</i>"</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,</p>
+
+            <p>For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I
+            are out.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page109"
+               id="page109"></a>[pg 109]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We quarrelled about Havanas&mdash;we fought o'er a
+            good cheroot,</p>
+
+            <p>And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a
+            brute.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Open the old cigar-box&mdash;let me consider a
+            space;</p>
+
+            <p>In the soft blue veil of the vapor, musing on
+            Maggie's face.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Maggie is pretty to look at,&mdash;Maggie's a loving
+            lass,</p>
+
+            <p>But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of
+            loves must pass.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry
+            Clay,</p>
+
+            <p>But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown
+            away,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and
+            brown,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the
+            talk o' the town!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Maggie my wife at fifty,&mdash;gray and dour and
+            old,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>With never another Maggie to purchase for love or
+            gold!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the
+            Days that Are,</p>
+
+            <p>And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt
+            of a dead
+            cigar,&mdash;</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page110"
+               id="page110"></a>[pg 110]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in
+            your pocket,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and
+            black to the socket.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Open the old cigar-box,&mdash;let me consider a
+            while,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Here is a mild Manilla,&mdash;there is a wifely
+            smile.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Which is the better portion,&mdash;bondage bought
+            with a ring,</p>
+
+            <p>Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a
+            string?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Counsellors cunning and silent&mdash;comforters true
+            and tried,</p>
+
+            <p>And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival
+            bride.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thought in the early morning, solace in time of
+            woes,</p>
+
+            <p>Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my
+            eyelids close.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This will the fifty give me, asking nought in
+            return,</p>
+
+            <p>With only a <i>Suttee's</i> passion,&mdash;to do
+            their duty and burn.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and
+            dead,</p>
+
+            <p>Five times other fifties shall be my servants
+            instead.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the
+            Spanish Main,</p>
+
+            <p>When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my
+            brides
+            again.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page111"
+               id="page111"></a>[pg 111]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for
+            their mouths withal,</p>
+
+            <p>So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the
+            showers fall.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I
+            temper their hides,</p>
+
+            <p>And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy, who read of
+            the tale of my brides.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice
+            between</p>
+
+            <p>The wee little whimpering Love and the great god
+            Nick o' Teen.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And I have been servant of Love for barely a
+            twelve-month clear.</p>
+
+            <p>But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven
+            year;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with
+            the cheery light</p>
+
+            <p>Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure
+            and Work and Fight.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I
+            must prove,</p>
+
+            <p>But the only light on the marshes is the
+            Will-o'-the-Wisp of
+            Love.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page112"
+               id="page112"></a>[pg 112]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Will it see me safe through my journey, or leave me
+            bogged in the mire?</p>
+
+            <p>Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow
+            the fitful fire?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Open the old cigar-box,&mdash;let me consider
+            anew,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon
+            <i>you</i>?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the
+            yoke;</p>
+
+            <p>And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a
+            Smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Light me another Cuba: I hold to my first-sworn
+            vows,</p>
+
+            <p>If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie
+            for spouse!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">RUDYARD KIPLING.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ON A BROKEN PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form,</p>
+
+            <p>So late with living inspirations warm;</p>
+
+            <p>Type of all other creatures formed of
+            clay&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>What more than it for epitaph have they?</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page113"
+       id="page113"></a>[pg 113]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A VALENTINE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What's my love's name? Guess her name.</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Nina? No.</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Alina? No.</p>
+
+            <p>It does end with "ina," though.</p>
+
+            <p>Guess again. Christina? No;</p>
+
+            <p>Guess again. Wilhelmina? No.</p>
+
+            <p>She reciprocates my flame,</p>
+
+            <p>Cheers me wheresoe'er I go,</p>
+
+            <p>Never forward, never coy,</p>
+
+            <p>She is evermore my joy.</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, the rapture! oh, the bliss!</p>
+
+            <p>When I met my darling's kiss.</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, I love her form to greet!</p>
+
+            <p>Oh, her breath is passing sweet!</p>
+
+            <p>Who could help but love her so?</p>
+
+            <p>Nicotina, mistress mine,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou shall be my Valentine.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY CIGARETTE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My cigarette! The amulet</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That charms afar unrest and sorrow,</p>
+
+            <p>The magic wand that, far beyond</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To-day, can conjure up
+            to-morrow.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page114"
+               id="page114"></a>[pg 114]</span>
+
+            <p>Like love's desire, thy crown of fire</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So softly with the twilight blending;</p>
+
+            <p>And ah, meseems a poet's dreams</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Are in thy wreaths of smoke
+            ascending.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My cigarette! Can I forget</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How Kate and I, in sunny weather,</p>
+
+            <p>Sat in the shade the elm-tree made</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And rolled the fragrant weed
+            together?</p>
+
+            <p>I at her side, beatified</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To hold and guide her fingers
+            willing;</p>
+
+            <p>She rolling slow the papers snow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Putting my heart in with the filling.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My cigarette! I see her yet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The white smoke from her red lips
+            curling,</p>
+
+            <p>Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Her gentle sighs, her laughter
+            purling!</p>
+
+            <p>Ah, dainty roll, whose parting soul</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ebbs out in many a snowy billow,</p>
+
+            <p>I too would burn, if I could earn</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Upon her lips so soft a pillow.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ah, cigarette! The gay coquette</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Has long forgot the flame she
+            lighted;</p>
+
+            <p>And you and I unthinking by</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Alike are thrown, alike are slighted.</p>
+
+            <p>The darkness gathers fast without,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A raindrop on my window plashes;</p>
+
+            <p>My cigarette and heart are out,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And naught is left me but the ashes.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">CHARLES F.
+    LUMMIS.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page115"
+       id="page115"></a>[pg 115]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE PIPE CRITIC.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Say, pipe, let's talk of love;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Canst aid me? By my life,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">I'll ask not gods above</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">To help me choose a wife;</p>
+
+            <p>But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling
+            strife.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Thy color let me find,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And blue like smoke her eyes;</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">A healthy store her mind</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">As that which in thee lies,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the
+            skies.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">And, pipe, a breath like thine;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Her hair an amber gold,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And wrought in shapes as fine</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">As that which now I hold;</p>
+
+            <p>A grace in every limb, her form thy slender
+            mould.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">And when her lips I kiss,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Oh, may she burn like thee,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And strive to give me bliss!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">A comforter to be</p>
+
+            <p>When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs
+            from me.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page116"
+               id="page116"></a>[pg 116]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">And may she hide in smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">As you, my friend, have done,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">The failings that would choke</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">My virtues every one,</p>
+
+            <p>Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to
+            fun.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Her aid be such as thine</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">To stir my brain a bit.</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">When 'round this hearth of mine</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Friends sit and banter wit,</p>
+
+            <p>She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to
+            hit.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">In short, my sole delight</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">(Why, pipe, you sputter so!),</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Whose angel visage bright</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">(And at me ashes throw!)</p>
+
+            <p>Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I
+            know.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">For of thy gifts there's one</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">That's passing dear to me</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Whose equal she'd have none,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a
+            tongue!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">WALTER
+    LITTLEFIELD.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page117"
+       id="page117"></a>[pg 117]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.</h2>
+
+    <h4>AIR: "<i>The Vicar of Bray</i>."</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Twas in Queen Bess's golden days</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That smoking came in fashion;</p>
+
+            <p>And from the court it quickly spread</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Throughout the English nation.</p>
+
+            <p>The courtiers first the lesson learnt,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And burn'd the fragrant treasure;</p>
+
+            <p>And e'en the queen herself, 'tis said,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Would sometimes share the pleasure.</p>
+
+            <p>But this is true, I will maintain,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I am far from joking,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Of all the pleasures men have found</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There's none to equal smoking.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then learned men and lawyers wise</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And grave divines and doctors</p>
+
+            <p>Found smoking help'd to clear the brain,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And puff'd away in flocks, sirs;</p>
+
+            <p>Then business men and humble clerks</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And laborer and peasant</p>
+
+            <p>By smoking care would drive away,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And make this life more pleasant.</p>
+
+            <p>For this is true. I will maintain,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I am far from joking,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Of all the pleasures men have found</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There's none to equal
+            smoking.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page118"
+               id="page118"></a>[pg 118]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And from these times we modern men</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Great glory do inherit,</p>
+
+            <p>And wealth and learning and the strength</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Which makes the English spirit.</p>
+
+            <p>We have no care, we fear no foe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We pass our lifetime gayly,</p>
+
+            <p>But little think how much we owe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To great Sir Walter Raleigh.</p>
+
+            <p>For this is true, I will maintain,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I am far from joking,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Of all the pleasures men have found</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">There's none to equal smoking.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">W. LLOYD.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>AD NICOTINA.</h2>
+
+    <h4>"<i>A Constrained Hyperbole.</i>"</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let others sing the praise of wine;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I'll tolerate no queen</p>
+
+            <p>But one fair nymph of spotless line,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The gentle Nicotine.</p>
+
+            <p>Her breath's as sweet as any flower's,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">No matter where it blows,</p>
+
+            <p>And makes this dull old world of ours</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The color of the rose.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's not a pang but she can soothe,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Nor spell but she can break,</p>
+
+            <p>And e'en the hardest lot can smooth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And bid us courage
+            take.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page119"
+               id="page119"></a>[pg 119]</span>
+
+            <p>Fair Nicotine! thou dost atone</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For many an aching heart;</p>
+
+            <p>And I for one will gladly own</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The magic of thine art.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ah, "friendly traitress," "loving foe,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Forgive this loving lay;</p>
+
+            <p>For I, thy worshipper, would show</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The sweetness of thy sway.</p>
+
+            <p>"Sublime tobacco!" may thy reign</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ne'er for one moment cease;</p>
+
+            <p>For thou, Great Plant, art kin to brain,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And synonym for peace.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">E.H.S.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MEERSCHAUM.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come to me, O my meerschaum,</p>
+
+            <p>For the vile street organs play;</p>
+
+            <p>And the torture they're inflicting</p>
+
+            <p>Will vanish quite away.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I open my study window</p>
+
+            <p>And into the twilight peer,</p>
+
+            <p>And my anxious eyes are watching</p>
+
+            <p>For the man with my evening beer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In one hand is the shining pewter,</p>
+
+            <p>All amber the ale doth glow;</p>
+
+            <p>In t'other are long "churchwardens,"</p>
+
+            <p>As spotless and pure as
+            snow.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page120"
+               id="page120"></a>[pg 120]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ah! what would the world be to us</p>
+
+            <p>Tobaccoless?&mdash;Fearful bore!</p>
+
+            <p>We should dread the day after to-morrow</p>
+
+            <p>Worse than the day before.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As the elephant's trunk to the creature,</p>
+
+            <p>Is the pipe to the man, I trow;</p>
+
+            <p>Useful and meditative</p>
+
+            <p>As the cud to the peaceful cow.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So to the world is smoking;</p>
+
+            <p>Through that we feel, with bliss</p>
+
+            <p>That, whatever worlds come after,</p>
+
+            <p>A jolly old world is this.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Come to me, O my meerschaum,</p>
+
+            <p>And whisper to me here,</p>
+
+            <p>If you like me better than coffee,</p>
+
+            <p>Than grog, or the bitter beer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh! what are our biggest winnings,</p>
+
+            <p>If peaceful content we miss?</p>
+
+            <p>Though fortune may give us an innings</p>
+
+            <p>She seldom conveys us bliss.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You're better than all the fortunes</p>
+
+            <p>That ever were made or broke;</p>
+
+            <p>For a penny will always fill</p>
+
+            <p>And buy me content with a smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    WRONGFELLOW.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page121"
+       id="page121"></a>[pg 121]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I like cigars</p>
+
+            <p>Beneath the stars,</p>
+
+            <p>Upon the waters blue.</p>
+
+            <p>To laugh and float</p>
+
+            <p>While rocks the boat</p>
+
+            <p>Upon the waves,&mdash;Don't you?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To rest the oar</p>
+
+            <p>And float to shore,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>While soft the moonbeams shine,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>To laugh and joke,</p>
+
+            <p>And idly smoke;</p>
+
+            <p>I think is quite divine.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>"A FREE PUFF."</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Do you remember when first we met?</p>
+
+            <p>I was turning twenty&mdash;well! I don't forget</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">How I walked along,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Humming a song</p>
+
+            <p>Across the fields and down the lane</p>
+
+            <p>By the country road, and back again</p>
+
+            <p>To the dear old farm&mdash;three miles or
+            more&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>And brought you home from the village
+            store.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page122"
+               id="page122"></a>[pg 122]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Summer was passing&mdash;don't you recall</p>
+
+            <p>The splendid harvest we had that Fall,</p>
+
+            <p>And how when the Autumn died,&mdash;sober and
+            brown,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the
+            town?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If you were human you'd be half
+            divine,</p>
+
+            <p>For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your
+            burning bowl</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">In times of need</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">You've been, indeed,</p>
+
+            <p>The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing
+            soul.</p>
+
+            <p>We've been together nearly thirty years, old
+            fellow!</p>
+
+            <p>And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle
+            mellow.</p>
+
+            <p>We have had our share of joys and a deal of
+            sorrows,</p>
+
+            <p>And while we're only waiting for a few more
+            to-morrows,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Others will come, and others will go,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And Time will gather what Youth will
+            sow;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But we together will go down the
+            rough</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Road to the end, and to the
+            end&mdash;puff.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ARTHUR IRVING
+    GRAY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page123"
+       id="page123"></a>[pg 123]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thy scarred and blackened form,</p>
+
+            <p>For thou to me wilt ever be&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Whate'er betides the storm&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A casket filled with memories</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of life's Auroral morn.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thou once wert fair like ivory rare;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Spotless as lily white;</p>
+
+            <p>Thy curving lines, like tendril'd vines,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Were pleasing to the sight,</p>
+
+            <p>And in thine ample bowl there lurked</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A promise of delight.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Like incense flung from censer swung</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Before some sculptured shrine,</p>
+
+            <p>To float along with prayer and song</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To realms of bliss divine,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Ascend thy fragrant wreaths of smoke</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And with my thoughts entwine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Old pipe, old friend, o'er thee doth bend</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The rainbow hues of life,</p>
+
+            <p>While sorrows roll across my soul,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And peace is turned to strife,</p>
+
+            <p>And Faith drifts o'er a sea of doubt</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With desolation
+            rife.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page124"
+               id="page124"></a>[pg 124]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Alas, that man or pipe e'er can</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Wax old or know decay;</p>
+
+            <p>Alas, that heart from heart must part,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or Love can lose its sway.</p>
+
+            <p>And death in life should cast its pall</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Athwart the troubled way.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tho' love be cross'd, and friends are lost,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And severed every tie;</p>
+
+            <p>Tho' hopes are dead and joys have fled,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And darkened is the sky;</p>
+
+            <p>We yet can warm each other's hearts,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Old meerschaum pipe and I.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JOHNSON M. MUNDY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A WARNING.</h2>
+
+    <h4>HE.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I loathe all books. I hate to see</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The world and men through others'
+            eyes;</p>
+
+            <p>My own are good enough for me.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">These scribbling fellows I despise;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">They bore me.</p>
+
+            <p>I used to try to read a bit,</p>
+
+            <p>But, when I did, a sleepy fit</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Came o'er
+            me.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page125"
+               id="page125"></a>[pg 125]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Yet here I sit with pensive look,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Filling my pipe with fragrant loads,</p>
+
+            <p>Gazing in rapture at a book!&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A free translation of the Odes</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Of Horace.</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis owned by sweet Elizabeth,</p>
+
+            <p>And breathes a subtle, fragrant breath</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Of orris.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I longed for something that was hers</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To cheer me when I'm feeling low;</p>
+
+            <p>I saw this book of paltry verse,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And asked to take it home&mdash;and
+            so</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">She lent it.</p>
+
+            <p>I love her deep and tenderly,</p>
+
+            <p>Yet dare not tell my love, lest she</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Resent it.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I'll learn to quote a stanza here,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A couplet there. I'm very sure</p>
+
+            <p>'Twould aid my suit could I appear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2"><i>Au fait</i> in books and
+            literature.</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">I'll do it!</p>
+
+            <p>This jingle I can quickly learn;</p>
+
+            <p>Then, hid in roses, I'll return</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Her poet!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page126"
+       id="page126"></a>[pg 126]</span>
+
+    <h4>SHE.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Around my pretty, cherished book,</p>
+
+            <p>The odor vile, the noisome taint</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Yet lingers!</p>
+
+            <p>The hateful man, my book to spoil!</p>
+
+            <p>Patrick, the tongs&mdash;lest I should soil</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">My fingers!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This lovely rose, these lilies frail,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">These violets he has sent to me</p>
+
+            <p>The odor of his pipe exhale!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Am I to blame that I should be</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Enraged?</p>
+
+            <p>Tell Mr. Simpson every time</p>
+
+            <p>He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">Engaged!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ARTHUR LOVELL.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't
+            understand</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What the ladies and gentlemen see in your
+            face,</p>
+
+            <p>That you are in fashion all over the land,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And I am so much fallen into
+            disgrace.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page127"
+               id="page127"></a>[pg 127]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Do but see what a pretty contemplative air</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I give to the company,&mdash;pray do but
+            note 'em,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>You would think that the wise men of Greece were all
+            there,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or, at least, would suppose them the wise
+            men of Gotham.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown
+            roses,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While you are a nuisance where'er you
+            appear;</p>
+
+            <p>There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of
+            noses,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Such a noise as turns any man's stomach
+            to hear."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And opening his mouth with a smile quite
+            engaging.</p>
+
+            <p>The Box in reply was heard plainly to say,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">"What a silly dispute is this we are
+            Waging!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"If you have a little of merit to claim,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You may thank the sweet-smelling
+            Virginian weed;</p>
+
+            <p>And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The before-mentioned drug in apology
+            plead.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our
+            own,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">No room for a sneer, much less a
+            cachinnus;</p>
+
+            <p>We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But of anything else they may choose to
+            put in us."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">WM.
+    COWPER.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page128"
+       id="page128"></a>[pg 128]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A LOSS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How hard a thing it is to part</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From those we love and cherish;</p>
+
+            <p>How deeply does it pain one's heart</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To know all things must perish!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when a friend and comrade dear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is lost to us forever,</p>
+
+            <p>We feel how frail are all things here,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Since e'en best friends must sever.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I, too, have lost a friend, who broke</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Its power when care was near me;</p>
+
+            <p>And troubles disappeared in smoke</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When he was by to cheer me.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But as friends fall when valued most,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Like fruit that over-ripe is.</p>
+
+            <p>My loved companion I have lost,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That friend my meerschaum pipe is!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Judy</i>
+    (1873).</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page129"
+       id="page129"></a>[pg 129]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE TRUE LEUCOTHOË.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let others praise the god of wine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or Venus, love, and beauty's smile;</p>
+
+            <p>I choose a theme not less divine,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The old Greeks err'd who bound with bays</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Apollo's brow; the verdant crown</p>
+
+            <p>He wore, when measuring their days,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Grew in the West, where he went down.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>An idle tale they also told;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">They said he gave them frankincense,</p>
+
+            <p>Borne by some tree he loved of old;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If so, he gave a mere pretence.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For the true offspring of his love&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Tobacco&mdash;grew far o'er the sea,</p>
+
+            <p>Where Leucothoë from above</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Led him as honey leads the bee,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Till on that plant he paus'd to gaze</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Some moments ere he held his way,</p>
+
+            <p>And cheer her with his warmest rays,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Heedless of time or length of
+            day.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page130"
+               id="page130"></a>[pg 130]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then with a sigh his brows he wreath'd</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With leaves that care and toil
+            beguile,</p>
+
+            <p>And bless'd, as their perfume he breath'd,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THOSE ASHES.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Up to the frescoed ceiling</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The smoke of my cigarette</p>
+
+            <p>In a sinuous spray is reeling,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Forming flower and minaret.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What delicious landscape floating</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On perfumed wings I see;</p>
+
+            <p>Pale swans I am idly noting,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And queens robed in filagree.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I see such delicious faces</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As ne'er man saw before,</p>
+
+            <p>And my fancy fondly chases</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Sweet maids on a fairy shore.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Now to bits my air-castle crashes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And those pictures I see no more;</p>
+
+            <p>My grandmother yells: "Them ashes&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Don't drop them on the floor!"</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">R.K.
+    MUNKITTRICK.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page131"
+       id="page131"></a>[pg 131]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>WHAT I LIKE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream,</p>
+
+            <p>Upon the grassy bank of some calm stream&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">And smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To climb with daring feet some rugged rock,</p>
+
+            <p>And sit aloft where gulls and curlews
+            flock&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">And smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To wander lonely on the ocean's brink,</p>
+
+            <p>And of the good old times to muse and
+            think&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">And smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To hide me in some deep and woody glen,</p>
+
+            <p>Far from unhealthy haunts of sordid men&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">And smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To linger in some fairy haunted vale,</p>
+
+            <p>While all about me falls the moonlight
+            pale&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">And smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">H.L.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY MEERSCHAUMS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">High carved and plain, dark-hued and
+            creamy,</p>
+
+            <p>Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And stout ones for Havanas
+            dreamy.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page132"
+               id="page132"></a>[pg 132]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This cricket, on an amber spear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Impaled, recalls that golden weather</p>
+
+            <p>When love and I, too young to fear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Heartburn, smoked cigarettes
+            together.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And even now&mdash;too old to take</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The little papered shams for
+            flavor&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>I light it oft for her sweet sake</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who gave it, with her girlish favor.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And here's the mighty student bowl</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Whose tutoring in and after college</p>
+
+            <p>Has led me nearer wisdom's goal</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Than all I learned of text-book
+            knowledge.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"It taught me?" Ay, to hold my tongue,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To keep a-light, and yet burn slowly,</p>
+
+            <p>To break ill spells around me flung</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As with the enchanted whiff of Moly.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This nargileh, whose hue betrays</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Perique from soft Louisiana,</p>
+
+            <p>In Egypt once beguiled the days</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Speaking of color,&mdash;do you know</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A maid with eyes as darkly splendid</p>
+
+            <p>As are the hues that, rich and slow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On this Hungarian bowl have
+            blended?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page133"
+               id="page133"></a>[pg 133]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Can artist paint the fiery glints</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of this quaint finger here beside it,</p>
+
+            <p>With amber nail,&mdash;the lustrous tints,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A thousand Partagas have dyed it?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"And this old silver patched affair?"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Well, sir, that meerschaum has its
+            reasons</p>
+
+            <p>For showing marks of time and wear;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For in its smoke through fifty
+            seasons</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My grandsire blew his cares away!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And then, when done with life's
+            sojourning,</p>
+
+            <p>At seventy-five dropped dead one day,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That pipe between his set teeth
+            burning!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"Killed him?" No doubt! it's apt to kill</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In fifty year's incessant
+            using&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Some twenty pipes a day. And still,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On that ripe, well-filled, lifetime
+            musing,</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I envy oft so bright a part,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To live as long as life's a treasure;</p>
+
+            <p>To die of&mdash;not an aching heart,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But&mdash;half a century of pleasure!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How these old memories will undo
+            one&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>I see you've let your weed go out;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new
+            one!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">CHARLES F.
+    LUMMIS.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page134"
+       id="page134"></a>[pg 134]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ODE TO TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Thou, who when fears attack</p>
+
+            <p>Bidst them avaunt, and Black</p>
+
+            <p>Care, at the horseman's back</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Perching, unseatest;</p>
+
+            <p>Sweet when the morn is gray;</p>
+
+            <p>Sweet when they've cleared away</p>
+
+            <p>Lunch; and at close of day</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Possibly sweetest!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I have a liking old</p>
+
+            <p>For thee, though manifold</p>
+
+            <p>Stories, I know, are told</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Not to thy credit:</p>
+
+            <p>How one (or two at most)</p>
+
+            <p>Drops make a cat a ghost,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Useless, except to roast&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Doctors have said it;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How they who use fusees</p>
+
+            <p>All grow by slow degrees</p>
+
+            <p>Brainless as chimpanzees,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Meagre as lizards,</p>
+
+            <p>Go mad, and beat their wives,</p>
+
+            <p>Plunge (after shocking lives)</p>
+
+            <p>Razors and carving-knives</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Into their
+            gizzards.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page135"
+               id="page135"></a>[pg 135]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Confound such knavish tricks!</p>
+
+            <p>Yet know I five or six</p>
+
+            <p>Smokers who freely mix</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Still with their neighbors,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Jones, who, I'm glad to say,</p>
+
+            <p>Asked leave of Mrs. J.,</p>
+
+            <p>Daily absorbs a clay</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">After his labors.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Cats may have had their goose</p>
+
+            <p>Cooked by tobacco juice;</p>
+
+            <p>Still, why deny its use</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Thoughtfully taken?</p>
+
+            <p>We're not as tabbies are;</p>
+
+            <p>Smith, take a fresh cigar!</p>
+
+            <p>Jones, the tobacco jar!</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Here's to thee, Bacon!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">C.S. CALVERLY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I lifted off the lid with anxious care,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Removed the wrappages, stripe after
+            stripe,</p>
+
+            <p>And when the hidden contents were laid bare,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My first remark was: "Mercy, what a
+            pipe!"</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page136"
+               id="page136"></a>[pg 136]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A pipe of symmetry that matched its size,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Mounted with metal bright,&mdash;a sight
+            to see;</p>
+
+            <p>With the rich amber hue that smokers prize,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Attesting both its age and pedigree.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A pipe to make the royal Friedrich jealous,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or the great Teufelsdröckh with envy
+            gripe!</p>
+
+            <p>A man should hold some rank above his fellows</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To justify his smoking such a pipe!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What country gave it birth? What blest of cities</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Saw it first kindle at the glowing
+            coal?</p>
+
+            <p>What happy artist murmured, "Nunc dimittis,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When he had fashioned this transcendent
+            bowl?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Has it been hoarded in a monarch's treasures?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Was it a gift of peace, or prize of
+            war?</p>
+
+            <p>Did the great Khalif in his "House of Pleasures"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Wager and lose it to the good Zaafar?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It may have soothed mild Spenser's melancholy,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While musing o'er traditions of the
+            past,</p>
+
+            <p>Or graced the lips of brave Sir Walter Raleigh,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ere sage King Jamie blew his
+            "<i>Counterblast</i>."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Did it, safe hidden in some secret cavern,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Escape that monarch's pipoclastic
+            ken?</p>
+
+            <p>Has Shakespeare smoked it at the Mermaid Tavern,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Quaffing a cup of sack with rare old
+            Ben?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page137"
+               id="page137"></a>[pg 137]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ay, Shakespeare might have watched his vast
+            creations</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Loom through its smoke,&mdash;the
+            spectre-haunted Thane,</p>
+
+            <p>The Sisters at their ghostly invocations,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The jealous Moor, and melancholy
+            Dane.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Round its orbed haze and through its mazy
+            ringlets,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Titania may have led her elfin rout,</p>
+
+            <p>Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it
+            out.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Vain are all fancies,&mdash;questions bring no
+            answer;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The smokers vanish, but the pipe
+            remains;</p>
+
+            <p>He were indeed a subtle necromancer,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Could read their records in its cloudy
+            stains.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Nor this alone. Its destiny may doom it</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To outlive e'en its use and history;</p>
+
+            <p>Some ploughman of the future may exhume it</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From soil now deep beneath the Eastern
+            sea.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And, treasured by soma antiquarian Stultus,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It may to gaping visitors be shown</p>
+
+            <p>Labelled: "The symbol of some ancient cultus</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Conjecturally Phallic, but unknown."</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Why do I thus recall the ancient quarrel</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Twixt Man and Time, that marks all
+            earthly things?</p>
+
+            <p>Why labor to re-word the hackneyed moral</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'&Omega;&sigmaf;
+            &phi;&upsilon;&lambda;&lambda;&omega;&nu;
+            &gamma;&epsilon;&nu;&epsilon;&eta;, as Homer
+            sings?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page138"
+               id="page138"></a>[pg 138]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For this: Some links we forge are never broken;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Some feelings claim exemption from
+            decay;</p>
+
+            <p>And Love, of which this pipe is but the token,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Shall last, though pipes and smokers pass
+            away.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">W.H.B.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY LITTLE BROWN PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I have a little comforter,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I carry in my pocket:</p>
+
+            <p>It is not any woman's face</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Set in a golden locket;</p>
+
+            <p>It is not any kind of purse;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It is not book or letter,</p>
+
+            <p>But yet at times I really think</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That it is something better.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, my pipe, my little brown pipe!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How oft, at morning early,</p>
+
+            <p>When vexed with thoughts of coming toil,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And just a little surly,</p>
+
+            <p>I sit with thee till things get clear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And all my plans grow steady,</p>
+
+            <p>And I can face the strife of life</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With all my senses
+            steady.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page139"
+               id="page139"></a>[pg 139]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>No matter if my temper stands</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">At stormy, fair, or clearing,</p>
+
+            <p>My pipe has not for any mood</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A word of angry sneering.</p>
+
+            <p>I always find it just the same,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In care, or joy, or sorrow,</p>
+
+            <p>And what it is to-day I know</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It's sure to be to-morrow.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It helps me through the stress of life;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It balances my losses;</p>
+
+            <p>It adds a charm to all my joys,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And lightens all my crosses.</p>
+
+            <p>For through the wreathing, misty veil</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Joy has a softer splendor,</p>
+
+            <p>And life grows sweetly possible,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And love more truly tender.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, I have many richer joys!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I do not underrate them,</p>
+
+            <p>And every man knows what I mean,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I do not need to state them.</p>
+
+            <p>But this I say,&mdash;I'd rather miss</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A deal of what's called pleasure,</p>
+
+            <p>Than lose my little comforter,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My little smoky treasure.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">AMELIA E.
+    BARR.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page140"
+       id="page140"></a>[pg 140]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Forsaken of all comforts but these two,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My fagot and my pipe&mdash;I sit to
+            muse</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On all my crosses, and almost excuse</p>
+
+            <p>The heavens for dealing with me as they do.</p>
+
+            <p>When Hope steps in, and, with a smiling brow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Such cheerful expectations doth
+            infuse</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As makes me think ere long I cannot
+            choose</p>
+
+            <p>But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But having spent my pipe, I then
+            perceive</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That hopes and dreams are
+            cousins,&mdash;both deceive.</p>
+
+            <p>Then mark I this conclusion in my mind,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It's all one thing,&mdash;both tend into
+            one scope,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To live upon Tobacco and on Hope:</p>
+
+            <p>The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">SIR ROBERT AYTON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Twas off the blue Canary isles,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A glorious summer day,</p>
+
+            <p>I sat upon the quarter deck,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And whiffed my cares away;</p>
+
+            <p>And as the volumed smoke arose,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Like incense in the air,</p>
+
+            <p>I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It was my last
+            cigar.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page141"
+               id="page141"></a>[pg 141]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I leaned upon the quarter rail,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And looked down in the sea;</p>
+
+            <p>E'en there the purple wreath of smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Was curling gracefully;</p>
+
+            <p>Oh! what had I at such a time</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To do with wasting care?</p>
+
+            <p>Alas! the trembling tear proclaimed</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It was my last cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I watched the ashes as it came</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fast drawing toward the end;</p>
+
+            <p>I watched it as a friend would watch</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beside a dying friend;</p>
+
+            <p>But still the flame swept slowly on;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It vanished into air;</p>
+
+            <p>I threw it from me,&mdash;spare the tale,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">It was my last cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I've seen the land of all I love</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fade in the distance dim;</p>
+
+            <p>I've watched above the blighted heart,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Where once proud hope hath been;</p>
+
+            <p>But I've never known a sorrow</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That could with that compare,</p>
+
+            <p>When off the blue Canaries</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I smoked my last cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JOSEPH WARREN
+    FABENS.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page142"
+       id="page142"></a>[pg 142]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>LATAKIA.</h2>
+
+    <h4>I.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When all the panes are hung with frost,</p>
+
+            <p>Wild wizard-work of silver lace,</p>
+
+            <p>I draw my sofa on the rug,</p>
+
+            <p>Before the ancient chimney-place.</p>
+
+            <p>Upon the painted tiles are mosques</p>
+
+            <p>And minarets, and here and there</p>
+
+            <p>A blind muezzin lifts his hands,</p>
+
+            <p>And calls the faithful unto prayer.</p>
+
+            <p>Folded in idle, twilight dreams,</p>
+
+            <p>I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,</p>
+
+            <p>As if within its ruddy core</p>
+
+            <p>It held the happy heart of Spring.</p>
+
+            <p>Ferdousi never sang like that,</p>
+
+            <p>Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;</p>
+
+            <p>I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,</p>
+
+            <p>And watch them rise and float away.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>II.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The curling wreaths like turbans seem</p>
+
+            <p>Of silent slaves that come and go,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,</p>
+
+            <p>Whom I behead from time to time,</p>
+
+            <p>With pipe-stem, at a single
+            blow.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page143"
+               id="page143"></a>[pg 143]</span>
+
+            <p>And now and then a lingering cloud</p>
+
+            <p>Takes gracious form at my desire,</p>
+
+            <p>And at my side my lady stands,</p>
+
+            <p>Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>O Love, if you were only here</p>
+
+            <p>Beside me in this mellow light,</p>
+
+            <p>Though all the bitter winds should blow,</p>
+
+            <p>And all the ways be choked with snow,</p>
+
+            <p>'Twould be a true Arabian night!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">T.B. ALDRICH.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Some sombre evening, when I sit</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And feed in solitude at home,</p>
+
+            <p>Perchance an ultra-bilious fit</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Paints all the world an orange
+            chrome.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When Fear and Care and grim Despair</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,</p>
+
+            <p>One charm dispels them all in air,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I blow my after-dinner cloud.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis melancholy to devour</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The gentle chop in loneliness.</p>
+
+            <p>I look on six&mdash;my prandial hour&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With dread not easy to
+            express.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page144"
+               id="page144"></a>[pg 144]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And yet for every penance done,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Due compensation seems allow'd.</p>
+
+            <p>My penance o'er, its price is won,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I blow my after-dinner cloud.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>My clay is <i>not</i> a Henry Clay,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I like it better on the whole;</p>
+
+            <p>And when I fill it, I can say,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I drown my sorrows in the bowl.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For most I love my lowly pipe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When weary, sad, and leaden-brow'd;</p>
+
+            <p>At such a time behold me ripe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To blow my after-dinner cloud.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As gracefully the smoke ascends</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In columns from the weed beneath,</p>
+
+            <p>My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A vivid shape to every wreath.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Strange memories of life or death</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Up from the cradle to the shroud,</p>
+
+            <p>Come forth as, with enchanter's breath,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I blow my after-dinner cloud.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What wonder if it stills my care</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To quit the present for the past,</p>
+
+            <p>And summon back the things that were,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Which only thus in vapor
+            last?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page145"
+               id="page145"></a>[pg 145]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What wonder if I envy not</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The rich, the giddy, and the proud,</p>
+
+            <p>Contented in this quiet spot</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To blow my after-dinner cloud?</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HENRY S. LEIGH.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When that last pipe is smoked at last</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And pouch and pipe put by,</p>
+
+            <p>And Smoked and Smoker both alike</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In dust and ashes lie,</p>
+
+            <p>What of the Smoker? Whither passed?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Ah, will he smoke no more?</p>
+
+            <p>And will there be no golden cloud</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Upon the golden shore?</p>
+
+            <p>Ah! who shall say we cry in vain</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To Fate upon his hill,</p>
+
+            <p>For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">He goes on smoking still.</p>
+
+            <p>But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">If other men pursue</p>
+
+            <p>Their various earthly joys again</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beyond that distant blue,</p>
+
+            <p>If the poor Smoker might not ply</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">His peaceful passion
+            too.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page146"
+               id="page146"></a>[pg 146]</span>
+
+            <p>If Indian braves may still up there</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">On merry scalpings go,</p>
+
+            <p>And buried Britons rise again</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With arrow and with bow,</p>
+
+            <p>May not the Smoker hope to take</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">His "cutty" from below?</p>
+
+            <p>So let us trust; and when at length</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You lay me 'neath the yew,</p>
+
+            <p>Forget not, O my friends, I pray,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Pipes and tobacco too!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SWEET SMOKING PIPE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Companion still of my retreat,</p>
+
+            <p>Thou dost my gloomy thoughts remove,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And purge my brain with gentle heat.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tobacco, charmer of my mind,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When, like the meteor's transient
+            gleam.</p>
+
+            <p>Thy substance gone to air I find,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I think, alas, my life's the same!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What else but lighted dust am I?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Then shew'st me what my fate will be;</p>
+
+            <p>And when thy sinking ashes die,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I learn that I must end like thee.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    ANON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page147"
+       id="page147"></a>[pg 147]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CIGARETTE RINGS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out
+            to-night;</p>
+
+            <p>I'm too sleepy to read and too lazy to write;</p>
+
+            <p>So I'll watch the blue rings, as they eddy and
+            twirl,</p>
+
+            <p>And in gossamer wreathings coquettishly curl.</p>
+
+            <p>In the stillness of night and the sparseness of
+            chimes</p>
+
+            <p>There's a fleetness in fancy, a frolic in
+            rhymes;</p>
+
+            <p>There's a world of romance that persistently
+            clings</p>
+
+            <p>To the azurine curving of Cigarette Rings!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>What a picture comes back from the passed-away
+            times!</p>
+
+            <p>They are lounging once more 'neath the sweet-scented
+            limes;</p>
+
+            <p>See how closely he watches the Queen of
+            Coquettes,</p>
+
+            <p>As her white hands roll deftly those small
+            cigarettes!</p>
+
+            <p>He believes in her smiles and puts faith in her
+            sighs</p>
+
+            <p>While he's dazzled by light from her fathomless
+            eyes.</p>
+
+            <p>Ah, the dearest of voices delightfully sings</p>
+
+            <p>Through the wind intertwining of Cigarette
+            Rings!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How sweet was her song in the bright
+            summer-time,</p>
+
+            <p>When winds whispered low 'neath the tremulous
+            lime!</p>
+
+            <p>How sweet, too, that bunch of forget-me-nots
+            blue&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The love he thought lasting, the words he thought
+            true!</p>
+
+            <p><i>Ah, the words of a woman concerning such
+            things</i></p>
+
+            <p><i>Are weak and unstable as Cigarette Rings!</i></p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">J.
+    ASHBY-STERRY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page148"
+       id="page148"></a>[pg 148]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.</h2>
+
+    <blockquote>
+        <p>The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently
+        sufficient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he
+        designated himself, "Ralph Erskine, V.D.M." The peasantry
+        throughout the North of England always called it "Erskine
+        Song;" and not only is his name given as the author in
+        numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of "Gospel
+        Sonnets," from an early copy of which this version is
+        transcribed. The discovery, however, by Mr. Collier of the
+        First Part in a MSS. temp. James I., with the initials
+        "G.W." affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine's claim to
+        the honor of the entire authorship. G.W. is supposed to be
+        George Wither; but this is purely conjectural, and it is
+        not at all improbable that G.W. really stands for W.G., as
+        it was a common practice among anonymous writers to reverse
+        their initials.</p>
+
+        <p>The history, then, of the poem seems to be this: that
+        the First Part, as it is now printed, originally
+        constituted the whole production, being complete in itself;
+        that the Second Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph
+        Erskine, and that both parts came subsequently to be
+        ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in
+        connection with the song. See "Ballads of the Peasantry,"
+        Bell's edition. Variants of this song will be found on
+        pages <a href="#page86">86</a> and
+        <a href="#page150">150</a> of the present collection; the
+        first is ascribed to George Wither, and the other is taken
+        from the first volume of "Pills to purge Melancholy."</p>
+    </blockquote>
+
+    <h4>PART I.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>This Indian weed, now withered quite.</p>
+
+            <p>Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Shows thy decay,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">All flesh is hay:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page149"
+               id="page149"></a>[pg 149]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe, so lily-like and weak,</p>
+
+            <p>Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Thou art e'en such&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Gone with a touch:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when the smoke ascends on high,</p>
+
+            <p>Then thou behold'st the vanity</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Of worldly stuff&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Gone with a puff:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And when the pipe grows foul within,</p>
+
+            <p>Think on thy soul defiled with sin;</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">For then the fire</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">It doth require:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And seest the ashes cast away,</p>
+
+            <p>Then to thyself thou mayest say,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">That to the dust</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Return thou must:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <h4>PART II.</h4>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Was this small plant for thee cut down?</p>
+
+            <p>So was the Plant of Great Renown,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Which Mercy sends</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">For nobler ends:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page150"
+               id="page150"></a>[pg 150]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Does juice medicinal proceed</p>
+
+            <p>From such a naughty foreign weed?</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Then what's the power</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Of Jesse's Flower?</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The promise, like the pipe, inlays,</p>
+
+            <p>And by the mouth of faith conveys</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">What virtue flows</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">From Sharon's Rose:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In vain the unlighted pipe you blow;</p>
+
+            <p>Your pains in outward means are so,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Till heavenly fire</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Your heart inspire:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The smoke, like burning incense, towers:</p>
+
+            <p>So should a praying heart of yours,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">With ardent cries,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Surmount the skies:</p>
+
+            <p>Thus think, and smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tobacco's but an Indian weed,</p>
+
+            <p>Grows green at morn, cut down at eve;</p>
+
+            <p>It shows decay; we are but clay;</p>
+
+            <p>Think of this when you smoke
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page151"
+               id="page151"></a>[pg 151]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe that is so lily white,</p>
+
+            <p>Wherein so many take delight,</p>
+
+            <p>Is broke with a touch,&mdash;man's life is such;</p>
+
+            <p>Think of this when you smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The pipe that is so foul within</p>
+
+            <p>Shows how man's soul is stained with sin,</p>
+
+            <p>And then the fire it doth require;</p>
+
+            <p>Think of this when you smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The ashes that are left behind</p>
+
+            <p>Do serve to put us all in mind</p>
+
+            <p>That unto dust return we must;</p>
+
+            <p>Think of this when you smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The smoke that does so high ascend</p>
+
+            <p>Shews us man's life must have an end;</p>
+
+            <p>The vapor's gone,&mdash;man's life is done;</p>
+
+            <p>Think of this when you smoke tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">From "<i>Pills to Purge Melancholy</i>."</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Let poets rhyme of what they will,</p>
+
+            <p>Youth, Beauty, Love, or Glory, still</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">My theme shall be Tobacco!</p>
+
+            <p>Hail, weed, eclipsing every flow'r,</p>
+
+            <p>Of thee I fain would make my bow'r,</p>
+
+            <p>When fortune frowns, or tempests low'r,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Mild comforter of
+            woe!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page152"
+               id="page152"></a>[pg 152]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They say in truth an angel's foot</p>
+
+            <p>First brought to life thy precious root,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The source of every pleasure!</p>
+
+            <p>Descending from the skies he press'd</p>
+
+            <p>With hallowed touch Earth's yielding breast;</p>
+
+            <p>Forth sprang the plant, and then was bless'd,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">As man's chief treasure!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Throughout the world who knows thee not?</p>
+
+            <p>Of palace and of lowly cot</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The universal guest,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew,</p>
+
+            <p>To all a stay, to none untrue,</p>
+
+            <p>The balm that can our ills subdue,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And soothe us into rest!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With thee the poor man can abide</p>
+
+            <p>Oppression, want, the scorn of pride,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The curse of penury.</p>
+
+            <p>Companion of his lonely state,</p>
+
+            <p>He is no longer desolate,</p>
+
+            <p>And still can brave an adverse fate</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">With honest worth and thee!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>All honor to the patriot bold</p>
+
+            <p>Who brought, instead of promised gold,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Thy leaf to Britain's shore.</p>
+
+            <p>It cost him life; but thou shalt raise</p>
+
+            <p>A cloud of fragrance to his praise,</p>
+
+            <p>And bards shall hail in deathless lays</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The valiant knight of
+            yore.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page153"
+               id="page153"></a>[pg 153]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time</p>
+
+            <p>Shall ring his last oblivious chime,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The fruitful theme of story;</p>
+
+            <p>And man in ages hence shall tell</p>
+
+            <p>How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,</p>
+
+            <p>When England sounded out thy knell,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And dimmed her ancient glory.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name</p>
+
+            <p>Unwithered in the scroll of fame,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And teach us to remember;</p>
+
+            <p>He gave with thee content and peace,</p>
+
+            <p>Bestow'd on life a longer lease,</p>
+
+            <p>And bidding every trouble cease,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Made summer of December.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">THOMAS JONES.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Some sigh for this and that,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My wishes don't go far;</p>
+
+            <p>The world may wag at will,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Some fret themselves to death</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With Whig and Tory jar;</p>
+
+            <p>I don't care which is in,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my
+            cigar.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page154"
+               id="page154"></a>[pg 154]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sir John requests my vote,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And so does Mr. Marr;</p>
+
+            <p>I don't care how it goes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Some want a German row,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Some wish a Russian war;</p>
+
+            <p>I care not. I'm at peace</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I never see the "Post,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I seldom read the "Star;"</p>
+
+            <p>The "Globe" I scarcely heed,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Honors have come to men</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My juniors at the Bar;</p>
+
+            <p>No matter&mdash;I can wait,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ambition frets me not;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A cab or glory's car</p>
+
+            <p>Are just the same to me,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I worship no vain gods,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But serve the household Lar;</p>
+
+            <p>I'm sure to be at home,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my
+            cigar.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page155"
+               id="page155"></a>[pg 155]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I do not seek for fame,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A general with a scar;</p>
+
+            <p>A private let me be,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>To have my choice among</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The toys of life's bazaar,</p>
+
+            <p>The deuce may take them all</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Some minds are often tost</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">By tempests like a tar;</p>
+
+            <p>I always seem in port,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The ardent flame of love,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My bosom cannot char,</p>
+
+            <p>I smoke but do not burn,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They tell me Nancy Low</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Has married Mr. R.;</p>
+
+            <p>The jilt! but I can live,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So I have my cigar.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">THOMAS
+    HOOD.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page156"
+       id="page156"></a>[pg 156]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>PIPE AND TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When my pipe burns bright and clear,</p>
+
+            <p>The gods I need not envy here;</p>
+
+            <p>And as the smoke fades in the wind,</p>
+
+            <p>Our fleeting life it brings to mind.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Noble weed! that comforts life,</p>
+
+            <p>And art with calmest pleasures rife;</p>
+
+            <p>Heaven grant thee sunshine and warm rain,</p>
+
+            <p>And to thy planter health and gain.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Through thee, friend of my solitude,</p>
+
+            <p>With hope and patience I'm endued,</p>
+
+            <p>Deep sinks thy power within my heart,</p>
+
+            <p>And cares and sorrows all depart.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Then let non-smokers rail forever;</p>
+
+            <p>Shall their hard words true friends dissever?</p>
+
+            <p>Pleasure's too rare to cast away</p>
+
+            <p>My pipe, for what the railers say!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me,</p>
+
+            <p>When friends are fled, thy presence charms me;</p>
+
+            <p>If thou art full, though purse be bare,</p>
+
+            <p>I smoke, and cast away all care!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>German Folk
+    Song.</i></p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page157"
+       id="page157"></a>[pg 157]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE LATEST CONVERT.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I've been in love some scores of times,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>To name them all would stretch my rhymes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">From here as far as Demerary.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But each has wed some other man,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Girls always do, I find, in real
+            life,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>And I am left alone to scan</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The horizon of my own ideal life.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I still survive. I was, I think,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Not born to run in double harness;</p>
+
+            <p>I did not shirk my food and drink</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">When Nellie married Harry Carnice.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But I am wedded to my pipe!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That faithful friend, nought can provoke
+            it;</p>
+
+            <p>Should it grow cold, I gently wipe</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke
+            it.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But it is sweet to kiss; and I</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Should love to kiss a wife and pet
+            her&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Her scowls through fragrant smoke look
+            better.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page158"
+               id="page158"></a>[pg 158]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's merry Maud&mdash;with her I'd dare</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To brave the matrimonial ocean;</p>
+
+            <p><i>She</i> would not pout or fret, but wear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A constant smile of sweet devotion.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>How know I that she will not change,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My wishes at defiance set? Oh!</p>
+
+            <p>(Pray this in smallest type arrange)</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">She smokes&mdash;at times&mdash;a
+            cigareto.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">F.W. LITTLETON HAY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I owe to smoking, more or less,</p>
+
+            <p>Through life the whole of my success;</p>
+
+            <p>With my cigar I'm sage and wise,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Without, I'm dull as cloudy skies.</p>
+
+            <p>When smoking, all my ideas soar,</p>
+
+            <p>When not, they sink upon the floor.</p>
+
+            <p>The greatest men have all been smokers,</p>
+
+            <p>And so were all the greatest jokers.</p>
+
+            <p>Then ye who'd bid adieu to care,</p>
+
+            <p>Come here and smoke it into air.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">How sweet for thee to know</p>
+
+            <p>King James, who never smoked on earth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is smoking down below.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page159"
+       id="page159"></a>[pg 159]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE SMOKER'S CALENDAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When January's cold appears,</p>
+
+            <p>A glowing pipe my spirit cheers;</p>
+
+            <p>And still it glads the length'ning day</p>
+
+            <p>'Neath February's milder sway.</p>
+
+            <p>When March's keener winds succeed,</p>
+
+            <p>What charms me like the burning weed</p>
+
+            <p>When April mounts the solar car,</p>
+
+            <p>I join him, puffing a cigar;</p>
+
+            <p>And May, so beautiful and bright,</p>
+
+            <p>Still finds the pleasing weed a-light.</p>
+
+            <p>To balmy zephyrs it gives zest</p>
+
+            <p>When June in gayest livery's drest.</p>
+
+            <p>Through July, Flora's offspring smile,</p>
+
+            <p>But still Nicotia's can beguile;</p>
+
+            <p>And August, when its fruits are ripe,</p>
+
+            <p>Matures my pleasure in a pipe.</p>
+
+            <p>September finds me in the garden,</p>
+
+            <p>Communing with a long churchwarden.</p>
+
+            <p>Even in the wane of dull October</p>
+
+            <p>I smoke my pipe and sip my "robar."</p>
+
+            <p>November's soaking show'rs require</p>
+
+            <p>The smoking pipe and blazing fire.</p>
+
+            <p>The darkest day in drear December's&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>That's lighted by their glowing embers.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">
+    ANON.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page160"
+       id="page160"></a>[pg 160]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As one who cons at evening o'er an album all
+            alone,</p>
+
+            <p>And muses on the faces of the friends that he has
+            known,</p>
+
+            <p>So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy
+            design</p>
+
+            <p>I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of
+            mine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of
+            surprise,</p>
+
+            <p>As I turn it low, to rest me of the dazzle in my
+            eyes,</p>
+
+            <p>And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems
+            to yoke</p>
+
+            <p>Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the
+            smoke.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>'Tis a fragrant retrospection, for the loving
+            thoughts that start</p>
+
+            <p>Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the
+            heart;</p>
+
+            <p>And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury
+            divine&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>When my truant fancies wander with that old
+            sweetheart of
+            mine.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page161"
+               id="page161"></a>[pg 161]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering
+            of wings,</p>
+
+            <p>The voices of my children and the mother as she
+            sings,</p>
+
+            <p>I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any
+            theme</p>
+
+            <p>When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a
+            dream.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a
+            charm</p>
+
+            <p>To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of
+            harm;</p>
+
+            <p>For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow
+            wine</p>
+
+            <p>That makes me drink the deeper to that old
+            sweetheart of mine.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy
+            grace,</p>
+
+            <p>Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the
+            vase;</p>
+
+            <p>And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure
+            eyes,</p>
+
+            <p>As glowing as the summer and as tender as the
+            skies.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little
+            checkered dress</p>
+
+            <p>She wore when first I kissed her, and she answered
+            the caress</p>
+
+            <p>With the written declaration that, "as surely as the
+            vine</p>
+
+            <p>Grew round the stump," she loved me,&mdash;that old
+            sweetheart of
+            mine!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page162"
+               id="page162"></a>[pg 162]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And again I feel the pressure of her slender little
+            hand,</p>
+
+            <p>As we used to talk together of the future we had
+            planned:</p>
+
+            <p>When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to
+            do</p>
+
+            <p>But write the tender verses that she set the music
+            to;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When we should live together in a cozy little
+            cot,</p>
+
+            <p>Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy
+            garden-spot,</p>
+
+            <p>Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather
+            ever fine,</p>
+
+            <p>And the birds were ever singing for that old
+            sweetheart of mine;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And I should be her lover forever and a day,</p>
+
+            <p>And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair
+            was gray;</p>
+
+            <p>And we should be so happy that when either's lips
+            were dumb</p>
+
+            <p>They would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss
+            had come.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the
+            stair,</p>
+
+            <p>And the door is softly opened, and my wife is
+            standing there!</p>
+
+            <p>Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I
+            resign</p>
+
+            <p>To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart
+            of mine.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">JAMES WHITCOMB
+    RILEY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page163"
+       id="page163"></a>[pg 163]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A PIPE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">Let the learned talk of books,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The glutton of cooks,</p>
+
+            <p>The lover of Celia's soft smack&mdash;O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">No mortal can boast</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">So noble a toast</p>
+
+            <p>As a pipe of accepted tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">Let the soldier for fame,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And a general's name,</p>
+
+            <p>In battle get many a thwack&mdash;O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Let who will have most,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Who will rule the rooste,</p>
+
+            <p>Give me but a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">Tobacco gives wit</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">To the dullest old cit,</p>
+
+            <p>And makes him of politics crack&mdash;O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">The lawyers i' the hall</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Were not able to bawl,</p>
+
+            <p>Were it not for a whiff of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">The man whose chief glory</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Is telling a story,</p>
+
+            <p>Had never arrived at the smack&mdash;O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Between ever heying,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">And as I was saying,</p>
+
+            <p>Did he not take a whiff of
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page164"
+               id="page164"></a>[pg 164]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">The doctor who places</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Much skill in grimaces,</p>
+
+            <p>And feels your pulse running tic-tack&mdash;O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Would you know his chief skill?</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">It is only to fill</p>
+
+            <p>And smoke a good pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">The courtiers alone</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">To this weed are not prone;</p>
+
+            <p>Would you know what 'tis makes them so
+            slack&mdash;O?</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">'Twas because it inclined</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">To be honest the mind,</p>
+
+            <p>And therefore they banished tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HENRY FIELDING.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.</p>
+
+            <p>What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?</p>
+
+            <p>In country or in town, on land or sea,</p>
+
+            <p>The weed is still delightful company.</p>
+
+            <p>In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,</p>
+
+            <p>We fly to thee for solace once again.</p>
+
+            <p>Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,</p>
+
+            <p>'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art
+            doom'd.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ANON.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic,</p>
+
+            <p>That rules half the world in a way quite
+            despotic;</p>
+
+            <p>So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry
+            tricks,</p>
+
+            <p>We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do
+            heretics.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page165"
+       id="page165"></a>[pg 165]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>TO MY CIGAR.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The warmth of thy glow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Well-lighted cigar,</p>
+
+            <p>Makes happy thoughts flow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And drives sorrow afar.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The stronger the wind blows,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The brighter thou burnest!</p>
+
+            <p>The dreariest of life's woes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Less gloomy thou turnest!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As I feel on my lip</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Thy unselfish kiss,</p>
+
+            <p>Like thy flame-colored tip,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">All is rosy-hued bliss.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>No longer does sorrow</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Lay weight on my heart;</p>
+
+            <p>And all fears of the morrow,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In joy-dreams depart.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Sweet cheerer of sadness!</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Life's own happy star!</p>
+
+            <p>I greet thee with gladness,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My friendly cigar!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">FRIEDRICH
+    MARC.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page166"
+       id="page166"></a>[pg 166]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CIGARS AND BEER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i6">Here</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">With my beer</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I sit,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While golden moments flit.</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Alas!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">They pass</p>
+
+            <p>Unheeded by;</p>
+
+            <p>And, as they fly,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">I,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Being dry,</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Sit idly sipping here</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">My beer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Oh, finer far</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Than fame or riches are</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The graceful smoke-wreaths of this
+            cigar!</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Why</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Should I</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Weep, wail, or sigh?</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">What if luck has passed me by?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What if my hopes are dead,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">My pleasures fled?</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">Have I not still</p>
+
+            <p class="i6">My fill</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of right good cheer,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Cigars and
+            beer?</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page167"
+               id="page167"></a>[pg 167]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Go, whining youth,</p>
+
+            <p>Forsooth!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Go, weep and wail,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Sigh and grow pale,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Weave melancholy rhymes</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">On the old times,</p>
+
+            <p>Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>But leave me to my beer!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Gold is dross,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Love is loss;</p>
+
+            <p>So, if I gulp my sorrows down,</p>
+
+            <p>Or see them drown</p>
+
+            <p>In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,</p>
+
+            <p>Then do I wear the crown</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Without a cross!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">GEORGE ARNOLD.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Your fame to raise,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Upon its blaze,</p>
+
+            <p>Alas! ye do but light your funeral pyre!</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Tempting Fate's stroke;</p>
+
+            <p>Ye fall, and all your glory ends in smoke.</p>
+
+            <p>Safe in my chair from wounds and woe,</p>
+
+            <p><i>My</i> fire and smoke from mine own mouth I
+            blow.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page168"
+               id="page168"></a>[pg 168]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ye booksellers! who deal, like me, in puffs,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The public smokes,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">You and your hoax,</p>
+
+            <p>And turns your empty vapor to rebuffs.</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Ye through the nose</p>
+
+            <p>Pay for each puff; when mine the same way flows,</p>
+
+            <p>It does not run me into debt;</p>
+
+            <p>And thus, the more I fume, the less I fret.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Authors! created to be puff'd to death,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">And fill the mouth</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Of some uncouth</p>
+
+            <p>Bookselling wight, who sucks your brains and
+            breath,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Your leaves thus far</p>
+
+            <p>(Without its fire) resemble my cigar;</p>
+
+            <p>But vapid, uninspired, and flat:</p>
+
+            <p>When, when, O Bards, will ye <i>compose</i> like
+            <i>that</i>?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Since life and the anxieties that share</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Our hopes and trust,</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Are smoke and dust,</p>
+
+            <p>Give me the smoke and dust that banish care.</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">The roll'd leaf bring,</p>
+
+            <p>Which from its ashes, Phoenix-like, can spring;</p>
+
+            <p>The fragrant leaf whose magic balm</p>
+
+            <p>Can, like Nepenthe, all our sufferings charm.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Oh, what supreme beatitude is this!</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">What soft and sweet</p>
+
+            <p class="i8">Sensations greet</p>
+
+            <p>My soul, and wrap it in Elysian
+            bliss!</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page169"
+               id="page169"></a>[pg 169]</span>
+
+            <p class="i8">I soar above</p>
+
+            <p>Dull earth in these ambrosial clouds, like Jove,</p>
+
+            <p>And from my empyrean height</p>
+
+            <p>Look down upon the world with calm delight.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HORACE SMITH.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Some praise taking snuff;</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And 'tis pleasant enough</p>
+
+            <p>To those who have got the right knack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">But give me, my boys,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Those exquisite joys,</p>
+
+            <p>A pot, and a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">When fume follows fume</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">To the top of the room,</p>
+
+            <p>In circles pursuing their track, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">How sweet to inhale</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">The health-giving gale</p>
+
+            <p>Of a pipe of Virginia tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Let soldiers so bold</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">For fame or for gold</p>
+
+            <p>Their enemies cut, slash, and hack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">We have fire and smoke,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Though all but in joke,</p>
+
+            <p>In a peaceable pipe of
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page170"
+               id="page170"></a>[pg 170]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Should a mistress, unkind,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Be inconstant in mind,</p>
+
+            <p>And on your affections look black, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Let her wherrit and tiff,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">'Twill blow off in a whiff,</p>
+
+            <p>If you take but a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">The miserly elf,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Who, in hoarding his pelf,</p>
+
+            <p>Keeps body and soul on the rack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Would he bless and be blest,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">He might open his chest</p>
+
+            <p>By taking a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Politicians so wise,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">All ears and all eyes</p>
+
+            <p>For news, till their addled pates crack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">After puzzling their brains,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Will not get for their pains</p>
+
+            <p>The worth of a pipe of tobacco</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">If your land in the claw</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Of a limb of the law</p>
+
+            <p>You trust, or your health to a quack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">'Tis fifty to one</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">They're both as soon gone</p>
+
+            <p>As you'd puff out a pipe of
+            tobacco.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page171"
+               id="page171"></a>[pg 171]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i4">Life's short, 'tis agreed;</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">So we'll try from the weed,</p>
+
+            <p>Of man a brief emblem to tack, O!</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">When his spirit ascends,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Die he must,&mdash;and he ends</p>
+
+            <p>In dust, like a pipe of tobacco.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>From "The Universal Songster, or Museum of
+    Mirth."</i></p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IF I WERE KING.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>If I were king, my pipe should be premier.</p>
+
+            <p>The skies of time and chance are seldom clear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">We would inform them all, with bland blue
+            weather.</p>
+
+            <p>Delight alone would need to shed a tear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For dream and deed should war no more
+            together.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit
+            for feather;</p>
+
+            <p>And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">If I were king.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But politics should find no harbour near;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The Philistine should fear to slip his
+            tether;</p>
+
+            <p>Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In fact, in room of this, the age of
+            leather,</p>
+
+            <p>An age of gold all radiant should appear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">If I were king.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">W.E.
+    HENLEY.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page172"
+       id="page172"></a>[pg 172]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum
+            pipes as well,</p>
+
+            <p>There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes&mdash;things jes
+            made to sell;</p>
+
+            <p>But any pipe that kin be bought fer marbles, chalk,
+            or pelf,</p>
+
+            <p>Ain't ekal to the flaver of th' pipe you make
+            yourself.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Jest take a common corn cob an' whittle out the
+            middle,</p>
+
+            <p>Then plug up one end of it as tight as any
+            fiddle;</p>
+
+            <p>Fit a stem into th' side an' lay her on th'
+            shelf,</p>
+
+            <p>An' when she's dry you take her down, that pipe you
+            made yourself.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Cram her full clar to th' brim with nachral leaf,
+            you bet&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>'T will smoke a trifle better for bein' somewhat
+            wet&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Take your worms and fishin' pole, and a jug along
+            for health,</p>
+
+            <p>An' you'll get a taste o' heaven from that pipe you
+            made
+            yourself.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page173"
+               id="page173"></a>[pg 173]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum
+            pipes as well,</p>
+
+            <p>There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes&mdash;things jes
+            made to sell;</p>
+
+            <p>But any pipe that kin be bought for marbles, chalk,
+            or pelf,</p>
+
+            <p>Ain't ekal to th' flayer of the pipe you make
+            yourself.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">HENRY E. BROWN.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>CHIBOUQUE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The pacha in his palace lolls at
+            ease;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Latakieh fumes his sensual palate
+            please,</p>
+
+            <p>While round-limbed almées dance near his divan.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Slaves lure away <i>ennui</i> with flowers and
+            fan;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he
+            sees,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In dreamy trance, those marvellous
+            mysteries</p>
+
+            <p>The prophet sings of in the Al-Korán!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Dart through the opal clouds like agile
+            deer,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With sensuous curves his fancy to
+            provoke,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who to his vague and drowsy mind
+            appear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in
+            smoke!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">FRANCIS S.
+    SALTUS.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page174"
+       id="page174"></a>[pg 174]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>IN ROTTEN ROW.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>In Rotten Row a cigarette</p>
+
+            <p>I sat and smoked, with no regret</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For all the tumult that had been.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The distances were still and green,</p>
+
+            <p>And streaked with shadows cool and wet.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Two sweethearts on a bench were set,</p>
+
+            <p>Two birds among the boughs were met;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">So love and song were heard and seen</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">In Rotten Row.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>A horse or two there was to fret</p>
+
+            <p>The soundless sand; but work and debt,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fair flowers and falling leaves
+            between,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">While clocks are chiming clear and
+            keen,</p>
+
+            <p>A man may very well forget</p>
+
+            <p class="i10">In Rotten Row.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">W.E. HENLEY.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>THE DUET.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I was smoking a cigarette;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,</p>
+
+            <p>Were singing together a blithe duet,</p>
+
+            <p>And days it were better I should forget</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Came suddenly back to me,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,</p>
+
+            <p>And to love and be loved was the sum of it
+            all.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page175"
+               id="page175"></a>[pg 175]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>As they sang together, the whole scene fled,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The room's rich hangings, the sweet home
+            air,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Stately Maud, with her proud blond
+            head,</p>
+
+            <p>And I seemed to see in her place instead</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A wealth of blue-black hair,</p>
+
+            <p>And a face, ah! your face&mdash;yours, Lisette;</p>
+
+            <p>A face it were wiser I should forget.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>We were back&mdash;well, no matter when or
+            where;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But you remember, I know, Lisette.</p>
+
+            <p>I saw you, dainty and debonair,</p>
+
+            <p>With the very same look that you used to wear</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In the days I should forget.</p>
+
+            <p>And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,</p>
+
+            <p>Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you
+            laughed.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Two small slippers with big rosettes</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Peeped out under your kilt-skirt
+            there,</p>
+
+            <p>While we sat smoking our cigarettes</p>
+
+            <p>(Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And singing that self-same air:</p>
+
+            <p>And between the verses, for interlude,</p>
+
+            <p>I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You were so full of a subtle fire,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">You were so warm and so sweet,
+            Lisette;</p>
+
+            <p>You were everything men admire;</p>
+
+            <p>And there were no fetters to make us tire,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">For you were&mdash;a pretty grisette.</p>
+
+            <p>But you loved as only such natures can,</p>
+
+            <p>With a love that makes heaven or hell for a
+            man.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page176"
+               id="page176"></a>[pg 176]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>They have ceased singing that old duet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.</p>
+
+            <p>"You are burning your coat with your cigarette,</p>
+
+            <p>And <i>qu'avez vous</i>, dearest, your lids are
+            wet,"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Maud says, as she leans o'er me.</p>
+
+            <p>And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,</p>
+
+            <p>"Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.</p>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>MY CIGARETTE.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Ma pauvre petite,</p>
+
+            <p>My little sweet,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Why do you cry?</p>
+
+            <p>Why this small tear,</p>
+
+            <p>So pure and clear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In each blue eye?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>"My cigarette&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>I 'm smoking yet?"</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">(I'll be discreet.)</p>
+
+            <p>I toss it, see,</p>
+
+            <p>Away from me</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Into the street.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>You see I do</p>
+
+            <p>All things for you.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Come, let us sup.</p>
+
+            <p>(But, oh, what joy</p>
+
+            <p>To be that boy</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who picked it up.)</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">TOM
+    HALL.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page177"
+       id="page177"></a>[pg 177]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A BACHELOR'S VIEWS.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">A pipe, a book,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A cosy nook,</p>
+
+            <p>A fire,&mdash;at least its embers;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A dog, a glass:&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Tis thus we pass</p>
+
+            <p>Such hours as one remembers.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">Who'd wish to wed?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Poor Cupid's dead</p>
+
+            <p>These thousand years, I wager.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The modern maid</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Is but a jade,</p>
+
+            <p>Not worth the time to cage her.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">In silken gown</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To "take" the town</p>
+
+            <p>Her first and last ambition.</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">What good is she</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To you or me</p>
+
+            <p>Who have but a "position"?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p class="i2">So let us drink</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">To her,&mdash;but think</p>
+
+            <p>Of him who has to keep her;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And <i>sans</i> a wife</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Let's spend our life</p>
+
+            <p>In bachelordom,&mdash;it's cheaper.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">TOM
+    HALL.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page178"
+       id="page178"></a>[pg 178]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>PIPES AND BEER.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Before I was famous I used to sit</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In a dull old under-ground room I
+            knew,</p>
+
+            <p>And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With a wild Bohemian friend or two.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And oh, it was joy to loiter thus,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">At peace in the heart of the city's
+            stir,</p>
+
+            <p>Entombed, while life hurried over us,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There was artist George, with the blond Greek
+            head,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the startling creeds, and the loose
+            cravat;</p>
+
+            <p>There was splenetic journalistic Fred,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Of the sharp retort and the shabby
+            hat;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>There was dreamy Frank, of the lounging gait,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Who lived on nothing a year, or less,</p>
+
+            <p>And always meant to be something great,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">But only meant, and smoked to excess;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And last myself, whom their funny sneers</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Annoyed no whit as they laughed and
+            said,</p>
+
+            <p>I listened to all their grand ideas</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And wrote them out for my daily
+            bread!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>The Teuton beer-bibbers came and went,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Night after night, and stared, good
+            folk,</p>
+
+            <p>At our table, noisy with argument,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And our chronic aureoles of
+            smoke.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page179"
+               id="page179"></a>[pg 179]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And oh, my life! but we all loved well</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The talk,&mdash;free, fearless, keen,
+            profound,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>The rockets of wit that flashed and fell</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In that dull old tavern under-ground!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But there came a change in my days at last,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And fortune forgot to starve and
+            stint,</p>
+
+            <p>And the people chose to admire aghast</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">The book I had eaten dirt to print.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And new friends gathered about me then,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">New voices summoned me there and
+            here;</p>
+
+            <p>The world went down in my dingy den,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And drew me forth from the pipes and
+            beer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I took the stamp of my altered lot,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As the sands of the certain seasons
+            ran,</p>
+
+            <p>And slowly, whether I would or not,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I felt myself growing a gentleman.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But now and then I would break the thrall,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I would yield to a pang of dumb
+            regret,</p>
+
+            <p>And steal to join them, and find them all,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With the amber wassail near them
+            yet,&mdash;</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Find, and join them, and try to seem</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">A fourth for the old queer merry
+            three,</p>
+
+            <p>With my fame as much of a yearning dream</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">As my morrow's dinner was wont to
+            be.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page180"
+               id="page180"></a>[pg 180]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>But the wit would lag, and the mirth would lack,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And the god of jollity hear no call,</p>
+
+            <p>And the prosperous broadcloth on my back</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Hung over their spirits like a pall!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It was not that they failed, each one, to try</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Their warmth of welcome to speak and
+            show;</p>
+
+            <p>I should just have risen and said good-bye,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With a haughty look, had they served me
+            so.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>It was rather that each would seem, instead,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With not one vestige of spleen or
+            pride,</p>
+
+            <p>Across a chasm of change to spread</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">His greeting hands to the further
+            side.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Like the echoes of other long-lost
+            words;</p>
+
+            <p>And the nights were no more the nights of old</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Than spring would be spring without the
+            birds!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">'Till I married the heiress, ending
+            here.</p>
+
+            <p>For if caste approves the cigars and wine,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">She must frown perforce upon pipes and
+            beer.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And now 'tis years since I saw these men,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Years since I knew them living yet.</p>
+
+            <p>And of this alone I am sure since then,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">That none has gained what he toiled to
+            get.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181"
+               id="page181"></a>[pg 181]</span>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>For I keep strict watch on the world of art,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">And George, with his wide, rich-dowered
+            brain!</p>
+
+            <p>His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in
+            vain.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And Fred, for all he may sparkle bright</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">In caustic column, in clever quip,</p>
+
+            <p>Of a truth must still be hiding his light</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Beneath the bushel of journalship.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And dreamy Frank must be dreaming still,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Lounging through life, if yet alive,</p>
+
+            <p>Smoking his vast preposterous fill,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Lounging, smoking, striving to
+            strive.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>And I, the fourth in that old queer throng,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Fourth and least, as my soul
+            avows,&mdash;</p>
+
+            <p>I alone have been counted strong,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">I alone have the laurelled brows!</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Well, and what has it all been worth?</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">May not my soul to my soul confess</p>
+
+            <p>That "succeeding," here upon earth,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Does not alway assume success?</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>I would cast, and gladly, from this gray head</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">Its crown, to regain one sweet lost
+            year</p>
+
+            <p>With artist George, with splenetic Fred,</p>
+
+            <p class="i2">With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and
+            beer!</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author">EDGAR
+    FAWCETT.</p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page182"
+       id="page182"></a>[pg 182]</span>
+    <hr />
+
+    <h2>A BACHELOR'S INVOCATION.</h2>
+
+    <div class="poem">
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>When all my plans have come to grief,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And every bill is due,</p>
+
+            <p>And every faith that's worth belief</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">Has proved itself untrue;</p>
+
+            <p>And when, as now, I've jilted been</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">By every girl I've met,</p>
+
+            <p>Ah! then I flee for peace to thee,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">My darling cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>Hail, sorceress! whose cloudy spells</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">About my senses driven,</p>
+
+            <p>Alone can loose their prison cells</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And waft my soul to heaven.</p>
+
+            <p>Above all earthly loves, I swear,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">I hold thee best&mdash;and yet,</p>
+
+            <p>Would I could see a match for thee,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">My darling cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+
+        <div class="stanza">
+            <p>With lips unstained to thee I bring</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">A lover's gentle kiss,</p>
+
+            <p>And woo thee, see, with this fair ring,</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">And this, and this, and this.</p>
+
+            <p>But ah, the rings no sooner cease</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">(Inconstant, vain coquette!)</p>
+
+            <p>Than, like the rest, thou vanishest</p>
+
+            <p class="i4">In smoke, my cigarette.</p>
+        </div>
+    </div>
+
+    <p class="author"><i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.</p>
+    <hr class="full" />
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Pipe and Pouch
+       The Smoker's Own Book of Poetry
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 3, 2005 [EBook #14887]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIPE AND POUCH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Newman, William Flis, and the PG Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: (Smoker)]
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND POUCH
+
+THE
+
+SMOKER'S OWN BOOK OF POETRY
+
+COMPILED BY
+
+JOSEPH KNIGHT
+
+[Illustration]
+
+BOSTON
+
+JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY
+
+1895
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+_COPYRIGHT, 1894,_
+
+BY JOSEPH KNIGHT.
+
+UNIVERSITY PRESS:
+
+JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+DEDICATED
+
+TO MY FRIEND AND FELLOW-SMOKER,
+
+WALTER MONTGOMERY JACKSON.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+This is an age of anthologies. Collections of poetry covering a wide
+range of subjects have appeared of late, and seem to have met with
+favor and approval. Not to the busy man only, but to the student of
+literature such compilations are of value. It is sometimes objected
+that they tend to discourage wide reading and original research; but
+the overwhelming flood of books would seem to make them a necessity.
+Unless one has the rare gift of being able to sprint through a book,
+as Andrew Lang says Mr. Gladstone does, it is surely well to make
+use of the labors of the industrious compiler. Such collections are
+often the result of wide reading and patient labor. Frequently the
+larger part is made up of single poems, the happy and perhaps only
+inspiration of the writer, gleaned from the poet's corner of the
+newspaper or the pages of a magazine. This is specially true of the
+present compilation, the first on the subject aiming at anything like
+completeness. Brief collections of prose and poetry combined have
+already been published; but so much of value has been omitted that
+there seemed to be room for a better book. A vast amount has been
+written in praise of tobacco, much of it commonplace or lacking in
+poetic quality. While some of the verse here gathered is an obvious
+echo, or passes into unmistakable parody, it has been the aim of
+the compiler to maintain, as far as possible, a high standard and
+include only the best. From the days of Raleigh to the present
+time, literature abounds in allusions to tobacco. The Elizabethan
+writers constantly refer to it, often in praise though sometimes
+in condemnation. The incoming of the "Indian weed" created a great
+furore, and scarcely any other of the New World discoveries was talked
+about so much. Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Fletcher, Spenser, Dekker, and
+many other of the poets and dramatists of the time, make frequent
+reference to it; and no doubt at the Mermaid tavern, pipes and tobacco
+found a place beside the sack and ale. Singular to say, Shakespeare
+makes no reference to it; and only once in his essay "Of Plantations,"
+as far as the compiler has been able to discover, does Bacon speak
+of it. Shakespeare's silence has been explained on the theory that
+he could not introduce any reference to the newly discovered plant
+without anachronism; but he did not often let a little thing of this
+kind stand in his way. It has been suggested, on the other hand, that
+he avoided all reference to it out of deference to King James I.,
+who wrote the famous "Counterblast." Whichever theory is correct,
+the fact remains, and it may be an interesting contribution to the
+Bacon-Shakespeare controversy. Queen Elizabeth never showed any
+hostility to tobacco; but her successors, James I. and the two
+Charleses, and Cromwell were its bitter opponents. Notwithstanding
+its enemies, who just as fiercely opposed the introduction of tea
+and coffee, its use spread over Europe and the world, and prince
+and peasant alike yielded to its mild but irresistible sway. Poets
+and philosophers drew solace and inspiration from the pipe. Milton,
+Addison, Fielding, Hobbes, and Newton were all smokers. It is said
+Newton was smoking under a tree in his garden when the historic apple
+fell. Scott, Campbell, Byron, Hood, and Lamb all smoked, and Carlyle
+and Tennyson were rarely without a pipe in their mouths. The great
+novelists, Thackeray, Dickens, and Bulwer were famous smokers; and so
+were the great soldiers, Napoleon, Bluecher, and Grant. While nearly
+all the poems here gathered together were written, and perhaps could
+only have been written, by smokers, several among the best are the
+work of authors who never use the weed,--one by a man, two or three
+by women. Among the more recent writers there has been no more devoted
+smoker than Mr. Lowell, as his recently published letters testify.
+Three of the most delightful poems in praise of smoking are his, and
+with Mr. Aldrich's charming "Latakia" are the gems of the collection.
+The compiler desires to express his grateful acknowledgments to
+friends who have permitted him to use their work and have otherwise
+aided him from time to time; and to the many unknown authors whose
+poems are here gathered, and whom it was quite impossible to reach;
+and to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Company, Harper & Brothers, The
+Bowen-Merrill Company, and the publishers of "Outlook," for their
+gracious permission to include copyrighted poems.
+
+J.K.
+
+BOSTON, July, 1894.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+A.
+
+                                 PAGE
+  Acrostic      _J.H._      44
+  Ad Nicotina      _E.N.S._      118
+  Another Match      _Cope's Tobacco Plant_      45
+  Ashes      _De Witt Sterry_      47
+
+B.
+
+  Bachelor's Invocation, A      _Pall Mall Gazette_      182
+  Bachelor's Views, A      _Tom Hall_      177
+  Bachelor's Soliloquy      _Cigar and Tobacco World_      95
+  Ballad of the Pipe, The      _Hermann Rave_      69
+  Ballade of Tobacco, The      _Brander Matthews_      54
+  Betrothed, The      _Rudyard Kipling_      108
+  Brief Puff of Smoke, A      _Selim_      19
+
+C.
+
+  Cannon Song      _H.P. Peck_      85
+  Chibouque      _Francis S. Saltus_      173
+  Choosing a wife by a Pipe of Tobacco      _Gentleman's Magazine_
+          48
+  Cigar, The      _Thomas Hood_      153
+  Cigarette Rings      _J. Ashby-Sterry_      147
+  Cigars and Beer      _George Arnold_      166
+  Clouds      _Bauernfeld_      52
+  Confession of a Cigar Smoker      _Anon._      158
+
+D.
+
+  Discovery of Tobacco      _Cigar and Tobacco World_      64
+  Dreamer's Pipe, The      _New Orleans Times Democrat_      96
+  Duet, The      _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_      174
+
+E.
+
+  Edifying Reflections of a Tobacco Smoker      _Translated from the
+          German_      58
+  Effusion by a Cigar Smoker      _Horace Smith_      167
+  Encomium on Tobacco, An      _Anon._      36
+  Epitaph      _Anon._      17
+
+F.
+
+  Farewell to Tobacco, A      _Charles Lamb_      100
+  Farmer's Pipe, The      _George Cooper_      7
+  Forsaken of all comforts      _Sir Robert Ayton_      140
+  Free Puff, A      _Arthur Irving Gray_      121
+  Friend of my youth      _Anon._      164
+
+G.
+
+  Geordie to his Tobacco Pipe      _George S. Phillips_      25
+  Glass is Good, A      _John O'Keefe_      94
+  Good Cigar, A      _Norris Bull_      93
+
+H.
+
+  Happy Smoking Ground, The      _Richard Le Gallienne_      145
+  Her Brother's Cigarette      _Anon._      79
+  He Respondeth      _Life_      55
+  How it Once Was      _New York Sun_      78
+
+I.
+
+  If I were King      _W.E. Henley_      171
+  I like Cigars      _Ella Wheeler Wilcox_      121
+  In Favor of Tobacco      _Samuel Rowlands_      52
+  Ingin Summer      _Eva Wilder McGlasson_      57
+  Inscription for a Tobacco Jar      _Cope's Tobacco Plant_      12
+  In Rotten Row      _W.E. Henley_      174
+  In the ol' Tobacker Patch      _S.Q. Lapius_      80
+  In the smoke of my dear cigarito      _Camilla K. von K._      92
+  Invocation to Tobacco      _Henry James Mellen_      31
+  In wreaths of Smoke      _Frank Newton Holman_      46
+  It may be Weeds      _Anon._      23
+
+K.
+
+  "Keats took Snuff"      _The Globe_      68
+  Knickerbocker      _Austin Dobson_      63
+
+L.
+
+  Last Pipe, The      _London Spectator_      12
+  Latakia      _T.B. Aldrich_      142
+  Latest Comfort, The      _F.W. Littleton Hay_      157
+  Loss, A      _Judy_      128
+  Lost Lotus, The      _Anon._      60
+
+M.
+
+  Maecenas Bids his Friend to Dine      _Anon._      81
+  Meerschaum      _Wrongfellow_      119
+  Motto for a Tobacco Jar      _Anon._      12
+  My After-Dinner Cloud      _Henry S. Leigh_      143
+  My Cigar      _Arthur W. Gundry_      2
+  My Cigarette      _Richard Barnard_      52
+  My Cigarette      _Charles F. Lummis_      113
+  My Cigarette      _Tom Hall_      176
+  My Friendly Pipe      _Detroit Tribune_      94
+  My Little Brown Pipe      _Amelia E. Barr_      138
+  My Meerschaum Pipe      _Johnson M. Mundy_      123
+  My Meerschaums      _Charles F. Lummis_      131
+  My Pipe      _German Smoking Song_      7
+  My Pipe and I      _Elton J. Buckley_      106
+  My Three Loves      _Henry S. Leigh_      50
+
+O.
+
+  Ode of Thanks, A      _James Russell Lowell_      33
+  Ode to My Pipe      _Andrew Wynter_      14
+  Ode to Tobacco      _Daniel Webster_      95
+  Ode to Tobacco      _C.S. Calverly_      134
+  Old Clay Pipe, The      _A.B. Van Fleet_      71
+  Old Pipe of Mine      _John J. Gormley_      83
+  Old Sweetheart of Mine, An      _James Whitcomb Riley_      165
+  On a Broken Pipe      _Anon._      112
+  On a Tobacco Jar      _Bernard Barker_      38
+  On Receipt of a Rare Pipe      _W.H.B._      135
+
+P.
+
+  Patriotic Smoker's Lament      _St. James Gazette_      41
+  Pernicious Weed      _William Cowper_      73
+  Pipe and Tobacco      _German Folk Song_      156
+  Pipe Critic, The      _Walter Littlefield_      115
+  Pipe of Tobacco, A      _John Usher_      15
+  Pipe of Tobacco, A      _Henry Fielding_      163
+  Pipes and Beer      _Edgar Fawcett_      178
+  Pipe you make Yourself, The      _Henry E. Brown_      172
+  Poet's Pipe, The      _Charles Baudelaire_      2
+  Pot and a Pipe of Tobacco, A      _Universal Songster_      169
+
+S.
+
+  Scent of a good Cigar, The      _Kate A. Carrington_      61
+  Seasonable Sweets      _C._      23
+  Sic Transit      _W.B. Anderson_      108
+  Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth      _Anon._      158
+  Smoke and Chess      _Samuel W. Duffield_      10
+  Smoke is the Food of Lovers      _Jacob Cats_      51
+  Smoker's Reverie, The      _Anon._      17
+  Smoker's Calendar, The      _Anon._      159
+  Smoke Traveller, The      _Irving Browne_      #74
+  Smoking Away      _Francis Miles Finch_      98
+  Smoking Song      _Anon._      77
+  Smoking Spiritualized      _Ralph Erskine_      148
+  Song of the Smoke-Wreaths      _L.T.A._      9
+  Song without a Name, A      _W. Lloyd_      117
+  Sublime Tobacco      _Lord Byron_      97
+  Sweet Smoking Pipe      _Anon._      146
+  Symphony in Smoke, A      _Harper's Bazaar_      22
+
+T.
+
+  Those Ashes      _R.K. Munkittrick_      130
+  Titlepage Dedication      _Anon._      44
+  To an Old Pipe      _De Witt Sterry_      43
+  To a Pipe of Tobacco      _Gentleman's Magazine_      91
+  Tobacco      _George Wither_      86
+  Tobacco      _Thomas Jones_      151
+  Tobacco is an Indian Weed      _From "Pills to Purge Melancholy"_
+          150
+  Tobacco, some say      _Anon._      164
+  To C.F. Bradford      _James Russell Lowell_      5
+  To My Cigar      _Charles Sprague_      62
+  To My Cigar      _Friedrich Marc_      165
+  To My Meerschaum      _P.D.R._      82
+  Too Great a Sacrifice      _Anon._      90
+  To see her Pipe Awry      _C.F._      55
+  To the Rev. Mr. Newton      _William Cowper_      126
+  To the Tobacco Pipe      _The Meteor, London_      39
+  True Leucothoe, The      _Anon._      129
+  'Twas off the Blue Canaries      _Joseph Warren Fabens_      140
+  Two other Hearts      _London Tobacco_      73
+
+V.
+
+  Valentine, A      _Anon._      113
+  Virginia's kingly Plant      _Anon._      87
+  Virginia Tobacco      _Stanley Gregson_      31
+
+W.
+
+  Warning, A      _Arthur Lovell_      124
+  What I Like      _H.L._      131
+  Winter Evening Hymn to My Fire, A      _James Russell Lowell_
+          105
+  With Pipe and Book      _Richard Le Gallienne_      1
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND POUCH
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WITH PIPE AND BOOK.
+
+
+  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.
+
+  And though one's eyes will dream astray,
+  And lips forget to sue or sway,
+  It is "enough to merely be,"
+    With Pipe and Book.
+
+  What though our modern skies be gray,
+  As bards aver, I will not pray
+  For "soothing Death" to succor me,
+  But ask this much, O Fate, of thee,
+  A little longer yet to stay
+    With Pipe and Book.
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.
+
+
+
+
+A POET'S PIPE.
+
+_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._
+
+
+  A poet's pipe am I,
+  And my Abyssinian tint
+  Is an unmistakable hint
+  That he lays me not often by.
+  When his soul is with grief o'erworn
+  I smoke like the cottage where
+  They are cooking the evening fare
+  For the laborer's return.
+
+  I enfold and cradle his soul
+  In the vapors moving and blue
+  That mount from my fiery mouth;
+  And there is power in my bowl
+  To charm his spirit and soothe,
+  And heal his weariness too.
+
+RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGAR.
+
+
+  In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy,
+  And for every little pleasure has some pathologic bogy,
+  Who will bear with no small vices, and grows dismally prophetic
+  If I wander from the weary way of virtue dietetic;
+
+  In spite of dire forewarnings that my brains will all be scattered,
+  My memory  extinguished, and my nervous system shattered,
+  That my hand will take to trembling, and  my heart begin to flutter,
+  My  digestion turn a rebel to my very bread and butter;
+
+  As I puff this mild Havana, and its ashes slowly lengthen,
+  I feel my courage gather and my resolution strengthen:
+  I will smoke, and I will praise you, my cigar, and I will light you
+  With tobacco-phobic pamphlets by the learned prigs who fight you!
+
+  Let him who has a mistress to her eyebrow write a sonnet,
+  Let the lover of a lily pen a languid ode upon it;
+  In such sentimental subjects I'm a Philistine and cynic,
+  And prefer the inspiration drawn from sources nicotinic.
+
+  So I sing of you, dear product of (I trust you are) Havana,
+  And if there's any question as to how my verses scan, a
+  Reason is my shyness in the Muses' aid invoking,
+  As, like other ancient maidens, they perchance object to smoking.
+
+  I have learnt with you the wisdom of contemplative quiescence,
+  While the world is in a ferment of unmeaning effervescence,
+  That its jar and rush and riot bring no good one-half so sterling
+  As your fleecy clouds of fragrance that are now about me curling.
+
+  So, let stocks go up or downward, and let politicians wrangle,
+  Let the parsons and philosophers grope in a wordy tangle,
+  Let those who want them scramble for their dignities or dollars,
+  Be millionnaires or magnates, or senators or scholars.
+
+  I will puff my mild Havana, and I quietly will query,
+  Whether, when the strife is over, and the combatants are weary,
+  Their gains will be more brilliant than its faint expiring flashes,
+  Or more solid than this panful of its dead and sober ashes.
+
+ARTHUR W. GUNDRY.
+
+
+
+
+TO C.F. BRADFORD.
+
+_ON THE GIFT OF A MEERSCHAUM PIPE._
+
+
+  The pipe came safe, and welcome, too,
+  As anything must be from you;
+  A meerschaum pure, 'twould float as light
+  As she the girls called Amphitrite.
+  Mixture divine of foam and clay,
+  From both it stole the best away:
+  Its foam is such as crowns the glow
+  Of beakers brimmed by Veuve Clicquot;
+  Its clay is but congested lymph
+  Jove chose to make some choicer nymph;
+  And here combined,--why, this must be
+  The birth of some enchanted sea,
+  Shaped to immortal form, the type
+  And very Venus of a pipe.
+
+  When high I heap it with the weed
+  From Lethe wharf, whose potent seed
+  Nicotia, big from Bacchus, bore
+  And cast upon Virginia's shore,
+  I'll think,--So fill the fairer bowl
+  And wise alembic of thy soul,
+  With herbs far-sought that shall distil,
+  Not fumes to slacken thought and will,
+  But bracing essences that nerve
+  To wait, to dare, to strive, to serve.
+
+  When curls the smoke in eddies soft,
+  And hangs a shifting dream aloft,
+  That gives and takes, though chance-designed,
+  The impress of the dreamer's mind,
+  I'll think,--So let the vapors bred
+  By passion, in the heart or head,
+  Pass off and upward into space,
+  Waving farewells of tenderest grace,
+  Remembered in some happier time,
+  To blend their beauty with my rhyme.
+
+  While slowly o'er its candid bowl
+  The color deepens (as the soul
+  That burns in mortals leaves its trace
+  Of bale or beauty on the face),
+  I'll think,--So let the essence rare
+  Of years consuming make me fair;
+  So, 'gainst the ills of life profuse,
+  Steep me in some narcotic juice;
+  And if my soul must part with all
+  That whiteness which we greenness call,
+  Smooth back, O Fortune, half thy frown,
+  And make me beautifully brown!
+
+  Dream-forger, I refill thy cup
+  With reverie's wasteful pittance up,
+  And while the fire burns slow away,
+  Hiding itself in ashes gray,
+  I'll think,--As inward Youth retreats,
+  Compelled to spare his wasting heats,
+  When Life's Ash-Wednesday comes about,
+  And my head's gray with fires burnt out,
+  While stays one spark to light the eye,
+  With the last flash of memory,
+  'Twill leap to welcome C.F.B.,
+  Who sent my favorite pipe to me.
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+
+
+
+MY PIPE.
+
+
+  When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me;
+  When friends are fled, thy presence charms me.
+  If thou art full, though purse be bare,
+  I smoke, and cast away all care!
+
+_German Smoking Song._
+
+
+
+
+THE FARMER'S PIPE.
+
+
+  Make a picture, dreamy smoke,
+    In my still and cosey room;
+  From the fading past evoke
+    Forms that breathe of summer's bloom.
+
+  Bashful Will and rosy Nell--
+    Ah, I watch them now at play
+  By the mossy wayside well
+    As I did twelve years to-day.
+
+  We were younger then, my pipe:
+    You are dingy now and worn;
+  And my fruit is more than ripe,
+    And my fields are brown and shorn.
+
+  Nell has merry eyes of blue,
+    And is timid, pure, and mild;
+  Will is fair and brave and true,
+    And a neighboring farmer's child.
+
+  Little maid is busy, too,
+    Making rare, fictitious pies,
+  Just as any wife would do,
+    Looking, meanwhile, wondrous wise.
+
+  Drawing water from the well,
+    Delving sand upon the hill,
+  Going here and there for Nell,--
+    That's her helpmate, willing Will.
+
+  Yonder, in the waning light,
+    Hand in hand the truants come,
+  Nell so fearful lest the night
+    Should fall around her far from home.
+
+  Fading, fading, skyward flies
+    This joy-picture you have limned;
+  Pipe of mine, the quiet skies
+    Of my life you leave undimmed.
+
+  Nell and Will are lovers now;
+    There they stray in dying light.
+  That's a kiss! Ah, well, somehow
+    Nell's no more afraid at night!
+
+GEORGE COOPER.
+
+
+
+
+SONG OF THE SMOKE-WREATHS.
+
+_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._
+
+
+  Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
+    Not like mists that mask the sea,
+  Not like vapors round the fountains,--
+    Soft and clear and warm are we.
+
+  Hear the tempest, how its minions
+    Tear the clouds and heap the snows!
+  No storm-rage is in our pinions;
+    Who knows us, 'tis peace he knows.
+
+  Soaring from the burning censers,
+    Stealing forth through all the air,
+  Hovering as the mild dispensers
+    Over you of blisses rare,
+
+  Softly float we, softly blend we,
+    Tinted from the deep blue sky,
+  Scented from the myrrh-lands, bend we
+    Downward to you ere we die.
+
+  Ease we bring, and airy fancies,
+    Sober thoughts with visions gay,
+  Peace profound with daring glances
+    Through the clouds to endless day.
+
+  Not like clouds that cap the mountains,
+    Not like mists that mask the sea,
+  Not like vapors round the fountains,--
+    Soft and clear and warm are we.
+
+L.T.A., in _London Society_.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKE AND CHESS.
+
+
+  We were sitting at chess as the sun went down;
+  And he, from his meerschaum's glossy brown,
+  With a ring of smoke made his king a crown.
+
+  The cherry stem, with its amber tip,
+  Thoughtfully rested on his lip,
+  As the goblet's rim from which heroes sip.
+
+  And, looking out through the early green,
+  He called on his patron saint, I ween,--
+  That misty maiden, Saint Nicotine,--
+
+  While ever rested that crown so fair,
+  Poised in the warm and pulseless air,
+  On the carven chessman's ivory hair.
+
+  Dreamily wandered the game along,
+  Quietly moving at even-song,
+  While the striving kings stood firm and strong,
+
+  Until that one which of late was crowned
+  Flinched from a knight's determined bound,
+  And in sullen majesty left the ground,
+
+  Reeling back; and it came to pass
+  That, waiting to mutter no funeral mass,
+  A bishop had dealt him the _coup de grace_.
+
+  And so, as we sat, we reasoned still
+  Of fate and of fortune, of human will,
+  And what are the purposes men fulfil.
+
+  For we see at last, when the truth arrives,
+  The moves on the chess-board of our lives,--
+  That fields may be lost, though the king survives.
+
+  Not always he whom the world reveres
+  Merits its honor or wins its cheers,
+  Standing the best at the end of the years.
+
+  Not always he who has lost the fight
+  Rises again with the coming light,
+  Battles anew for his ancient right.
+
+SAMUEL W. DUFFIELD.
+
+
+
+
+INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise,
+  You'll find _a jar_ the gates of Paradise.
+
+_Copes Tobacco Plant._
+
+
+
+
+MOTTO FOR A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Come! don't refuse sweet Nicotina's aid,
+    But woo the goddess through a yard of clay;
+  And soon you'll own she is the fairest maid
+    To stifle pain, and drive old Care away.
+  Nor deem it waste; what though to ash she burns,
+  If for your outlay you get good returns!
+
+
+
+
+THE LAST PIPE.
+
+
+  When head is sick and brain doth swim,
+  And heavy hangs each unstrung limb,
+  'Tis sweet through smoke-puffs, wreathing slow,
+  To watch the firelight flash or glow.
+  As each soft cloud floats up on high,
+  Some worry takes its wings to fly;
+  And Fancy dances with the flame,
+  Who lay so labor-crammed and lame;
+  While the spent Will, the slack Desire,
+  Re-kindle at the dying fire,
+  And burn to meet the morrow's sun
+  With all its day's work to be done.
+
+  The tedious tangle of the Law,
+  Your work ne'er done without some flaw;
+  Those ghastly streets that drive one mad,
+  With children joyless, elders sad,
+  Young men unmanly, girls going by
+  Bold-voiced, with eyes unmaidenly;
+  Christ dead two thousand years agone,
+  And kingdom come still all unwon;
+  Your own slack self that will not rise
+  Whole-hearted for the great emprise,--
+  Well, all these dark thoughts of the day
+  As thin smoke's shadow drift away.
+
+  And all those magic mists unclose,
+  And a girl's face amid them grows,--
+  The very look she's wont to wear,
+  The wild rose blossoms in her hair,
+  The wondrous depths of her pure eyes,
+  The maiden soul that 'neath them lies,
+  That fears to meet, yet will not fly,
+  Your stranger spirit drawing nigh.
+  What if our times seem sliding down?
+  She lives, creation's flower and crown.
+  What if your way seems dull and long?
+  Each tiny triumph over wrong,
+  Each effort up through sloth and fear,
+  And she and you are brought more near.
+  So rapping out these ashes light,--
+  "My pipe, you've served me well to-night."
+
+_London Spectator_.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO MY PIPE.
+
+
+  O Blessed pipe,
+  That now I clutch within my gripe,
+  What joy is in thy smooth, round bowl,
+          As black as coal!
+
+  So sweetly wed
+  To thy blanched, gradual thread,
+  Like Desdemona to the Moor,
+          Thou pleasure's core.
+
+  What woman's lip
+  Could ever give, like thy red tip,
+  Such unremitting store of bliss,
+          Or such a kiss?
+
+  Oh, let me toy,
+  Ixion-like, with cloudy joy;
+  Thy stem with a most gentle slant
+          I eye askant!
+
+  Unseen, unheard,
+  Thy dreamy nectar is transferred,
+  The while serenity astride
+          Thy neck doth ride.
+
+  A burly cloud
+  Doth now thy outward beauties shroud:
+  And now a film doth upward creep,
+          Cuddling the cheek.
+
+  And now a ring,
+  A mimic silver quoit, takes wing;
+  Another and another mount on high,
+          Then spread and die.
+
+  They say in story
+  That good men have a crown of glory;
+  O beautiful and good, behold
+          The crowns unfold!
+
+  How did they live?
+  What pleasure could the Old World give
+  That ancient miserable lot
+          When thou wert not?
+
+  Oh, woe betide!
+  My oldest, dearest friend hath died,--
+  Died in my hand quite unaware,
+          Oh, Baccy rare!
+
+ANDREW WYNTER.
+
+
+
+
+A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale,
+    Or with alcohol moisten his thrapple,
+  Only give me, I pray, a good pipe of soft clay,
+    Nicely tapered and thin in the stapple;
+  And I shall puff, puff, let who will say, "Enough!"
+    No luxury else I'm in lack o',
+  No malice I hoard 'gainst queen, prince, duke, or lord,
+    While I pull at my pipe of tobacco.
+
+  When I feel the hot strife of the battle of life,
+    And the prospect is aught but enticin',
+  Mayhap some real ill, like a protested bill,
+    Dims the sunshine that tinged the horizon:
+  Only let me puff, puff,--be they ever so rough,
+    All the sorrows of life I lose track o',
+  The mists disappear, and the vista is clear,
+    With a soothing mild pipe of tobacco.
+
+  And when joy after pain, like the sun after rain,
+    Stills the waters, long turbid and troubled,
+  That life's current may flow with a ruddier glow,
+    And the sense of enjoyment be doubled,--
+  Oh! let me puff, puff, till I feel _quantum suff._,
+    Such luxury still I'm in lack o';
+  Be joy ever so sweet, it would be incomplete,
+    Without a good pipe of tobacco.
+
+  Should my recreant muse--sometimes apt to refuse
+    The guidance of bit and of bridle--
+  Still blankly demur, spite of whip and spur,
+    Unimpassioned, inconstant, or idle;
+  Only let me puff, puff, till the brain cries, "Enough!"
+    Such excitement is all I'm in lack o',
+  And the poetic vein soon to fancy gives rein,
+    Inspired by a pipe of tobacco.
+
+  And when, with one accord, round the jovial board,
+    In friendship our bosoms are glowing,
+  While with toast and with song we the evening prolong,
+    And with nectar the goblets are flowing;
+  Still let us puff, puff,--be life smooth, be it rough,
+    Such enjoyment we're ever in lack o';
+  The more peace and good-will will abound as we fill
+    A jolly good pipe of tobacco.
+
+JOHN USHER.
+
+
+
+
+EPITAPH
+
+_ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DESIRED THAT TOBACCO MIGHT BE PLANTED OVER HER
+GRAVE._
+
+
+  Let no cold marble o'er my body rise--
+  But only earth above, and sunny skies.
+  Thus would I lowly lie in peaceful rest,
+  Nursing the Herb Divine from out my breast.
+  Green let it grow above this clay of mine,
+  Deriving strength from strength that I resign.
+  So in the days to come, when I'm beyond
+  This fickle life, will come my lovers fond,
+  And gazing on the plant, their grief restrain
+  In whispering, "Lo! dear Anna blooms again!"
+
+
+
+
+THE SMOKER'S REVERIE.
+
+(_OCTOBER._)
+
+
+  I'm sitting at dusk 'neath the old beechen tree,
+  With its leaves by the autumn made ripe;
+  While they cling to the stems like old age unto life,
+  I dream of the days when I'll rest from this strife,
+    And in peace smoke my brierwood pipe.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe!--of bright fancy the twin,
+    What a medley of forms you create;
+  Every puff of white smoke seems a vision as fair
+  As the poet's bright dream, and like dreams fades in air,
+    While the dreamer dreams on of his fate.
+
+  The fleecy white clouds that now float in the sky,
+    Form the visions I love most to see;
+  Fairy shapes that I saw in my boyhood's first dreams
+  Seem to beckon me on, while beyond them there gleams
+    A bright future, in waiting for me.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe! I ne'er loved thee as now,
+    As that fair form and face steal above;
+  See, she beckons me on to where roses are spread,
+  And she points to my fancy the bright land ahead,
+    Where the winds whisper nothing but love.
+
+  Oh, answer, my pipe, shall my dream be as fair
+    When it changes to dreams of the past?
+  When autumn's chill winds make this leaf look as sere
+  As the leaves on the beech-tree that shelters me here,
+    Will the tree's _heart_ be chilled by the blast?
+
+  While musing, around me has gathered a heap
+    Of the leaflets, all dying and dead;
+  And I see in my reverie plainly revealed
+  The slope of life's hill, in my boyhood concealed
+    By the forms that fair fancy had bred.
+
+  While I sit on the banks of the beautiful stream,
+    Picking roses that bloom by its side,
+  I know that the shallop will certainly come,
+  When the roses are withered, to carry me home,
+    And that life will go out with the tide.
+
+  O my brierwood pipe! may the heart be as light
+  When memory supplanteth the dream;
+  When the sun has gone down may the sunbeam remain,
+  And life's roses, though dead, all their fragrance retain,
+    Till they catch at Eternity's gleam.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+A BRIEF PUFF OF SMOKE.
+
+
+  Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig,
+  Ne'er deemed the smoke-cloud _infra dig._,
+  In which you could not see his wig,
+          Involved in clouds of smoke.
+
+  Quaint Lamb his wit would oft enshroud
+  In smoke-igniting laughter loud,
+  Like summer thunder in the cloud,--
+          The lightning in the smoke.
+
+  Dean Swift "died at the top;" his head
+  Had drifting clouds when wit had fled:
+  Dull care lurked in his brain, instead
+          Of blowing out in smoke.
+
+  And Cowper mild--no smoker he,
+  Bard of the sofa and bohea--
+  Complained his "dear friend Bull" not free
+          From lowering Stygian smoke.
+
+  Clouds in his non-inebriate nob
+  Were doomed the tea tables to rob,
+  Inflicting many a painful throb
+          On one who could not smoke!
+
+  Smoke on! it is the steam of life,
+  The smoother of the waves of strife;
+  Where chimneys smoke, or scolds the wife,
+          The counteraction--smoke.
+
+  We ride and work and weave by steam,
+  Till ages past seem like a dream
+  In a new world whose dawning beam
+          Is redolent of smoke.
+
+  We travel like a comet wild
+  On which some distant sun had smiled,
+  And from his orbit thus beguiled
+          With a long tail of smoke.
+
+  The clouds arise from smoking seas,
+  And give, with each conveying breeze,
+  Life to the "weed," and herbs, and trees,
+          Which turn again to smoke.
+
+  All nations smoke! Havana's pother
+  Smokes friendly with its Broseley brother:
+  The world's one end puffs to the other,
+          In amicable smoke.
+
+  When plague and pestilence go forth,
+  And to diseases dire give birth,
+  Which walk in darkness through the earth,
+          I clothe myself in smoke.
+
+  I smoke through desolating years,
+  Tabooed from fever, void of fears,
+  And when some dreaded pest appears,
+          I call in Doctor Smoke.
+
+  Go, reader! perfume ladies' hair
+  And scent the ringlets of the fair
+  With eau Cologne and odors rare
+          Aloof from healthy smoke.
+
+  Go babble at the ball and rout,
+  And smirk with high-born dames who doubt:
+  Thy flames are quenched, thy fires are out,
+          And sinking into smoke.
+
+  "Better," said Johnson, great in name,
+  "It were, when poets droop in fame,
+  To see smoke brighten into flame,
+          Than flames sink into smoke."
+
+SELIM: _Eclectic Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+A SYMPHONY IN SMOKE.
+
+
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,
+  Who likes to muse and take her ease,
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette;
+
+  To dream in silken hammockette,
+  And sing and swing beneath the trees,
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.
+
+  Her Christian name is Violet;
+  Her eyes are blue as summer skies;
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  As calm as babe in bassinette,
+  She swingeth in the summer breeze,
+  A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.
+
+  She ponders o'er a novelette;
+  Her parasol is Japanese;
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  She loves a fume without a fret;
+  Her frills are white, her frock _cerise_,--
+  A pretty, pouting, piquant pet.
+
+  She almost goes to sleep, and yet,
+  Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,
+  She loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+  A winsome, clever, cool coquette,
+  Who flouts all Grundian decrees,--
+  pretty, pouting, piquant pet,
+  That loves to smoke a cigarette.
+
+_Harper's Bazaar_.
+
+
+
+
+IT MAY BE WEEDS.
+
+
+  It may be weeds
+    I've gathered too;
+  But even weeds may be
+    As fragrant as
+    The fairest flower
+  With some sweet memory.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+SEASONABLE SWEETS.
+
+"_DON'T BE FLOWERY, JACOB._"--CHARLES DICKENS.
+
+
+  When the year is young, what sweets are flung
+    By the violets, hiding, dim,
+  And the lilac that sways her censers high,
+    Whilst the skylark chants a hymn!
+  How sweet is the scent of the daffodil bloom,
+    When blithe spring decks each spray,
+  And the flowering thorn sheds rare perfume
+    Through the beautiful month of May!
+  What a dainty pet is the mignonette,
+    Whose sweets wide scattered are!
+  But sweeter to me than all these yet
+    Is the scent of a prime cigar!
+
+  Delicious airs waft the fields of June,
+    When the beans are all in flower;
+  The woodruff is fragrant in the hedge,
+    And the woodbine in the bower.
+  Sweet eglantine doth her garlands twine
+    For the blithe hours as they run,
+  And balmily sighs the meadow-sweet,
+    That is all in love with the sun,
+  Whilst new-mown hay o'er the hedgerows gay
+    Flings odorous airs afar;
+  Yet sweeter than these on the passing breeze
+    Is the scent of a prime cigar.
+
+  When all the beauties of Flora's court
+    Smile on the gay parterre,
+  What glorious color, what exquisite form,
+    And dainty scents are there!
+  They bask in the beam, and bend by the stream,
+    Like beautiful nymphs at play,
+  Holding dew-pearls up in each nectar cup
+    To the glorious God of Day.
+  Oh, their lives are sweet, but all too brief,
+    And death doth their sweetness mar;
+  But fragrance fine is forever thine,
+    My well-beloved cigar!
+
+C.
+
+
+
+
+GEORDIE TO HIS TOBACCO-PIPE.
+
+
+  Good pipe, old friend, old black and colored friend,
+  Whom I have smoked these fourteen years and more,
+  My best companion, faithful to the end,
+  Faithful to death through all thy fiery core,
+
+  How shall I sing thy praises, or proclaim
+  The generous virtues which I've found in thee?
+  I know thou carest not a whit for fame,
+  And hast no thought but how to comfort me,
+
+  And serve my needs, and humor every mood;
+  But love and friendship do my heart constrain
+  To give thee all I can for much of good
+  Which thou hast rendered me in joy and pain.
+
+  Say, then, old honest meerschaum! shall I weave
+  Thy history together with my own?
+  Of late I never see thee but I grieve
+  For him whose gift thou wert--forever gone!
+
+  Gone to his grave amidst the vines of France,
+  He, all so good, so beautiful, and wise;
+  And this dear giver doth thyself enhance,
+  And makes thee doubly precious in mine eyes.
+
+  For he was one of Nature's rarest men,--
+  Poet and preacher, lover of his kind,
+  True-hearted man of God, whose like again
+  In this world's journey I may never find.
+
+  I know not if the shadow of his soul,
+  Or the divine effulgence of his heart,
+  Has through thy veins in mystic silence stole;
+  But thou to me dost seem of him a part.
+
+  His hands have touched thee, and his lips have drawn,
+  As mine, full many an inspiring cloud
+  From thy great burning heart, at night and morn;
+  And thou art here, whilst he lies in his shroud!
+
+  And here am I, his friend and thine, old pipe!
+  And he has often sat my chair beside,
+  As he was wont to sit in living type,
+  Of many companies the flower and pride,--
+
+  Sat by my side, and talked to me the while,
+  Invisible to every eye save mine,
+  And smiled upon me as he used to smile
+  When we three sat o'er our good cups of wine.
+
+  Ah, happy days, when the old Chapel House,
+  Of the old Forest Chapel, rang with mirth,
+  And the great joy of our divine carouse,
+  As we hobnobbed it by the blazing hearth!
+
+  We never more, old pipe, shall see those days,
+  Whose memories lie like pictures in my mind;
+  But thou and I will go the self-same ways,
+  E'en though we leave all other friends behind.
+
+  And for thy sake, and for my own, and his,
+  We will be one, as we have ever been,
+  Thou dear old friend, with thy most honest phiz,
+  And no new faces come our loves between.
+
+
+II.
+
+  Thou hast thy separate virtues, honest pipe!
+  Apart from all the memory of friends:
+  For thou art mellow, old, and black, and ripe;
+  And the good weed that in its smoke ascends
+
+  From thy rare bowl doth scent the liberal air
+  With incense richer than the woods of Ind.
+  E'en to the barren palate of despair
+  (Inhaled through cedar tubes from glorious Scinde!)
+
+  It hath a charm would quicken into life,
+  And make the heart gush out in streams of love,
+  And the earth, dead before, with beauty rife,
+  And full of flowers as heaven of stars above.
+
+  It is thy virtue and peculiar gift,
+  Thou sooty wizard of the potent weed;
+  No other pipe can thus the soul uplift,
+  Or such rare fancies and high musings breed.
+
+  I've tried full many of thy kith and kind,
+  Dug from thy native Asiatic clay,
+  Fashioned by cunning hand and curious mind
+  Into all shapes and features, grave and gay,--
+
+  Black niggers' heads with their white-livered eyes
+  Glaring in fiery horror through the smoke,
+  And monstrous dragons stained with bloody dyes,
+  And comelier forms; but all save thee I broke.
+
+  For though, like thee, each pipe was black and old,
+  They were not wiser for their many years,
+  Nor knew thy sorcery though set in gold,
+  Nor had thy tropic taste,--these proud compeers!
+
+  Like great John Paul, who would have loved thee well,
+  Thou art the "only one" of all thy race;
+  Nor shall another comrade near thee dwell,
+  Old King of pipes! my study's pride and grace!
+
+
+III.
+
+  Thus have I made "assurance doubly sure,"
+  And sealed it twice, that thou shalt reign alone!
+  And as the dainty bee doth search for pure,
+  Sweet honey till his laden thighs do groan
+
+  With their sweet burden, tasting nothing foul,
+  So thou of best tobacco shalt be filled;
+  And when the starry midnight wakes the owl,
+  And the lorn nightingale her song has trilled,
+
+  I, with my lamp and books, as is my wont,
+  Will give thee of the choicest of all climes,--
+  Black Cavendish, full-flavored, full of juice,
+  Pale Turkish, famed through all the Osman times,
+
+  Dark Latakia, Syrian, Persia's pride,
+  And sweet Virginian, sweeter than them all!
+  Oh, rich bouquet of plants! fit for a bride
+  Who, blushing, waits the happy bridegroom's call!
+
+  And these shall be thy food, thy dainty food,
+  And we together will their luxury share,
+  Voluptuous tumults stealing through the blood,
+  Voluptuous visions filling all the air!
+
+  I will not thee profane with impious shag,
+  Nor poison thee with nigger-head and twist,
+  Nor with Kentucky, though the planters brag
+  That it hath virtues all the rest have missed.
+
+  These are for porters, loafers, and the scum,
+  Who have no sense for the diviner weeds,
+  Who drink their muddy beer and muddier rum,
+  Insatiate, like dogs in all their greeds.
+
+  But not for thee nor me these things obscene;
+  We have a higher pleasure, purer taste.
+  My draughts have been with thee of hippocrene,
+  And our delights intelligent and chaste.
+
+
+IV.
+
+  Intelligent and chaste since we have held
+  Commune together on the world's highway;
+  No Falstaff failings have my mind impelled
+  To do misdeeds of sack by night or day;
+
+  But we have ever erred on virtue's side--
+  At least we should have done--but woe is me!
+  I fear in this my statement I have lied,
+  For ghosts, like moonlight shadows on the sea,
+
+  Crowd thick around me from the shadowy past,--
+  Ghosts of old memories reeling drunk with wine!
+  And boon companions, Lysius-like, and vast
+  In their proportions as the god divine.
+
+  I do confess my sins, and here implore
+  The aid of "Rare Old Ben" and other ghosts
+  That I may sin again, but rarely more,
+  Responsive only unto royal toasts.
+
+  For, save these sins, I am a saintly man,
+  And live like other saints on prayer and praise,
+  My long face longer, if life be a span,
+  Than any two lives in these saintly days.
+
+  So let me smoke and drink and do good deeds,
+  And boast the doing like a Pharisee;
+  Am I not holy if I love the creeds,
+  Even though my drinking sins choke up the sea?
+
+GEORGE S. PHILLIPS (JANUARY SEARLE): _The Gypsies of the Dane's Dike._
+
+
+
+
+INVOCATION TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth,
+  Killer of dulness, parent of mirth,
+  Come in the sad hour, come in the gay,
+  Appear in the night, or in the day,--
+  Still thou art welcome as June's blooming rose,
+  Joy of the palate, delight of the nose.
+
+  Weed of the green field, weed of the wild,
+  Fostered in freedom, America's child,
+  Come in Virginia, come in Havana,
+  Friend of the universe, sweeter than manna,--
+  Still thou art welcome, rich, fragrant, and ripe,
+  Pride of the tube-case, delight of the pipe.
+
+  Weed of the savage, weed of each pole,
+  Comforting, soothing, philosophy's soul,
+  Come in the snuff-box, come in cigar,
+  In Strasburgh and King's, come from afar,--
+  Still thou art welcome, the purest, the best,
+  Joy of earth's millions, forever carest.
+
+HENRY JAMES MELLEN.
+
+
+
+
+VIRGINIA TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Two maiden dames of sixty-two
+    Together long had dwelt;
+  Neither, alas! of love so true
+    The bitter pang had felt.
+
+  But age comes on, they say, apace,
+    To warn us of our death,
+  And wrinkles mar the fairest face,--
+    At last it stops our breath.
+
+  One of these dames tormented sore
+    With that curst pang, toothache,
+  Was at a loss for such a bore
+    What remedy to take.
+
+  "I've heard," thought she, "this ill to cure,
+    A pipe is good, they say.
+  Well then, tobacco I'll endure,
+    And smoke the pain away."
+
+  The pipe was lit, the tooth soon well,
+    And she retired to rest,
+  When then the other ancient belle
+    Her spinster maid addressed,--
+
+  "Let me request a favor, pray"--
+    "I'll do it if I can"--
+  "Oh! well, then, love, smoke every day,
+    _You smell so like a man!_"
+
+Attributed to JOHN STANLEY GREGSON.
+
+
+
+
+AN ODE OF THANKS FOR CERTAIN CIGARS.
+
+_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._
+
+
+  Luck, my dear Norton, still makes shifts,
+  To mix a mortal with her gifts,
+  Which he may find who duly sifts.
+
+  Sweets to the sweet,--behold the clue!
+  Why not, then, new things to the gnu,
+  And trews to Highland clansmen true?
+
+  'Twas thus your kindly thought decreed
+  These weeds to one who is indeed,
+  And feels himself, a very weed,--
+
+  A weed from which, when bruised and shent,
+  Though some faint perfume may be rent,
+  Yet oftener much without a cent.
+
+  But imp, O Muse, a stronger wing
+  Mount, leaving self below, and sing
+  What thoughts these Cuban exiles bring!
+
+  He that knows aught of mythic lore
+  Knows how god Bacchus wandered o'er
+  The earth, and what strange names he bore.
+
+  The Bishop of Avranches supposes
+  That all these large and varying doses
+  Of fable mean naught else than Moses;
+
+  But waiving doubts, we surely know
+  He taught mankind to plough and sow,
+  And from the Tigris to the Po
+
+  Planted the vine; but of his visit
+  To this our hemisphere, why is it
+  We have no statement more explicit?
+
+  He gave to us a leaf divine
+  More grateful to the serious Nine
+  Than fierce inspirings of the vine.
+
+  And that _he_ loved it more, this proved,--
+  He gave his name to what he loved,
+  Distorted now, but not removed.
+
+  Tobacco, sacred herb, though lowly,
+  Baffles old Time, the tyrant, wholly,
+  And makes him turn his hour-glass slowly;
+
+  Nay, makes as 'twere of every glass six,
+  Whereby we beat the heathen classics
+  With their weak Chians and their Massics.
+
+  These gave his glass a quicker twist,
+  And flew the hours like driving mist,
+  While Horace drank and Lesbia kissed.
+
+  How are we gainers when all's done,
+  If Life's swift clepsydra have run
+  With wine for water? 'Tis all one.
+
+  But this rare plant delays the stream
+  (At least if things are what they seem)
+  Through long eternities of dream.
+
+  What notes the antique Muse had known
+  Had she, instead of oat-straws, blown
+  Our wiser pipes of clay or stone!
+
+  Rash song, forbear! Thou canst not hope,
+  Untutored as thou art, to cope
+  With themes of such an epic scope.
+
+  Enough if thou give thanks to him
+  Who sent these leaves (forgive the whim)
+  Plucked from the dream-tree's sunniest limb.
+
+  My gratitude feels no eclipse,
+  For I, whate'er my other slips,
+  Shall have his kindness on my lips.
+
+  The prayers of Christian, Turk, and Jew
+  Have one sound up there in the blue,
+  And one smell all their incense, too.
+
+  Perhaps that smoke with incense ranks
+  Which curls from 'mid life's jars and clanks,
+  Graceful with happiness and thanks.
+
+  I pledge him, therefore, in a puff,--
+  rather frailish kind of stuff,
+  But still professional enough.
+
+  Hock-cups breed hiccups; let us feel
+  The god along our senses steel
+  More nobly and without his reel.
+
+  Each temperately 'baccy _plenus_,
+  May no grim fate of doubtful genus
+  E'er blow the smallest cloud between us.
+
+  And as his gift I shall devote
+  To fire, and o'er their ashes gloat,--
+  Let him do likewise with this note.
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+[From "The Letters of James Russell Lowell." Copyright, 1893, by
+Harper & Brothers.]
+
+
+
+
+AN ENCOMIUM ON TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight,
+  And thus produce so rich a Margarite!
+  It is the fountain whence all pleasure springs,
+  A potion for imperial and mighty kings.
+
+  He that is master of so rich a store
+  May laugh at Croesus and esteem him poor;
+  And with his smoky sceptre in his fist,
+  Securely flout the toiling alchemist,
+  Who daily labors with a vain expense
+  In distillations of the quintessence,
+  Not knowing that this golden herb alone
+  Is the philosopher's admired stone.
+
+  It is a favor which the gods doth please,
+  If they do feed on smoke, as Lucian says.
+  Therefore the cause that the bright sun doth rest
+  At the low point of the declining west--
+  When his oft-wearied horses breathless pant--
+  Is to refresh himself with this sweet plant,
+  Which wanton Thetis from the west doth bring,
+  To joy her love after his toilsome ring:
+  For 'tis a cordial for an inward smart,
+  As is dictamnum to the wounded hart.
+  It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe;
+  'Tis like the thorn that doth on Pelion grow,
+  With which whoe'er his frosty limbs anoints,
+  Shall feel no cold in fat or flesh or joints.
+  'Tis like the river, which whoe'er doth taste
+  Forgets his present griefs and sorrows past.
+  Music, which makes grim thoughts retire,
+  And for a while cease their tormenting fire,--
+  Music, which forces beasts to stand and gaze,
+  And fills their senseless spirits with amaze,--
+  Compared to this is like delicious strings,
+  Which sound but harshly while Apollo sings.
+  The train with this infumed, all quarrel ends,
+  And fiercest foemen turn to faithful friends;
+  The man that shall this smoky magic prove,
+  Will need no philtres to obtain his love.
+
+  Yet the sweet simple, by misordered use,
+  Death or some dangerous sickness may produce.
+  Should we not for our sustentation eat
+  Because a surfeit comes from too much meat?
+  So our fair plant--that doth as needful stand
+  As heaven, or fire, or air, or sea, or land;
+  As moon, or stars that rule the gloomy night,
+  Or sacred friendship, or the sunny light--
+  Her treasured virtue in herself enrolls,
+  And leaves the evil to vainglorious souls.
+  And yet, who dies with this celestial breath
+  Shall live immortal in a joyful death.
+  All goods, all pleasures it in one can link--
+  'Tis physic, clothing, music, meat, and drink.
+
+  Gods would have revell'd at their feasts of mirth
+  With this pure distillation of the earth;
+  The marrow of the world, star of the West,
+  The pearl whereby this lower orb is blest;
+  The joy of mortals, umpire of all strife,
+  Delight of nature, mithridate of life;
+  The daintiest dish of a delicious feast,
+  By taking which man differs from a beast.
+
+ANONYMOUS: _Time, James I._
+
+
+
+
+ON A TOBACCO JAR.
+
+
+  Three hundred years ago or soe,
+    One worthy knight and gentlemanne
+  Did bring me here, to charm and chere,
+    To physical and mental manne.
+  God bless his soule who filled ye bowle,
+    And may our blessings find him;
+  That he not miss some share of blisse
+    Who left soe much behind him.
+
+BERNARD BARKER.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE TOBACCO PIPE.
+
+
+  Dear piece of fascinating clay!
+  'Tis thine to smooth life's rugged way,
+  To give a happiness unknown
+  To those--who let a pipe alone;
+  Thy tube can best the vapors chase,
+  By raising--others in their place;
+  Can give the face staid Wisdom's air,
+  And teach the lips--to ope with care;
+  'Tis hence thou art the truest friend
+  (Where least is said there's least to mend),
+  And he who ventures many a joke
+  Had better oft be still and smoke.
+
+  Whatever giddy foplings think,
+  Thou giv'st the highest zest to drink.
+  When fragrant clouds thy fumes exhale,
+  And hover round the nut-brown ale,
+  Who thinks of claret or champagne?
+  E'en burgundy were pour'd in vain.
+
+  'Tis not in city smoke alone,
+  Midst fogs and glooms thy charms are known.
+  With thee, at morn, the rustic swain
+  Tracks o'er the snow-besprinkled plain,
+  To seek some neighb'ring copse's side,
+  And rob the woodlands of their pride:
+  With thee, companion of his toil,
+  His active spirits ne'er recoil;
+  Though hard his daily task assign'd,
+  He bears it with an equal mind.
+
+  The fisher 'board some little bark,
+  When all around is drear and dark,
+  With shortened pipe beguiles the hour,
+  Though bleak the wind and cold the show'r,
+  Nor thinks the morn's approach too slow,
+  Regardless of what tempests blow.
+  Midst hills of sand, midst ditches, dikes,
+  Midst cannons, muskets, halberts, pikes;
+  With thee, as still, Mynheer can stay,
+  As Neddy 'twixt two wisps of hay;
+  Heedless of Britain and of France,
+  Smokes on--and looks to the main chance.
+
+  And sure the solace thou canst give
+  Must make thy fame unrivalled live,
+  So long as men can temper clay
+  (For as thou art, e'en so are they),
+  The sun mature the Indian weed,
+  And rolling years fresh sorrows breed.
+
+From _The Meteors_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.
+
+
+  Tell me, shade of Walter Raleigh,
+    Briton of the truest type,
+  When that too devoted valet
+    Quenched your first-recorded pipe,
+  Were you pondering the opinion,
+    As you watched the airy coil,
+  That the virtue of Virginia
+    Might be bred in British soil?
+
+  You transplanted the potato,
+    'Twas a more enduring gift
+  Than the wisdom of a Plato
+    To our poverty and thrift.
+  That respected root has flourished
+    Nobly for a nation's need,
+  But our brightest dreams are nourished
+    Ever on a foreign weed.
+
+  From the deepest meditation
+    Of the philosophic scribe,
+  From the poet's inspiration,
+    For the cynic's polished gibe,
+  We invoke narcotic nurses
+    In their jargon from afar,
+  I indite these modest verses
+    On a polyglot cigar.
+
+  Leaf that lulls a Turkish Aga
+    May a scholar's soul renew,
+  Fancy spring from Larranaga,
+    History from honey-dew.
+  When the teacher and the tyro
+    Spirit-manna fondly seek,
+  'Tis the cigarette from Cairo,
+    Or a compound from the Greek.
+
+  But no British-born aroma
+    Is fit incense to the Queen,
+  Nature gives her best diploma
+    To the alien nicotine.
+  We are doomed to her ill-favor,
+    For the plant that's native grown
+  Has a patriotic flavor
+    Too exclusively our own.
+
+  O my country, could your smoker
+    Boast your "shag," or even "twist,"
+  Every man were mediocre
+    Save the blest tobacconist!
+  He will point immortal morals,
+    Make all common praises mute,
+  Who shall win our grateful laurels
+    With a national cheroot.
+
+_The St. James Gazette_.
+
+
+
+
+TO AN OLD PIPE.
+
+
+  Once your smoothly polished face
+  Nestled lightly in a case;
+  'Twas a jolly cosy place,
+            I surmise;
+
+  And a zealous subject blew
+  On your cheeks, until they grew
+  To the fascinating hue
+            Of her eyes.
+
+  Near a rusty-hilted sword,
+  Now upon my mantel-board,
+  Where my curios are stored,
+            You recline.
+
+  You were pleasant company when
+  By the scribbling of her pen
+  I was sent the ways of men
+            To repine.
+
+  Tell me truly (you were there
+  When she ceased that debonair
+  Correspondence and affair)
+            I suppose
+
+  That she laughed and smiled all day;
+  Or did gentle tear-drops stray
+  Down her charming _retroussee_
+            Little nose?
+
+  Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
+  Fall upon the mantel-sill,
+  You perpetually will
+            Silence woo;
+
+  And I fear that she herself,
+  By the little chubby elf.
+  Will be laid upon the shelf
+            Just as you.
+
+DE WITT STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.
+
+  "Let those smoke now who never smoked before,
+  And those who always smoked--now smoke the more."
+
+
+
+
+ACROSTIC.
+
+  To thee, blest weed, whose sovereign wiles,
+  O'er cankered care bring radiant smiles,
+  Best gift of Love to mortals given!
+  At once the bud and bliss of Heaven!
+  Crownless are kings uncrowned by thee;
+  Content the serf in thy sweet liberty,
+  O charm of life! O foe to misery!
+
+J.H.
+
+
+
+
+ANOTHER MATCH.
+
+_AFTER A.C. SWINBURNE._
+
+
+  If love were dhudeen olden,
+    And I were like the weed,
+  Oh! we would live together
+  And love the jolly weather,
+  And bask in sunshine golden,
+    Rare pals of choicest breed;
+  If love were dhudeen olden,
+    And I were like the weed.
+
+  If you were oil essential,
+    And I were nicotine,
+  We'd hatch up wicked treason,
+  And spoil each smoker's reason,
+  Till he grew penitential,
+    And turned a bilious green;
+  If you were oil essential,
+    And I were nicotine.
+
+  If you were snuff, my darling,
+    And I, your love, the box.
+  We'd live and sneeze together,
+  Shut out from all the weather,
+  And anti-snuffers snarling,
+    In neckties orthodox;
+  If you were snuff, my darling,
+    And I, your love, the box.
+
+  If you were the aroma,
+    And I were simply smoke,
+  We'd skyward fly together,
+  As light as any feather;
+  And flying high as Homer,
+    His gray old ghost we'd choke;
+  If you were the aroma,
+    And I were simply smoke.
+
+From _Cope's Tobacco Plant_.
+
+
+
+
+IN WREATHS OF SMOKE.
+
+
+  In wreaths of smoke, blown waywardwise,
+      Faces of olden days uprise,
+      And in his dreamers revery
+    They haunt the smoker's brain, and he
+  Breathes for the past regretful sighs.
+
+      Mem'ries of maids, with azure eyes,
+      In dewy dells, 'neath June's soft skies,
+        Faces that more he'll only see
+          In wreaths of smoke.
+
+  Eheu, eheu! how fast Time flies,--
+  How youth-time passion droops and dies,
+    And all the countless visions flee!
+    How worn would all those faces be,
+  Were they not swathed in soft disguise
+        In wreaths of smoke!
+
+FRANK NEWTON HOLMAN.
+
+
+
+
+ASHES.
+
+
+  Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown,
+  Alone I puff my brier brown,
+  And watch the ashes settle down
+      In lambent flashes;
+  While thro' the blue, thick, curling haze,
+  I strive with feeble eyes to gaze,
+  Upon the half-forgotten days
+      That left but ashes.
+
+  Again we wander through the lane,
+  Beneath the elms and out again,
+  Across the rippling fields of grain,
+      Where softly flashes
+  A slender brook 'mid banks of fern,
+  At every sigh my pulses burn,
+  At every thought I slowly turn
+      And find but ashes.
+
+  What made my fingers tremble so,
+  As you wrapped skeins of worsted snow,
+  Around them, now with movements slow
+      And now with dashes?
+  Maybe 'tis smoke that blinds my eyes,
+  Maybe a tear within them lies;
+  But as I puff my pipe there flies
+      A cloud of ashes.
+
+  Perhaps you did not understand,
+  How lightly flames of love were fanned.
+  Ah, every thought and wish I've planned
+      With something clashes!
+  And yet within my lonely den
+  Over a pipe, away from men,
+  I love to throw aside my pen
+      And stir the ashes.
+
+DE WITT STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+CHOOSING A WIFE BY A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Tube, I love thee as my life;
+  By thee I mean to choose a wife.
+  Tube, thy _color_ let me find,
+  In her _skin_, and in her _mind_.
+  Let her have a _shape_ as fine;
+  Let her breath be sweet as thine;
+  Let her, when her lips I kiss,
+  _Burn_ like thee, to give me bliss;
+  Let her, in some _smoke_ or other,
+  All my failings kindly smother.
+  Often when my thoughts are _low_,
+  Send them where they ought to go;
+  When to study I incline,
+  Let her aid be such as thine;
+  Such as thine the charming power
+  In the vacant social hour.
+  Let her live to give delight,
+  Ever _warm_ and ever _bright_;
+  Let her deeds, whene'er she dies,
+  Mount as incense to the skies.
+
+_Gentleman's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+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 vanish 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.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKE IS THE FOOD OF LOVERS.
+
+
+  When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose
+  Was just the very one you might suppose.
+  Love keep a shop?--his trade, oh! quickly name!
+  A dealer in tobacco--fie, for shame!
+  No less than true, and set aside all joke,
+  From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke;
+  Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made;
+  Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade;
+  His capital all smoke, smoke all his store,
+  'Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no more--
+  And thousands enter daily at his door!
+  Hence it was ever, and it e'er will be
+  The trade most suited to his faculty:
+  Fed by the vapors of their heart's desire,
+  No other food his votaries require;
+  For that they seek--the favor of the fair--
+  Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.
+
+JACOB CATS: _Moral Emblems_.
+
+
+
+
+CLOUDS.
+
+
+  Mortals say their heart is light
+  When the clouds around disperse;
+  Clouds to gather, thick as night,
+  Is the smoker's universe.
+
+_From the German of Bauernfeld_.
+
+
+
+
+IN FAVOR OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Much victuals serves for gluttony
+  To fatten men like swine;
+  But he's a frugal man indeed
+  That with a leaf can dine,
+  And needs no napkin for his hands,
+  His fingers' ends to wipe,
+  But keeps his kitchen in a box,
+  And roast meat in a pipe.
+
+SAMUEL ROWLANDS: _Knave of Clubs_ (1611).
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+_WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD_.
+
+
+  To my sweet cigarette I am singing
+    This joyous and bright bacca-role;
+  Just now to my lips she was clinging,
+    Her spirit was soothing my soul.
+  With figure so slender and dapper
+    I feel the soft touch of it yet,
+  Adorned in her dainty white wrapper,
+    How fair is my own cigarette!
+        'Twere better, perhaps, that we part, love;
+        'Twere better, if never we'd met.
+        Alas, you are part of my heart, love,
+        Destructive but sweet cigarette!
+
+  Though matchless, by matches she's fired,
+    And glows both with pleasure and pride;
+  By her soft, balmy breath I'm inspired,
+    And kiss and caress my new bride.
+  E'en the clouds of her nature are joyous,
+    Though other clouds cause us regret;
+  From worry and care they decoy us,
+    The clouds of a sweet cigarette.
+        'Twere better, etc.
+
+  The houris in paradise living
+    Dissolve in the first love embrace,
+  Their life to their love freely giving,--
+    And so with my love 'tis the case;
+  For when her life's last spark is flying,
+    Still sweet to the end is my pet,
+  Who helps me, although she is dying,
+    To light up a fresh cigarette!
+        'Twere better, etc.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLADE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  When verdant youth sees life afar,
+    And first sets out wild oats to sow,
+  He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,
+    And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co.
+  He likes not smoking yet; but though
+    Tobacco makes him sick indeed,
+  Cigars and wine he can't forego,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+  In time his tastes more dainty are
+    And delicate. Become a beau,
+  From out the country of the czar
+    He brings his cigarettes, and lo!
+  He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.
+    Thus keener relish shall succeed
+  The baser liking we outgrow,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed
+
+  When age and his own lucky star
+    To him perfected wisdom show,
+  The schooner glides across the bar,
+    And beer for him shall freely flow;
+  A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,
+    To which he turns in direst need,
+  To seek in smoke surcease of woe,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+
+
+
+ENVOI.
+
+
+  Smokers, who doubt or con or pro,
+    And ye who dare to drink, take heed!
+  And see in smoke a friendly foe,--
+    A slave is each man to the weed.
+
+BRANDER MATTHEWS.
+
+
+
+
+HE RESPONDETH.
+
+
+SHE.
+
+  You still persist in using,
+    I observe with great regret,
+  The needlessly expensive
+          Cigarette.
+
+
+  HE.
+
+  You should set a good example;
+    But you seem to quite forget
+  That you use a thirty-dollar
+          Vinaigrette.
+
+_Life._
+
+
+
+
+TO SEE HER PIPE AWRY.
+
+
+  Betty bouncer kept a stall
+    At the corner of a street,
+  And she had a smile for all.
+    Many were the friends she'd greet
+  With kindly nod on passing by,
+  Who, smiling, saw her pipe awry.
+
+  Poor old lass! she loved her pipe,
+    A constant friend it seemed to be;
+  As she sold her apples ripe,
+    With an apple on each knee,
+  How she'd make the smoke-wreaths fly,
+  As I've watched her pipe awry!
+
+  Seasons came and seasons went,
+    Only changing Betty's store;
+  Youngsters with her always spent
+    Their little all and wished they'd more:
+  Timidly with upturned eye
+  Staring at her pipe awry.
+
+  Bet was always at her post
+    Early morn or even late;
+  Ginger beer or chestnut roast,
+    Served she as she sat in state,
+  On two bushel-baskets high;
+  You should have seen her pipe awry!
+
+  Little care old Betty had,
+    She quietly jogged on her way;
+  Never did her face look sad.
+    Although she fumed the livelong day.
+  Guiltless seemed she of a sigh.
+  I never saw her pipe her eye!
+
+C.F.
+
+
+
+
+INGIN SUMMER.
+
+
+  Jest about the time when Fall
+    Gits to rattlin' in the trees,
+  An' the man thet knows it all,
+    'Spicions frost in every breeze,
+  When a person tells hisse'f
+    Thet the leaves look mighty thin,
+  Then thar blows a meller breaf!
+    Ingin summer's hyere agin.
+
+  Kind-uh smoky-lookin' blues
+    Spins acrost the mountain-side,
+  An' the heavy mornin' dews
+    Greens the grass up far an' wide,
+  Natur' raly 'pears as ef
+    She wuz layin' off a day,--
+  Sort-uh drorin in her breaf
+    'Fore she freezes up to stay.
+
+  Nary lick o' work I strike,
+    'Long about this time of year!
+  I'm a sort-uh slowly like,
+    Right when Ingin summer's here.
+  Wife and boys kin do the work;
+    But a man with natchel wit,
+  Like I got, kin 'ford to shirk,
+    Ef he has a turn for it.
+
+  Time when grapes set in to ripe,
+    All I ast off any man
+  Is a common co'n-cob pipe
+    With terbacker to my han';
+  Then jest loose me whar the air
+    Simmers 'crost me, wahm an' free!
+  Promised lands ull find me thar;
+    Wings ull fahly sprout on me!
+
+  I'm a loungin' 'round on thrones,
+    Bossin' worlds f'om shore to shore,
+  When I stretch my marrer-bones
+    Jest outside the cabin door!
+  An' the sunshine peepin' down
+    On my old head, bald an' gray,
+  'Pears right like the gilted crown,
+    I expect to w'ar some day.
+
+EVA WILDER MCGLASSON.
+
+
+
+
+EDIFYING REFLECTIONS OF A TOBACCO-SMOKER.
+
+_SET TO MUSIC BY JOHANN SEBASTIAN BACH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. TRANSLATED BY
+EDWARD BRECK._
+
+
+
+  As oft I fill my faithful pipe,
+    To while away the moments glad,
+  With fragrant leaves, so rich and ripe,
+    My mind perceives an image sad,
+  So that I can but clearly see
+  How very like it is to me.
+
+  My pipe is made of earth and clay,
+    From which my mortal part is wrought;
+  I, too, must turn to earth some day.
+    It often falls, as quick as thought,
+  And breaks in two,--puts out its flame;
+  My fate, alas! is but the same!
+
+  My pipe I color not, nor paint;
+    White it remains, and hence 'tis true
+  That, when in Death's cold arms I faint,
+    My lips shall wear the ashen hue;
+  And as it blackens day by day,
+  So black the grave shall turn my clay!
+
+  And when the pipe is put alight
+    The smoke ascends, then trembles, wanes,
+  And soon dissolves in sunshine bright,
+    And but the whitened ash remains.
+  'Tis so man's glory crumble must,
+  E'en as his body, into dust!
+
+  How oft the filler is mislaid;
+    And, rather than to seek in vain,
+  I use my finger in its stead,
+    And fancy as I feel the pain,
+  If coals can burn to such degree,
+  How hot, O Lord, must Hades be!
+
+  So in tobacco oft I find,
+    Lessons of such instructive type;
+  And hence with calm, contented mind
+    I live, and smoke my faithful pipe
+  In reverence where'er I roam,--
+  On land, on water, and at home.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST LOTUS.
+
+
+  'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East,
+    There dwelt a race whose softly flowing hours
+  Passed like the vision of a royal feast,
+    By Nero given in the Baian bowers;
+  Thanks to the lotus-blossom spell,
+  Their lives were one long miracle.
+
+  In after years the passing sons of men
+    Looked for those lotus blossoms all in vain,
+  Through every hillside, glade, and glen
+    And e'en the isles of many a main;
+  Yet through the centuries some doom,
+  Forbade them see the lotus bloom.
+
+  The Old World wearied of the long pursuit,
+    And called the sacred leaf a poet's theme,
+  When lo! the New World, rich in flower and fruit,
+    Revealed the lotus, lovelier than the dream
+  That races of the long past days did haunt,--
+  The green-leaved, amber-tipped tobacco plant.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+THE SCENT OF A GOOD CIGAR.
+
+
+  What is it comes through the deepening dusk,--
+  Something sweeter than jasmine scent,
+  Sweeter than rose and violet blent,
+  More potent in power than orange or musk?
+  The scent of a good cigar.
+
+  I am all alone in my quiet room,
+  And the windows are open wide and free
+  To let in the south wind's kiss for me,
+  While I rock in the softly gathering gloom,
+  And that subtle fragrance steals.
+
+  Just as a loving, tender hand
+  Will sometimes steal in yours,
+  It softly comes through the open doors,
+  And memory wakes at its command,--
+  The scent of that good cigar.
+
+  And what does it say? Ah! that's for me
+  And my heart alone to know;
+  But that heart thrills with a sudden glow,
+  Tears fill my eyes till I cannot see,--
+  From the scent of that good cigar.
+
+KATE A. CARRINGTON.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY CIGAR.
+
+
+  Yes, social friend, I love thee well,
+    In learned doctor's spite;
+  Thy clouds all other clouds dispel,
+    And lap me in delight.
+
+  What though they tell, with phizzes long,
+    My years are sooner past!
+  I would reply with reason strong,
+    They're sweeter while they last.
+
+  When in the lonely evening hour,
+    Attended but by thee,
+  O'er history's varied page I pore,
+    Man's fate in thine I see.
+
+  Oft as the snowy column grows,
+    Then breaks and falls away,
+  I trace how mighty realms thus rose,
+    Thus tumbled to decay.
+
+  Awhile like thee earth's masters burn
+    And smoke and fume around;
+  And then, like thee, to ashes turn,
+    And mingle with the ground.
+
+  Life's but a leaf adroitly rolled,
+    And Time's the wasting breath
+  That, late or early, we behold
+    Gives all to dusty death.
+
+  From beggar's frieze to monarch's robe,
+    One common doom is passed;
+  Sweet Nature's works, the swelling globe,
+    Must all burn out at last.
+
+  And what is he who smokes thee now?
+    A little moving heap,
+  That soon, like thee, to fate must bow,
+    With thee in dust must sleep.
+
+  But though thy ashes downward go,
+    Thy essence rolls on high;
+  Thus, when my body lieth low,
+    My soul shall cleave the sky.
+
+CHARLES SPRAGUE.
+
+
+
+
+KNICKERBOCKER.
+
+
+  Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,
+  Help me sing of Knickerbocker!
+  Boughton, had you bid me chant
+  Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant,
+  Had you bid me sing of Wouter,
+  He, the onion head, the doubter!
+  But to rhyme of this one--Mocker!
+  Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?
+  Nay, but where my hand must fail,
+  There the more shall yours avail;
+  You shall take your brush and paint
+  All that ring of figures quaint,--
+  All those Rip Van Winkle jokers,
+  All those solid-looking smokers,
+  Pulling at their pipes of amber,
+  In the dark-beamed Council Chamber.
+
+  Only art like yours can touch
+  Shapes so dignified--and Dutch;
+  Only art like yours can show
+  How the pine logs gleam and glow,
+  Till the firelight laughs and passes
+  'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,
+  Touching with responsive graces
+  All those grave Batavian faces,
+  Making bland and beatific
+  All that session soporific.
+
+  Then I come and write beneath:
+  Boughton, he deserves the wreath;
+  He can give us form and hue--
+  This the Muse can never do!
+
+AUSTIN DOBSON.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
+
+_A SAILOR'S VERSION_.
+
+
+  They were three jolly sailors bold,
+    Who sailed across the sea;
+  They'd braved the storm, and stood the gale,
+    And got to Virgin-ee.
+
+
+
+
+THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  'Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,--
+    Or p'raps a bit before,--
+  And now these here three sailors bold
+    Went cruising on the shore.
+  A lurch to starboard, one to port,
+    Now forrard, boys, go we,
+  With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
+    To find out Tobac-kee.
+
+  Says Jack, "This here's a rummy land."
+    Says Tom, "Well, shiver me!
+  The sun shines out as precious hot
+    As ever I did see."
+  Says Dick, "Messmates, since here we be,"--
+    And gave his eye a wink,--
+  "We've come to find out Tobac-kee,
+    Which means a drop to drink."
+
+  Says Jack, says he, "The Injins think--"
+    Says Tom, "I'll swear as they
+  Don't think at all." Says Dick, "You're right;
+    It ain't their nat'ral way.
+  But I want to find out, my lads,
+    This stuff of which they tell;
+  For if as it ain't meant to drink,
+    Why, it must be meant to smell."
+
+  Says Tom, says he, "To drink or smell,
+    I don't think this here's meant."
+  Says Jack, says he, "Blame my old eyes,
+    If I'll believe it's scent."
+  "Well, then," says Dick, "if that ain't square,
+    It must be meant for meat;
+  So come along, my jovial mates,
+    To find what's good to eat."
+
+  They came across a great big plant,
+    A-growing tall and true.
+  Says Jack, says he, "I'm precious dry,"
+    And picked a leaf to chew.
+  While Tom takes up a sun-dried bit,
+    A-lying by the trees;
+  He rubs it in his hands to dust
+    And then begins to sneeze.
+
+  Another leaf picks nimble Dick,
+    And dries it in the sun,
+  And rolls it up all neat and tight.
+    "My lads," says he, in fun,
+  "I mean to cook this precious weed."
+    And then from out his poke
+  With burning-glass he lights the end,
+    And quick blows up the smoke.
+
+  Says Jack, says he, "Of Paradise
+    I've heerd some people tell."
+  Says Tom, says he, "This here will do;
+    Let's have another smell."
+  Says Dick, his face all pleasant smiles,
+    A-looking through a cloud,
+  "It strikes me here's the cap'en bold,
+    And now we'll all be rowed."
+
+  Up comes brave Hawkins on the beach;
+    "Shiver my hull!" he cries,
+  "What's these here games, my merry men?"
+    And then, "Why, blame my eyes!
+  Here's one as chaws, and one as snuffs,
+    And t' other of the three
+  Is smoking like a chimbley-pot--
+  They've found out Tobac-kee!"
+
+  So if ever you should hear
+    Of Raleigh, and them lies
+  About his sarvant and his pipe
+    And him as "Fire!" cries,
+  You say as 'twas three sailors bold
+    As sailed to Virgin-ee
+  In brave old Hawkins' gallant ship
+    Who found out Tobac-kee.
+  A lurch to starboard, one to port,
+    Now forrard, boys, go we,
+  With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
+    To find out Tobac-kee.
+
+_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.
+
+
+
+
+"KEATS TOOK SNUFF."
+
+    "Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the
+    praise-worthy editorial research of Mr. Burton Forman."
+
+
+  So "Keats took snuff?" A few more years,
+    When we are dead and famous--eh?
+  Will they record our pipes and beers,
+    And if we smoked cigars or clay?
+  Or will the world cry "Quantum suff"
+  To tattle such as "Keats took snuff"?
+
+  Perhaps some chronicler would wish
+    To know what whiskey we preferred,
+  And if we ever dined on fish,
+    Or only took the joint and bird.
+  Such facts are quite as worthy stuff,
+  Good chronicler, as "Keats took snuff."
+
+  You answer: "But, if you were Keats--"
+    Tut! never mind your buts and ifs,
+  Of little men record their meats,
+    Their drinks, their troubles, and their tiffs,
+  Of the great dead there's gold enough
+  To spare us such as "Keats took snuff."
+
+  Well, go your ways, you little folk,
+    Who polish up the great folk's lives;
+  Record the follies that they spoke,
+    And paint their squabbles with their wives.
+  Somewhere, if ever ghosts be gruff,
+  I trust some Keats will "give you snuff."
+
+_The Globe_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF THE PIPE.
+
+
+  Oh, give me but Virginia's weed,
+  An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
+    What care I for the weather?
+  Though winter freeze and summer broil
+  We rest us from our days of toil
+    My Pipe and I together!
+
+  Like to a priest of sacred fane,
+  I nightly light the glow again
+    With reverence and pleasure;
+  For through this plain and modest bowl
+  I coax sweet mem'ry to my soul
+    And many trippings measure!
+
+  There's comfort in each puff of smoke,
+  Defiance to ill-fortune's stroke
+    And happiness forever!
+  There grows a volume full of thought
+  And humor, than the book you bought
+    Holds nothing half so clever!
+
+  The summer fragrance, all pent up
+  Among the leaves, is here sent up
+    In dreams of summer glory;
+  And these blue clouds that slowly rise
+  Were colored by the summer skies,
+    And tell a summer story.
+
+  And oh! the happiest, sweetest times
+  Come ringing all their silver chimes
+    Of merry songs and laughter;
+  And all that may be well and worth
+  For Mother Future to bring forth
+    I do imagine after.
+
+  What care I if my poor means
+  Clad not my walls with splendid scenes
+    And pictures by the masters;
+  Here in the curling smoke-wreath glow
+  Bold hills and lovely vales below,
+    And brooks with nodding asters.
+
+  All that on earth is fair and fine,
+  This fragrant magic makes it mine,
+    And gives me sole dominion;
+  And if you call me fanciful,
+  I only take a stronger pull,
+    And laugh at your opinion.
+
+  Let others fret and fume with care,
+  'Tis easy finding everywhere,
+    But happiness is rarer;
+  And if I find it sweet and ripe,
+  In this tobacco and my pipe,
+    I'll count it all the fairer.
+
+  Then give me but Virginia's weed,
+  An earthen bowl, a stem of reed,
+    What care I for the weather?
+  Though winter freeze, or summer broil
+  We rest us from the days of toil,
+    My Pipe and I together.
+
+HERMANN RAVE.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD CLAY PIPE.
+
+
+  There's a lot of solid comfort
+    In an old clay pipe, I find,
+  If you're kind of out of humor
+    Or in trouble in your mind.
+  When you're feeling awful lonesome
+    And don't know just what to do,
+  There's a heap of satisfaction
+    If you smoke a pipe or two.
+
+  The ten thousand pleasant memories
+    That are buried in your soul
+  Are playing hide and seek with you
+    Around that smoking bowl.
+  These are mighty restful moments:
+    You're at peace with all the world,
+  And the panorama changes
+    As the thin blue smoke is curled.
+
+  Now you cross the bridge of sorrows,
+    Now you enter pleasant lands,
+  And before an open doorway,
+    You will linger to shake hands
+  With a lithe and girlish figure
+    That is coming through the door;
+  Ah! you recognize the features:
+    You have seen that face before.
+
+  You are at the dear old homestead
+    Where you spent those happy years;
+  You are romping with the children;
+    You are smiling through your tears;
+  You have fought and whipped the bully
+    You are eight and he is ten.
+  Oh! how rapidly we travel,--
+    You are now a boy again.
+
+  You approach the open doorway,
+    And before the old armchair
+  You will stop and kiss the grandma,
+    You will smooth the thin white hair;
+  You will read the open Bible,
+    For the lamp is lit, you see.
+  It is now your hour for bed-time
+    And you kneel at mother's knee.
+
+  Still you linger at the hearthstone;
+    You are loath to leave the place.
+  When an apple cut's in progress:
+    You must wait and dance with Grace.
+
+  What's the matter with the music?
+    Only this: The pipe is broke,
+  And a thousand pleasant fancies
+    Vanish promptly with the smoke.
+
+A.B. VAN FLEET.
+
+
+
+
+PERNICIOUS WEED!
+
+
+  The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,
+  Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
+  The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
+  Then pause and puff, and speak, and pause again.
+  Such often, like the tube they so admire,
+  Important triflers! have more smoke than fire.
+  Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
+  Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
+  Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
+  The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
+
+WILLIAM COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+TWO OTHER HEARTS.
+
+
+  Full tender beamed the light of love down from his manly face,
+  As he pressed her to his bosom  in a fervent, fond embrace.
+  No cost of others' happiness found place within his thought;
+  The weakness of life's brittle thread no dim forebodings brought.
+
+  But tenderer than the light of love, more brittle than life's
+          thread,
+  The shrouds that wrapped two other hearts gave up their withered
+          dead;
+  For, crumbling in his waistcoat, their glowing future dashed,
+  Two excellent Havanas were very badly smashed.
+
+_London Tobacco_.
+
+
+
+
+THE SMOKE TRAVELLER.
+
+
+  When I puff my cigarette,
+    Straight I see a Spanish girl,--
+    Mantilla, fan, coquettish curl,
+    Languid airs and dimpled face,
+    Calculating, fatal grace;
+    Hear a twittering serenade
+    Under lofty balcony played;
+    Queen at bull-fight, naught she cares
+    What her agile lover dares;
+  She can love and quick forget.
+
+  Let me but my meerschaum light,
+    I behold a bearded man,
+    Built upon capacious plan,
+    Sabre-slashed in war or duel,
+    Gruff of aspect, but not cruel,
+    Metaphysically muddled,
+    With strong beer a little fuddled,
+    Slow in love, and deep in books,
+    More sentimental than he looks,
+  Swears new friendships every night.
+
+  Let me my chibouk enkindle,--
+    In a tent I'm quick set down
+    With a Bedouin, lean and brown,
+    Plotting gain of merchandise,
+    Or perchance of robber prize;
+    Clumsy camel load upheaving,
+    Woman deftly carpet-weaving,
+    Meal of dates and bread and salt,
+    While in azure heavenly vault
+  Throbbing stars begin to dwindle.
+
+  Glowing coal in clay dudheen
+    Carries me to sweet Killarney,
+    Full of hypocritic blarney,--
+    Huts with babies, pigs, and hens
+    Mixed together, bogs and fens,
+    Shillalahs, praties, usquebaugh,
+    Tenants defying hated law,
+    Fair blue eyes with lashes black,
+    Eyes black and blue from cudgel-thwack,--
+  So fair, so foul, is Erin green.
+
+  My nargileh once inflamed,
+    Quick appears a Turk with turban,
+    Girt with guards in palace urban,
+    Or in house by summer sea
+    Slave-girls dancing languidly,
+    Bow-string, sack, and bastinado,
+    Black boats darting in the shadow;
+    Let things happen as they please,
+    Whether well or ill at ease,
+  Fate alone is blessed or blamed.
+
+  With my ancient calumet
+    I can raise a wigwam's smoke,
+    And the copper tribe invoke,--
+    Scalps and wampum, bows and knives,
+    Slender maidens, greasy wives,
+    Papoose hanging on a tree,
+    Chieftains squatting silently,
+    Feathers, beads, and hideous paint,
+    Medicine-man and wooden-saint,--
+  Forest-framed the vision set.
+
+  My cigar breeds many forms,--
+    Planter of the rich Havana
+    Mopping brow with sheer bandanna,
+    Russian prince in fur arrayed,
+    Paris fop on dress parade,
+    London swell just after dinner,
+    Wall Street broker--gambling sinner!
+    Delver in Nevada mine,
+    Scotch laird bawling "Auld Lang Syne."
+  Thus Raleigh's weed my fancy warms.
+
+  Life's review in smoke goes past,--
+    Fickle fortune, stubborn fate,
+    Right discovered all too late,
+    Beings loved and gone before,
+    Beings loved but friends no more,
+    Self-reproach and futile sighs,
+    Vanity in birth that dies,
+    Longing, heart-break, adoration,--
+    Nothing sure in expectation
+  Save ash-receiver at the last.
+
+IRVING BROWNE.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING SONG.
+
+
+  With grateful twirl our smoke-wreaths curl,
+    As mist from the waterfall given,
+  Or the locks that float round beauty's throat
+    In the whispering air of even.
+
+  _Chorus_. Then drown the fears of the coming years,
+    And the dread of change before us;
+  The way is sweet to our willing feet,
+    With the smoke-wreaths twining o'er us.
+
+  As the light beams through the ringlets blue,
+    Will hope beam through our sorrow,
+  While the gathering wreath of the smoke we breathe
+    Shuts out the fear of to-morrow.
+
+  A magic charm in the evening calm
+    Calls thought from mem'ry's treasure;
+  But clear and bright in the liquid light
+    Are the smoke-called dreams of pleasure.
+
+  Then who shall chide, with boasting pride,
+    Delights they ne'er have tasted?
+  Oh, let them smile while we beguile
+    The hour with joys they've wasted.
+
+_College Song._
+
+
+
+
+HOW IT ONCE WAS.
+
+
+  Right stout and strong the worthy burghers stood,
+            Or rather, sat,
+  Drank beer in plenty, ate abundant food;
+  For they to ancient customs still were true,
+  And smoked, and smoked, because they surely knew
+            What they were at.
+
+  William the Testy ruled New Amsterdam,--
+            A tall man he,--
+  Whose rule was meant by him to be no sham,
+  But rather like the stern paternal style
+  That sways the city now. He made the while
+            A rough decree.
+
+  He ordered that the pipes should cease to smoke,
+            From that day on.
+  The people took the order as a joke;
+  They did not think, who smoked from childhood up,
+  That one man such delight would seek to stop,
+            Even in fun.
+
+  But when at last it dawned upon their minds
+          That this was meant,
+  They closed their houses, shut their window blinds,
+  Brought forth tobacco from their ample hoard,
+  And to the governor's house with one accord
+          The burghers went.
+
+  They carried chairs, and sat without a word
+          Before his porch,
+  And smoked, and smoked, and not a sound was heard,
+  Till Kieft came forth to take the morning air,
+  With speech that would have burned them then and there
+          If words could scorch.
+
+  But they, however savagely he spoke,
+          Made no reply.
+  Higher and thicker rose the clouds of smoke,
+  And Kieft, perceiving that they would be free
+  Tried not to put in force his harsh decree,
+          But let it die.
+
+_New York Sun_.
+
+
+
+
+HER BROTHER'S CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  Like raven's wings her locks of jet,
+  Her soft eyes touched with fond regret,
+  Doubt and desire her mind beset,
+  Fondling her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Roses with dewy diamonds set,
+  Drooped o'er the window's parapet;
+  With grace she turned a match to get,
+  And lit her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Her puffs of smoky violet
+  Twined in fantastic silhouette;
+  She blushed, laughed, coughed a little, yet,
+  She smoked her brother's cigarette.
+
+  Her eyes with briny tears were wet,
+  Her bang grew limp beneath its net,
+  Her brow was gemmed with beaded sweat,
+  And to her bed she went, you bet.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+IN THE OL' TOBACKER PATCH.
+
+
+  I jess kind o' feel so lonesome that I don't know what to do,
+    When I think about them days we used to spend
+  A hoein' out tobacker in th' clearin'--me an' you--
+    An' a wishin' that the day was at an end.
+  For the dewdrops was a sparklin' on the beeches' tender leaves
+    As we started out a workin' in the morn;
+  An' th' noonday sun was sendin' down a shower of burnin' sheaves
+    When we heard the welcome-soundin' dinner-horn.
+  An' th' shadders round us gathered in a sort of ghostly batch,
+  'Fore we started home from workin' in that ol' tobacker patch.
+
+  I'm a feelin' mighty lonesome, as I look aroun' to-day,
+    For I see th' change that's taken place since then.
+  All th' hills is brown and faded, for th' woods is cleared away;
+    You an' me has changed from ragged boys to men;
+  You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream about;
+    I am still a dwellin' here upon the place,
+  But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so straight and
+          stout,
+    An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on my face.
+  You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been your match,
+  But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker patch.
+
+S.Q. LAPIUS.
+
+
+
+
+MAECENAS BIDS HIS FRIEND TO DINE.
+
+  I beg you come to-night and dine.
+  A welcome waits you, and sound wine,--
+  The Roederer chilly to a charm,
+  As Juno's breath the claret warm,
+  The sherry of an ancient brand.
+  No Persian pomp, you understand,--
+  A soup, a fish, two meats, and then
+  A salad fit for aldermen
+  (When aldermen, alas the days!
+  Were really worth their _mayonnaise_);
+  A dish of grapes whose clusters won
+  Their bronze in Carolinian sun;
+  Next, cheese--for you the Neufchatel,
+  A bit of Cheshire likes me well;
+  Cafe au lait or coffee black,
+  With Kirsch or Kuemmel or cognac
+  (The German band in Irving Place
+  By this time purple in the face);
+  Cigars and pipes. These being through,
+  Friends shall drop in, a very few--
+  Shakespeare and Milton, and no more.
+  When these are guests I bolt the door,
+  With "Not at home" to any one
+  Excepting Alfred Tennyson.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY MEERSCHAUM.
+
+
+  There's a charm in the sun-crested hills,
+    In the quivering light of a star,
+  In the flash of a silvery rill,
+    Yet to me thou art lovelier far,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  There's a love in her witching dark eye,
+    There's a love in her tresses at play,
+  Yet her love would be worth not a sigh,
+    If from thee she could lure me away,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  Let revellers sing of their wine,
+    As they toss it in ecstasy down,
+  But the bowl I call for is thine,
+    With its deepening amber and brown,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  For when trouble would bid me despair,
+    I call for a flagon of beer,
+  And puff a defiance to care,
+    Till sorrows in smoke disappear,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+  Though mid pleasures unnumbered I whirl,
+    Though I traverse the billowy sea,
+  Yet the waving and beautiful curl
+    Of thy smoke's ever dearer to me,
+            My Meerschaum!
+
+P.D.R.
+
+
+
+
+OLD PIPE OF MINE.
+
+
+  Companion of my lonely hours,
+    Full many a time 'twixt night and morn
+  Thy muse hath roamed through poesy's bowers
+    Upon thy fragrant pinions borne.
+  Let others seek the bliss that reigns
+    In homage paid at beauty's shrine,
+  We envy not such foolish gains,
+    In sweet content, old pipe of mine.
+
+  Ah! you have been a travelled pipe;
+    But now, of course, you're getting stale,
+  Just like myself, and rather ripe;
+    You've had your fill of cakes and ale,
+  And half-forgotten memories, too.
+    And all the pensive thoughts that twine
+  Around a past that, _entre nous_,
+    Has pleasant been, old pipe of mine.
+
+  Old pipe of mine, for many a year
+    What boon companions we have been!
+  With here a smile and there a tear,
+    How many changes we have seen!
+  How many hearts have ceased to beat,
+    How many eyes have ceased to shine,
+  How many friends will never meet,
+    Since first we met, old pipe of mine!
+
+  Though here and there the road was deep,
+    And now and then the rain would fall;
+  We managed every time to keep
+    A sturdy forehead to them all!
+  And even when she left my side,
+    We didn't wait to fret or pine,
+  Oh, no; we said the world was wide,
+    And luck would turn, old pipe of mine!
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+
+  And it has turned since you and I
+    Set out to face the world alone;
+  And, in a garret near the sky,
+    Had scarce a crust to call our own,
+  But many a banquet, Barmecide;
+    And many a dream of hope divine,
+  Lie buried in the moaning tide,
+    That drowns the past, old pipe of mine!
+
+  But prosing isn't quite the thing,
+    And so, I guess, I'll give it up:
+  Just wait a moment while I sing;
+    We'll have another parting cup,
+  And then to bed. The stars are low;
+    Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine;
+  So here she goes, and off we go
+    To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!
+
+JOHN J. GORMLEY.
+
+
+
+
+CANNON SONG.
+
+  Come, seniors, come, and fill your pipes,
+    Your richest incense raise;
+  Let's take a smoke, a parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  _Chorus_. For good old by-gone days,
+    We'll smoke for good old by-gone days!
+  We'll take a smoke, a parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  We'll crown the cannon with a cloud,
+    We'll celebrate its praise;
+  Recalling _its_ old parting smoke,
+    For good old by-gone days!
+
+  We'll smoke to these we leave behind
+    In devious college ways;
+  We'll smoke to songs we've sung before,
+    In good old by-gone days.
+
+  We'll smoke to _Alma Mater's_ name;
+    She loves the cloud we raise!
+  For well she knows the "biggest guns"
+    Are in the coming days!
+
+  We'll smoke the times, the good old times,
+    When we were called _fire_!
+  Their light shall blaze in memory,
+    Till the lamp of life expire!
+
+  Then let each smoking pipe be broke,--
+    Hurrah for coming days!
+  We'll take a march, a merry march,
+    To meet the coming days!
+
+H.P. PECK.
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO.
+
+
+  The Indian weed, withered quite,
+  Green at noon, cut down at night,
+  Shows thy decay; all flesh is hay,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so lily-white,
+  Shows thee to be a mortal wight;
+  And even such, gone with a touch,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  And when the smoke ascends on high,
+  Thinke thou beholdst the vanity
+  Of worldly stuffe, gone with a puffe,
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  And when the pipe grows foul within,
+  Think on thy soule defil'd with sin,
+  And then the fire it doth require.
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+  The ashes that are left behind,
+  May serve to put thee still in mind,
+  That unto dust return thou must.
+  Thus thinke, then drinke tobacco.
+
+GEORGE WITHER, 1620.
+
+
+
+
+VIRGINIA'S KINGLY PLANT.
+
+_BY AN "OLD SALT."_
+
+
+  Oh, muse! grant me the power
+  (I have the will) to sing
+  How oft in lonely hour,
+  When storms would round me lower,
+  Tobacco's proved a king!
+
+  Philanthropists, no doubt
+  With good intentions ripe,
+  Their dogmas may put out,
+  And arrogantly shout
+  The evils of the pipe.
+
+  Kind moralists, with tracts,
+  Opinions fine may show;
+  Produce a thousand facts,--
+  How ill tobacco acts
+  Man's system to o'erthrow.
+
+  Learn'd doctors have employed
+  Much patience, time, and skill,
+  To prove tobacco cloyed
+  With acrid alkaloid,
+  With power the nerves to kill.
+
+  E'en popes have curst the plant;
+  Kings bade its use to cease;
+  But all the pontiff's rant
+  And royal James's cant
+  Ne'er made its use decrease.
+
+  Teetotalers may stamp
+  And roar at pipes and beer;
+  But place them in a swamp,
+  When nights are dark and damp,--
+  Their tunes would change, I fear.
+
+  No advocate am I
+  Of excess in one or t'other,
+  And ne'er essayed to try
+  In wine to drown a sigh,
+  Or a single care to smother.
+
+  Yet, in moderation pure,
+  A glass is well enough;
+  But a troubled heart to cure,
+  Kind feelings to insure,
+  Give me a cheerful puff.
+
+  How oft a learn'd divine
+  His sermons will prepare,
+  Not by imbibing wine,
+  But 'neath th' influence fine
+  Of a pipe of "baccy" rare!
+
+  How many a pleasing scene,
+  How many a happy joke,
+  How many a satire keen,
+  Or problem sharp, has been
+  Evolved or born of smoke!
+
+  How oft amidst the jar,
+  Of storms on ruin bent,
+  On shipboard, near or far,
+  To the drenched and shiv'ring tar,
+  Tobacco's solace lent!
+
+  Oh, tell me not 'tis bad,
+  Or that it shortens life!
+  Its charms can soothe the sad,
+  And make the wretched glad,
+  In trouble and in strife.
+
+  'Tis used in every clime,
+  By all men, high and low;
+  It is praised in prose and rhyme,
+  And can but end with time;
+  So let the kind herb grow!
+
+  'Tis a friend to the distress'd;
+  'Tis a comforter in need;
+  It is social, soothing, blest;
+  It has fragrance, force, and zest;
+  Then hail the kingly weed!
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE.
+
+
+  The maid, as by the papers doth appear,
+  Whom fifty thousand dollars made so dear,
+  To test Lothario's passion, simply said,
+  "Forego the weed before we go to wed.
+  For smoke, take flame; I'll be that flame's bright fanner.
+  To have your Anna, give up your Havana."
+  But he, when thus she brought him to the scratch,
+  Lit his cigar, and threw away his match.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+TO A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest,
+    Belov'd and honored by the wise,
+  Come filled with honest "Weekly's best,"
+    And kindled from the lofty skies.
+
+  While round me clouds of incense roll,
+    With guiltless joys you charm the sense,
+  And nobler pleasure to the soul
+    In hints of moral truth dispense.
+
+  Soon as you feel th' enliv'ning ray,
+    To dust you hasten to return,
+  And teach me that my earliest day
+    Began to give me to the urn.
+
+  But though thy grosser substance sink
+    To dust, thy purer part aspires;
+  This when I see, I joy to think
+    That earth but half of me requires.
+
+  Like thee, myself am born to die,
+    Made half to rise, and half to fall.
+  Oh, could I, while my moments fly,
+    The bliss you give me give to all!
+
+_Gentleman's Magazine_, July, 1745.
+
+
+
+
+  In the smoke of my dear cigarito
+    Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall;
+  And Eros, divine muchachito,
+    With smiles hovers over it all.
+
+  But dreaming, forgetting to cherish
+    The fire at my lips as it dies,
+  The dream and the rapture must perish,
+    And Eros descend from the skies.
+
+  O wicked and false muchachito,
+    Your rapture I yet may recall;
+  But, like my re-lit cigarito,
+    A bitterness tinges it all.
+
+CAMILLA K. VON K.
+
+
+
+
+A GOOD CIGAR.
+
+
+  Oh, 'tis well and enough,
+  A whiff or a puff
+  From the heart of a pipe to get;
+  And a dainty maid
+  Or a budding blade
+  May toy with the cigarette;
+  But a man, when the time
+  Of a glorious prime
+  Dawns forth like a morning star,
+  Wants the dark-brown bloom
+  And the sweet perfume
+  That go with a good cigar.
+
+  To lazily float
+  In a painted boat
+  On a shimmering morning sea,
+  Or to flirt with a maid
+  In the afternoon shade
+  Seems good enough sport to be;
+  But the evening hour,
+  With its subtle power,
+  Is sweeter and better far,
+  If joined to the joy,
+  Devoid of alloy,
+  That lurks in a good cigar.
+
+  When a blanket wet
+  Is solidly set
+  O'er hopes prematurely grown;
+  When ambition is tame,
+  And energy lame,
+  And the bloom from the fruit is blown;
+  When to dance and to dine
+  With women and wine
+  Past poverty pleasures are,--
+  A man's not bereft
+  Of all peace, if there's left
+  The joy of a good cigar.
+
+NORRIS BULL.
+
+
+
+
+  A glass is good, and a lass is good,
+    And a pipe to smoke in cold weather;
+  The world is good, and the people are good,
+    And we're all good fellows together.
+
+JOHN O'KEEFE: _Sprigs of Laurel_, Act ii. sc. i.
+
+
+
+
+MY FRIENDLY PIPE.
+
+
+  Let sybarites still dream delights
+    While smoking cigarettes,
+  Whose opiates get in their pates
+    Till waking brings regrets;
+  Oh, let them doze, devoid of woes,
+    Of troubles, and of frets.
+
+  And let the chap who loves to nap
+    With his cigar in hand
+  Pursue his way, and live his day,
+    As runs time's changing sand;
+  Let him delight by day and night
+    In his peculiar brand.
+
+  But as for me, I love to be
+    Provided with a pipe,--
+  A rare old bowl to warm my soul,
+    A meerschaum brown and ripe,--
+  With good plug cut, no stump or butt,
+    Nor filthy gutter-snipe.
+
+  My joys increase! It brings me peace
+    As nothing else can do;
+  From all the strife of daily life
+    Here my relief is true.
+  I watch its rings; it purrs and sings--
+    And then it's cheaper, too!
+
+_Detroit Tribune_.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend,
+    Come, and thy suppliant attend
+  In each dull, lonely hour;
+  And though misfortunes lie around,
+  Thicker than hailstones on the ground,
+    I'll rest upon thy power.
+  Then while the coxcomb, pert and proud,
+  The politician, learned and loud,
+    Keep one eternal clack,
+  I'll tread where silent Nature smiles,
+  Where Solitude our woe beguiles,
+    And chew thee, dear Tobac.
+
+DANIEL WEBSTER.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.
+
+
+  I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire,
+    I ne'er knew the Benedict's yoke;
+  I worship a fairy-like, fanciful form,
+    That goes up the chimney in smoke.
+
+  I sit in my dressing-gowned slipperful ease,
+    Without wife or bairns to provoke,
+  And puff at my pipe, while my hopes and my fears
+    All go up the chimney in smoke.
+
+  I sit with my pipe, and my heart's lonesome care
+    I try, but all vainly, to choke.
+  Ah, me! but I find that the flame that Love lights
+    Won't go up the chimney in smoke.
+
+_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAMER'S PIPE.
+
+
+  Meerschaum, thing with amber tip,
+  Clutched between the dreamer's lip,
+  Fragrant odors from thy bowl
+  Mingling with the dreamer's soul;
+  Curling wreaths of smoke ascending,
+  Comfort sweet with incense blending.
+  Joy and peace and solace sending
+      To the dreamer's heart.
+
+  Fashioned like a satyr's head,
+  Crowned with fire, glowing red,
+  Quaintly carved and softly sleek
+  As Afric maiden's downy cheek.
+  Comrade of each idle hour
+  In forest shade or leafy bower;
+  Lotus-eaters from thy power
+      Ne'er can break apart.
+
+  Darkly colored from long use
+  With tobacco's balmy juice
+  From snowy white to ebon turned
+  By the incense daily burned.
+  Laid at night within thy case
+  Of velvet soft--thy resting place--
+  Whence with leering, stained face
+      Daily thou must start,--
+
+  To soothe the dreamer's every care,
+  To glow and burn and fill the air
+  With thy curling perfume rare:
+  As thou charmest gloom away,
+  With the dreamer rest for aye
+  Friend of youth, and manhood ripe
+  All hail to thee, thou meerschaum pipe!
+
+_New Orleans Times Democrat._
+
+
+
+
+SUBLIME TOBACCO.
+
+
+  But here the herald of the self-same mouth
+  Came breathing o'er the aromatic South,
+  Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale,
+  But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale,
+  Borne from a short, frail pipe, which yet had blown
+  Its gentle odors over either zone,
+  And, puff'd where'er minds rise or waters roll,
+  Had wafted smoke from Portsmouth to the Pole,
+  Opposed its vapor as the lightning flash'd,
+  And reek'd, 'midst mountain billows unabashed,
+  To AEolus a constant sacrifice,
+  Through every change of all the varying skies.
+  And what was he who bore it? I may err,
+  But deem him sailor or philosopher.
+  Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
+  Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest;
+  Which on the Moslem's ottoman divides
+  His hours, and rivals opiums and his brides;
+  Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand,
+  Though not less loved, in Wapping on the Strand;
+  Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe,
+  When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe;
+  Like other charmers, wooing the caress
+  More dazzlingly when daring in full dress;
+  Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
+  Thy naked beauties,--give me a cigar!
+
+LORD BYRON:
+
+_The Island, Canto ii., Stanza 19._
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING AWAY.
+
+
+  Floating away like the fountains' spray,
+    Or the snow-white plume of a maiden,
+  The smoke-wreaths rise to the starlit skies
+    With blissful fragrance laden.
+
+  _Chorus._  Then smoke away till a golden ray
+        Lights up the dawn of the morrow,
+      For a cheerful cigar, like a shield, will bar,
+        The blows of care and sorrow.
+
+  The leaf burns bright, like the gems of light
+    That flash in the braids of Beauty;
+  It nerves each heart for the hero's part
+    On the battle-plain of duty.
+
+  In the thoughtful gloom of his darkened room,
+    Sits the child of song and story,
+  But his heart is light, for his pipe burns bright,
+    And his dreams are all of glory.
+
+  By the blazing fire sits the gray-haired sire,
+    And infant arras surround him;
+  And he smiles on all in that quaint old hall,
+    While the smoke-curls float around him.
+
+  In the forest grand of our native land,
+    When the savage conflict ended,
+  The "pipe of peace" brought a sweet release
+    From toil and terror blended.
+
+  The dark-eyed train of the maids of Spain
+    'Neath their arbor shades trip lightly,
+  And a gleaming cigar, like a new-born star,
+    In the clasp of their lips burns brightly
+
+  It warms the soul like the blushing bowl,
+    With its rose-red burden streaming,
+  And drowns it in bliss, like the first warm kiss
+    From the lips with love-buds teeming.
+
+FRANCIS MILES FINCH.
+
+
+
+
+A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  May the Babylonish curse
+  Straight confound my stammering verse
+  If I can a passage see
+  In this word-perplexity,
+  Or a fit expression find,
+  Or a language to my mind
+  (Still the phrase is wide or scant),
+  To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!
+  Or in any terms relate
+  Half my love, or half my hate:
+  For I hate, yet love, thee so,
+  That, whichever thing I show,
+  The plain truth will seem to be
+  A constrain'd hyperbole,
+  And the passion to proceed
+  More from a mistress than a weed.
+
+  Sooty retainer to the vine,
+  Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;
+  Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon
+  Thy begrimed complexion,
+  And, for thy pernicious sake,
+  More and greater oaths to break
+  Than reclaimed lovers take
+  'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay
+  Much too in the female way,
+  While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath
+  Faster than kisses or than death.
+
+    Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,
+  That our worst foes cannot find us,
+  And ill-fortune, that would thwart us,
+  Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;
+  While each man, through thy height'ning steam
+  Does like a smoking Etna seem,
+  And all about us does express
+  (Fancy and wit in richest dress)
+  A Sicilian fruitfulness.
+
+  Thou through such a mist dost show us,
+  That our best friends do not know us,
+  And, for those allowed features,
+  Due to reasonable creatures,
+  Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,
+  Monsters that, who see us, fear us;
+  Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
+  Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.
+
+  Bacchus we know, and we allow
+  His tipsy rites. But what art thou,
+  That but by reflex canst show
+  What his deity can do,
+  As the false Egyptian spell
+  Aped the true Hebrew miracle,
+  Some few vapors thou mayst raise
+  The weak brain may serve to amaze,
+  But to the reins and nobler heart
+  Canst nor life nor heat impart.
+
+    Brother of Bacchus, later born,
+  The Old World was sure forlorn
+  Wanting thee, that aidest more
+  The god's victories than before
+  All his panthers, and the brawls
+  Of his piping Bacchanals.
+  These, as stale, we disallow,
+  Or judge of _thee_ meant; only thou
+  His true Indian conquest art;
+  And for ivy round his dart
+  The reformed god now weaves
+  A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
+
+    Scent to match thy rich perfume
+  Chemic art did ne'er presume,
+  Through her quaint alembic strain,
+  None so sov'reign to the brain.
+  Nature, that did in thee excel,
+  Framed again no second smell.
+  Roses, violets, but toys
+  For the smaller sort of boys,
+  Or for greener damsels meant;
+  Thou art the only manly scent.
+
+    Stinking'st of the stinking kind,
+  Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,
+  Africa, that brags her foison,
+  Breeds no such prodigious poison,
+  Henbane, nightshade, both together,
+  Hemlock, aconite--
+
+            Nay, rather,
+  Plant divine, of rarest virtue;
+  Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.
+  'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;
+  None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;
+  Irony all, and feign'd abuse,
+  Such as perplex'd lovers use
+  At a need when, in despair
+  To paint forth their fairest fair,
+  Or in part but to express
+  That exceeding comeliness
+  Which their fancies doth so strike,
+  They borrow language of dislike;
+  And, instead of Dearest Miss,
+  Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
+  And those forms of old admiring,
+  Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
+  Basilisk, and all that's evil,
+  Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,
+  Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamore,
+  Monkey, Ape, and twenty more,
+  Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,--
+  Not that she is truly so,
+  But no other way they know
+  A contentment to express,
+  Borders so upon excess
+  That they do not rightly wot
+  Whether it be pain or not.
+
+    Or as men, constrain'd to part
+  With what's nearest to their heart.
+  While their sorrow's at the height
+  Lose discrimination quite,
+  And their hasty wrath let fall,
+  To appease their frantic gall,
+  On the darling thing whatever
+  Whence they feel it death to sever,
+  Though it be, as they, perforce,
+  Guiltless of the sad divorce.
+
+    For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
+  Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.
+  For thy sake, TOBACCO, I
+  Would do anything but die,
+  And but seek to extend my days
+  Long enough to sing thy praise.
+  But as she who once hath been
+  A king's consort is a queen
+  Ever after, nor will bate
+  Any tittle of her state,
+  Though a widow or divorced,
+  So I, from thy converse forced,
+  The old name and style retain,
+  A right Katherine of Spain;
+  And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
+  Of the blest Tobacco Boys,
+  Where, though I by sour physician
+  Am debarr'd the full fruition
+  Of thy favors, I may catch
+  Some collateral sweets, and snatch
+  Sidelong odors, that give life
+  Like glances from a neighbor's wife,
+  And still live in the by-places
+  And the suburbs of thy graces,
+  And in thy borders take delight,
+  An unconquer'd Canaanite.
+
+CHARLES LAMB.
+
+
+
+
+A WINTER EVENING HYMN TO MY FIRE.
+
+
+  Nicotia, dearer to the Muse
+  Than all the grape's bewildering juice,
+  We worship, unforbid of thee;
+  And as her incense floats and curls
+  In airy spires and wayward whirls,
+  Or poises on its tremulous stalk
+  A flower of frailest reverie,
+  So winds and loiters, idly free,
+  The current of unguided talk,
+  Now laughter-rippled, and now caught
+  In smooth dark pools of deeper thought
+  Meanwhile thou mellowest every word,
+  A sweetly unobtrusive third;
+  For thou hast magic beyond wine
+  To unlock natures each to each;
+  The unspoken thought thou canst divine;
+  Thou fill'st the pauses of the speech
+  With whispers that to dreamland reach,
+  And frozen fancy-springs unchain
+  In Arctic outskirts of the brain.
+  Sun of all inmost confidences,
+  To thy rays doth the heart unclose
+  Its formal calyx of pretences,
+  That close against rude day's offences,
+  And open its shy midnight rose!
+
+JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
+
+
+
+
+MY PIPE AND I.
+
+
+  There may be comrades in this world,
+    As stanch and true as steel.
+  There are: and by their friendships firm
+    Is life made only real.
+  But, after all, of all these hearts
+    That close with mine entwine,
+  None lie so near, nor seem so dear
+    As this old pipe of mine.
+
+  My silent friend--whose voice is held
+    Fast for my ear alone--
+  Stays with me always, well content,
+    With Darby to be Joan.
+  No fickleness disturbs our lot;
+    No jars its peace to smother;
+  Ah, no; my faithful pipe and I
+    Have wooed and won--each other.
+
+  On clouds of curling incense sweet,
+    We go--my pipe and I--
+  To lands far off, where skies stay blue
+    Through all the years that fly.
+  And nights and days, with rosy dreams
+    Teems bright--an endless throng
+  That passing leave, in echoing wake,
+    Soft murmurings of song.
+
+  Does this dream fade? Another comes
+    To fill its place and more.
+  In castles silvern roam we now,
+    They're ours! All! All are ours!
+  What'er the wreathing rings enfold
+    Drops shimmering golden showers!
+
+  No sordid cost our steps can stay,
+    We travel free as air.
+  Our wings are fancies, incense-borne,
+    That feather-light upbear.
+  Begone! ye powers of steam and flood.
+    Thy roads creep far too slow;
+  We need thee not. My pipe and I
+    Swifter than Time must go.
+
+  Why, what is this? The pipe gone out?
+    Well, well, the fire's out, too!
+  The dreams are gone--we're poor once more;
+    Life's pain begins anew.
+  'Tis time for sleep, my faithful pipe,
+    But may thy dreamings be,
+  Through slumbering hours hued as bright
+    As those thou gav'st to me!
+
+ELTON J. BUCKLEY.
+
+
+
+
+SIC TRANSIT.
+
+  Just a note that I found on my table,
+    By the bills of a year buried o'er,
+  In a feminine hand and requesting
+    My presence for tennis at four.
+
+  Half remorseful for leaving it lying
+    In surroundings unworthy as those,
+  I carefully dusted and smoothed it,
+    And mutely begged pardon of Rose.
+
+  But I thought with a smile of the proverb
+    Which says you may treat as you will
+  The vase which has once contained roses,
+    Their fragrance will cling to it still.
+
+  For the writer I scarcely remember,
+    The occasion has vanished afar,
+  And the fragrance that clings to the letter
+    Recalls--an Havana cigar.
+
+W.B. ANDERSON.
+
+
+
+
+THE BETROTHED.
+
+"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._"
+
+  Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
+  For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
+
+  We quarrelled about Havanas--we fought o'er a good cheroot,
+  And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
+
+  Open the old cigar-box--let me consider a space;
+  In the soft blue veil of the vapor, musing on Maggie's face.
+
+  Maggie is pretty to look at,--Maggie's a loving lass,
+  But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must
+          pass.
+
+  There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay,
+  But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away,--
+
+  Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown,--
+  But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
+
+  Maggie my wife at fifty,--gray and dour and old,--
+  With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
+
+  And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
+  And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead
+          cigar,--
+
+  The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket,--
+  With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the
+          socket.
+
+  Open the old cigar-box,--let me consider a while,--
+  Here is a mild Manilla,--there is a wifely smile.
+
+  Which is the better portion,--bondage bought with a ring,
+  Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?
+
+  Counsellors cunning and silent--comforters true and tried,
+  And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride.
+
+  Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
+  Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close.
+
+  This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
+  With only a _Suttee's_ passion,--to do their duty and burn.
+
+  This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
+  Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
+
+  The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
+  When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my brides again.
+
+  I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths
+          withal,
+  So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.
+
+  I will scent 'em with best vanilla, with tea will I temper their
+          hides,
+  And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy, who read of the tale of my
+          brides.
+
+  For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between
+  The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
+
+  And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve-month clear.
+  But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year;
+
+  And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
+  Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and
+          Fight.
+
+  And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
+  But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.
+
+  Will it see me safe through my journey, or leave me bogged in the
+          mire?
+  Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful
+          fire?
+
+  Open the old cigar-box,--let me consider anew,--
+  Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon _you_?
+
+  A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
+  And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
+
+  Light me another Cuba: I hold to my first-sworn vows,
+  If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse!
+
+RUDYARD KIPLING.
+
+
+
+
+ON A BROKEN PIPE.
+
+
+  Neglected now it lies, a cold clay form,
+  So late with living inspirations warm;
+  Type of all other creatures formed of clay--
+  What more than it for epitaph have they?
+
+
+
+
+A VALENTINE.
+
+
+  What's my love's name? Guess her name.
+        Nina? No.
+        Alina? No.
+  It does end with "ina," though.
+  Guess again. Christina? No;
+  Guess again. Wilhelmina? No.
+  She reciprocates my flame,
+  Cheers me wheresoe'er I go,
+  Never forward, never coy,
+  She is evermore my joy.
+  Oh, the rapture! oh, the bliss!
+  When I met my darling's kiss.
+  Oh, I love her form to greet!
+  Oh, her breath is passing sweet!
+  Who could help but love her so?
+  Nicotina, mistress mine,
+  Thou shall be my Valentine.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  My cigarette! The amulet
+    That charms afar unrest and sorrow,
+  The magic wand that, far beyond
+    To-day, can conjure up to-morrow.
+  Like love's desire, thy crown of fire
+    So softly with the twilight blending;
+  And ah, meseems a poet's dreams
+    Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending.
+
+  My cigarette! Can I forget
+    How Kate and I, in sunny weather,
+  Sat in the shade the elm-tree made
+    And rolled the fragrant weed together?
+  I at her side, beatified
+    To hold and guide her fingers willing;
+  She rolling slow the papers snow,
+    Putting my heart in with the filling.
+
+  My cigarette! I see her yet,
+    The white smoke from her red lips curling,
+  Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies,
+    Her gentle sighs, her laughter purling!
+  Ah, dainty roll, whose parting soul
+    Ebbs out in many a snowy billow,
+  I too would burn, if I could earn
+    Upon her lips so soft a pillow.
+
+  Ah, cigarette! The gay coquette
+    Has long forgot the flame she lighted;
+  And you and I unthinking by
+    Alike are thrown, alike are slighted.
+  The darkness gathers fast without,
+    A raindrop on my window plashes;
+  My cigarette and heart are out,
+    And naught is left me but the ashes.
+
+CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIPE CRITIC.
+
+
+      Say, pipe, let's talk of love;
+        Canst aid me? By my life,
+      I'll ask not gods above
+        To help me choose a wife;
+  But to thy gentle self I'll give the puzzling strife.
+
+      Thy color let me find,
+        And blue like smoke her eyes;
+      A healthy store her mind
+        As that which in thee lies,--
+  An evanescent draft, whose incense mounts the skies.
+
+      And, pipe, a breath like thine;
+        Her hair an amber gold,
+      And wrought in shapes as fine
+        As that which now I hold;
+  A grace in every limb, her form thy slender mould.
+
+      And when her lips I kiss,
+        Oh, may she burn like thee,
+      And strive to give me bliss!
+        A comforter to be
+  When friends wax cold, time fades, and all departs from me.
+
+      And may she hide in smoke,
+        As you, my friend, have done,
+      The failings that would choke
+        My virtues every one,
+  Turn grief to laughing jest, or painful thought to fun.
+
+      Her aid be such as thine
+        To stir my brain a bit.
+      When 'round this hearth of mine
+        Friends sit and banter wit,
+  She'll shape a well-turned phrase, a subtle jest to hit.
+
+      In short, my sole delight
+        (Why, pipe, you sputter so!),
+      Whose angel visage bright
+        (And at me ashes throw!)
+  Shall never rival fear. You're jealous now, I know.
+
+      Nay, pipe, I'll not leave thee;
+        For of thy gifts there's one
+      That's passing dear to me
+        Whose equal she'd have none,--
+  The gift of peace serene; she'd have, alas, a tongue!
+
+WALTER LITTLEFIELD.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG WITHOUT A NAME.
+
+AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_."
+
+
+  'Twas in Queen Bess's golden days
+    That smoking came in fashion;
+  And from the court it quickly spread
+    Throughout the English nation.
+  The courtiers first the lesson learnt,
+    And burn'd the fragrant treasure;
+  And e'en the queen herself, 'tis said,
+    Would sometimes share the pleasure.
+  But this is true, I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+  Then learned men and lawyers wise
+    And grave divines and doctors
+  Found smoking help'd to clear the brain,
+    And puff'd away in flocks, sirs;
+  Then business men and humble clerks
+    And laborer and peasant
+  By smoking care would drive away,
+    And make this life more pleasant.
+  For this is true. I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+  And from these times we modern men
+    Great glory do inherit,
+  And wealth and learning and the strength
+    Which makes the English spirit.
+  We have no care, we fear no foe,
+    We pass our lifetime gayly,
+  But little think how much we owe
+    To great Sir Walter Raleigh.
+  For this is true, I will maintain,--
+    And I am far from joking,--
+  Of all the pleasures men have found
+    There's none to equal smoking.
+
+W. LLOYD.
+
+
+
+
+AD NICOTINA.
+
+"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._"
+
+
+  Let others sing the praise of wine;
+    I'll tolerate no queen
+  But one fair nymph of spotless line,
+    The gentle Nicotine.
+  Her breath's as sweet as any flower's,
+    No matter where it blows,
+  And makes this dull old world of ours
+    The color of the rose.
+
+  There's not a pang but she can soothe,
+    Nor spell but she can break,
+  And e'en the hardest lot can smooth,
+    And bid us courage take.
+  Fair Nicotine! thou dost atone
+    For many an aching heart;
+  And I for one will gladly own
+    The magic of thine art.
+
+  Ah, "friendly traitress," "loving foe,"
+    Forgive this loving lay;
+  For I, thy worshipper, would show
+    The sweetness of thy sway.
+  "Sublime tobacco!" may thy reign
+    Ne'er for one moment cease;
+  For thou, Great Plant, art kin to brain,
+    And synonym for peace.
+
+E.H.S.
+
+
+
+
+MEERSCHAUM.
+
+
+  Come to me, O my meerschaum,
+  For the vile street organs play;
+  And the torture they're inflicting
+  Will vanish quite away.
+
+  I open my study window
+  And into the twilight peer,
+  And my anxious eyes are watching
+  For the man with my evening beer.
+
+  In one hand is the shining pewter,
+  All amber the ale doth glow;
+  In t'other are long "churchwardens,"
+  As spotless and pure as snow.
+
+  Ah! what would the world be to us
+  Tobaccoless?--Fearful bore!
+  We should dread the day after to-morrow
+  Worse than the day before.
+
+  As the elephant's trunk to the creature,
+  Is the pipe to the man, I trow;
+  Useful and meditative
+  As the cud to the peaceful cow.
+
+  So to the world is smoking;
+  Through that we feel, with bliss
+  That, whatever worlds come after,
+  A jolly old world is this.
+
+  Come to me, O my meerschaum,
+  And whisper to me here,
+  If you like me better than coffee,
+  Than grog, or the bitter beer.
+
+  Oh! what are our biggest winnings,
+  If peaceful content we miss?
+  Though fortune may give us an innings
+  She seldom conveys us bliss.
+
+  You're better than all the fortunes
+  That ever were made or broke;
+  For a penny will always fill
+  And buy me content with a smoke.
+
+WRONGFELLOW.
+
+
+
+
+  I like cigars
+  Beneath the stars,
+  Upon the waters blue.
+  To laugh and float
+  While rocks the boat
+  Upon the waves,--Don't you?
+
+  To rest the oar
+  And float to shore,--
+  While soft the moonbeams shine,--
+  To laugh and joke,
+  And idly smoke;
+  I think is quite divine.
+
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+
+
+"A FREE PUFF."
+
+
+  Do you remember when first we met?
+  I was turning twenty--well! I don't forget
+            How I walked along,
+            Humming a song
+  Across the fields and down the lane
+  By the country road, and back again
+  To the dear old farm--three miles or more--
+  And brought you home from the village store.
+
+  Summer was passing--don't you recall
+  The splendid harvest we had that Fall,
+  And how when the Autumn died,--sober and brown,--
+  We trudged down the turnpike, and on to the town?
+
+    Sweet black brierwood pipe of mine!
+    If you were human you'd be half divine,
+  For when I've looked beyond the smoke, into your burning bowl
+            In times of need
+            You've been, indeed,
+  The only comfort, sweetest solace, of my overflowing soul.
+  We've been together nearly thirty years, old fellow!
+  And now, you must admit, we're both a trifle mellow.
+  We have had our share of joys and a deal of sorrows,
+  And while we're only waiting for a few more to-morrows,
+    Others will come, and others will go,
+    And Time will gather what Youth will sow;
+    But we together will go down the rough
+    Road to the end, and to the end--puff.
+
+ARTHUR IRVING GRAY.
+
+
+
+
+MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE.
+
+
+  Old meerschaum pipe, I'll fondly wipe
+    Thy scarred and blackened form,
+  For thou to me wilt ever be--
+    Whate'er betides the storm--
+  A casket filled with memories
+    Of life's Auroral morn.
+
+  Thou once wert fair like ivory rare;
+    Spotless as lily white;
+  Thy curving lines, like tendril'd vines,
+    Were pleasing to the sight,
+  And in thine ample bowl there lurked
+    A promise of delight.
+
+  Like incense flung from censer swung
+    Before some sculptured shrine,
+  To float along with prayer and song
+    To realms of bliss divine,--
+  Ascend thy fragrant wreaths of smoke
+    And with my thoughts entwine.
+
+  Old pipe, old friend, o'er thee doth bend
+    The rainbow hues of life,
+  While sorrows roll across my soul,
+    And peace is turned to strife,
+  And Faith drifts o'er a sea of doubt
+    With desolation rife.
+
+  Alas, that man or pipe e'er can
+    Wax old or know decay;
+  Alas, that heart from heart must part,
+    Or Love can lose its sway.
+  And death in life should cast its pall
+    Athwart the troubled way.
+
+  Tho' love be cross'd, and friends are lost,
+    And severed every tie;
+  Tho' hopes are dead and joys have fled,
+    And darkened is the sky;
+  We yet can warm each other's hearts,
+    Old meerschaum pipe and I.
+
+JOHNSON M. MUNDY.
+
+
+
+
+A WARNING.
+
+
+HE.
+
+  I loathe all books. I hate to see
+    The world and men through others' eyes;
+  My own are good enough for me.
+    These scribbling fellows I despise;
+            They bore me.
+  I used to try to read a bit,
+  But, when I did, a sleepy fit
+            Came o'er me.
+
+  Yet here I sit with pensive look,
+    Filling my pipe with fragrant loads,
+  Gazing in rapture at a book!--
+    A free translation of the Odes
+            Of Horace.
+  'Tis owned by sweet Elizabeth,
+  And breathes a subtle, fragrant breath
+            Of orris.
+
+  I longed for something that was hers
+    To cheer me when I'm feeling low;
+  I saw this book of paltry verse,
+    And asked to take it home--and so
+            She lent it.
+  I love her deep and tenderly,
+  Yet dare not tell my love, lest she
+            Resent it.
+
+  I'll learn to quote a stanza here,
+    A couplet there. I'm very sure
+  'Twould aid my suit could I appear
+    _Au fait_ in books and literature.
+            I'll do it!
+  This jingle I can quickly learn;
+  Then, hid in roses, I'll return
+            Her poet!
+
+
+SHE.
+
+  The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
+    Around my pretty, cherished book,
+  The odor vile, the noisome taint
+    Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
+            Yet lingers!
+  The hateful man, my book to spoil!
+  Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
+            My fingers!
+
+  This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
+    These violets he has sent to me
+  The odor of his pipe exhale!
+    Am I to blame that I should be
+            Enraged?
+  Tell Mr. Simpson every time
+  He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm
+            Engaged!
+
+ARTHUR LOVELL.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.
+
+
+  Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand
+    What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face,
+  That you are in fashion all over the land,
+    And I am so much fallen into disgrace.
+
+  "Do but see what a pretty contemplative air
+    I give to the company,--pray do but note 'em,--
+  You would think that the wise men of Greece were all there,
+    Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of Gotham.
+
+  "My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,
+    While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;
+  There is nothing but snivelling and blowing of noses,
+    Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear."
+
+  Then, lifting his lid in a delicate way,
+    And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging.
+  The Box in reply was heard plainly to say,
+    "What a silly dispute is this we are Waging!
+
+  "If you have a little of merit to claim,
+    You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed;
+  And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,
+    The before-mentioned drug in apology plead.
+
+  "Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own,
+    No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus;
+  We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,
+    But of anything else they may choose to put in us."
+
+WM. COWPER.
+
+
+
+
+A LOSS.
+
+
+  How hard a thing it is to part
+    From those we love and cherish;
+  How deeply does it pain one's heart
+    To know all things must perish!
+
+  And when a friend and comrade dear
+    Is lost to us forever,
+  We feel how frail are all things here,
+    Since e'en best friends must sever.
+
+  I, too, have lost a friend, who broke
+    Its power when care was near me;
+  And troubles disappeared in smoke
+    When he was by to cheer me.
+
+  But as friends fall when valued most,
+    Like fruit that over-ripe is.
+  My loved companion I have lost,--
+    That friend my meerschaum pipe is!
+
+_Judy_ (1873).
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUE LEUCOTHOE.
+
+
+  Let others praise the god of wine,
+    Or Venus, love, and beauty's smile;
+  I choose a theme not less divine,--
+    The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.
+
+  The old Greeks err'd who bound with bays
+    Apollo's brow; the verdant crown
+  He wore, when measuring their days,
+    Grew in the West, where he went down.
+
+  An idle tale they also told;
+    They said he gave them frankincense,
+  Borne by some tree he loved of old;
+    If so, he gave a mere pretence.
+
+  For the true offspring of his love--
+    Tobacco--grew far o'er the sea,
+  Where Leucothoe from above
+    Led him as honey leads the bee,
+
+  Till on that plant he paus'd to gaze
+    Some moments ere he held his way,
+  And cheer her with his warmest rays,
+    Heedless of time or length of day.
+
+  Then with a sigh his brows he wreath'd
+    With leaves that care and toil beguile,
+  And bless'd, as their perfume he breath'd,
+    The plant that grows in Cuba's Isle.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+THOSE ASHES.
+
+
+  Up to the frescoed ceiling
+    The smoke of my cigarette
+  In a sinuous spray is reeling,
+    Forming flower and minaret.
+
+  What delicious landscape floating
+    On perfumed wings I see;
+  Pale swans I am idly noting,
+    And queens robed in filagree.
+
+  I see such delicious faces
+    As ne'er man saw before,
+  And my fancy fondly chases
+    Sweet maids on a fairy shore.
+
+  Now to bits my air-castle crashes,
+    And those pictures I see no more;
+  My grandmother yells: "Them ashes--
+    Don't drop them on the floor!"
+
+R.K. MUNKITTRICK.
+
+
+
+
+WHAT I LIKE.
+
+
+  To lie with half-closed eyes, as in a dream,
+  Upon the grassy bank of some calm stream--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To climb with daring feet some rugged rock,
+  And sit aloft where gulls and curlews flock--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To wander lonely on the ocean's brink,
+  And of the good old times to muse and think--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To hide me in some deep and woody glen,
+  Far from unhealthy haunts of sordid men--
+            And smoke.
+
+  To linger in some fairy haunted vale,
+  While all about me falls the moonlight pale--
+            And smoke.
+
+H.L.
+
+
+
+
+MY MEERSCHAUMS.
+
+
+  Long pipes and short ones, straight and curved,
+    High carved and plain, dark-hued and creamy,
+  Slim tubes for cigarettes reserved,
+    And stout ones for Havanas dreamy.
+
+  This cricket, on an amber spear
+    Impaled, recalls that golden weather
+  When love and I, too young to fear
+    Heartburn, smoked cigarettes together.
+
+  And even now--too old to take
+    The little papered shams for flavor--
+  I light it oft for her sweet sake
+    Who gave it, with her girlish favor.
+
+  And here's the mighty student bowl
+    Whose tutoring in and after college
+  Has led me nearer wisdom's goal
+    Than all I learned of text-book knowledge.
+
+  "It taught me?" Ay, to hold my tongue,
+    To keep a-light, and yet burn slowly,
+  To break ill spells around me flung
+    As with the enchanted whiff of Moly.
+
+  This nargileh, whose hue betrays
+    Perique from soft Louisiana,
+  In Egypt once beguiled the days
+    Of Tewfik's dreamy-eyed Sultana.
+
+  Speaking of color,--do you know
+    A maid with eyes as darkly splendid
+  As are the hues that, rich and slow,
+    On this Hungarian bowl have blended?
+
+  Can artist paint the fiery glints
+    Of this quaint finger here beside it,
+  With amber nail,--the lustrous tints,
+    A thousand Partagas have dyed it?
+
+  "And this old silver patched affair?"
+    Well, sir, that meerschaum has its reasons
+  For showing marks of time and wear;
+    For in its smoke through fifty seasons
+
+  My grandsire blew his cares away!
+    And then, when done with life's sojourning,
+  At seventy-five dropped dead one day,
+    That pipe between his set teeth burning!
+
+  "Killed him?" No doubt! it's apt to kill
+    In fifty year's incessant using--
+  Some twenty pipes a day. And still,
+    On that ripe, well-filled, lifetime musing,
+
+  I envy oft so bright a part,--
+    To live as long as life's a treasure;
+  To die of--not an aching heart,
+    But--half a century of pleasure!
+
+  Well, well! I'm boring you, no doubt;
+    How these old memories will undo one--
+  I see you've let your weed go out;
+    That's wrong! Here, light yourself a new one!
+
+CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
+
+
+
+
+ODE TO TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Thou, who when fears attack
+  Bidst them avaunt, and Black
+  Care, at the horseman's back
+          Perching, unseatest;
+  Sweet when the morn is gray;
+  Sweet when they've cleared away
+  Lunch; and at close of day
+          Possibly sweetest!
+
+  I have a liking old
+  For thee, though manifold
+  Stories, I know, are told
+          Not to thy credit:
+  How one (or two at most)
+  Drops make a cat a ghost,--
+  Useless, except to roast--
+          Doctors have said it;
+
+  How they who use fusees
+  All grow by slow degrees
+  Brainless as chimpanzees,
+          Meagre as lizards,
+  Go mad, and beat their wives,
+  Plunge (after shocking lives)
+  Razors and carving-knives
+          Into their gizzards.
+
+  Confound such knavish tricks!
+  Yet know I five or six
+  Smokers who freely mix
+          Still with their neighbors,--
+  Jones, who, I'm glad to say,
+  Asked leave of Mrs. J.,
+  Daily absorbs a clay
+          After his labors.
+
+  Cats may have had their goose
+  Cooked by tobacco juice;
+  Still, why deny its use
+          Thoughtfully taken?
+  We're not as tabbies are;
+  Smith, take a fresh cigar!
+  Jones, the tobacco jar!
+          Here's to thee, Bacon!
+
+C.S. CALVERLY.
+
+
+
+
+ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE.
+
+
+  I lifted off the lid with anxious care,
+    Removed the wrappages, stripe after stripe,
+  And when the hidden contents were laid bare,
+    My first remark was: "Mercy, what a pipe!"
+
+  A pipe of symmetry that matched its size,
+    Mounted with metal bright,--a sight to see;
+  With the rich amber hue that smokers prize,
+    Attesting both its age and pedigree.
+
+  A pipe to make the royal Friedrich jealous,
+    Or the great Teufelsdroeckh with envy gripe!
+  A man should hold some rank above his fellows
+    To justify his smoking such a pipe!
+
+  What country gave it birth? What blest of cities
+    Saw it first kindle at the glowing coal?
+  What happy artist murmured, "Nunc dimittis,"
+    When he had fashioned this transcendent bowl?
+
+  Has it been hoarded in a monarch's treasures?
+    Was it a gift of peace, or prize of war?
+  Did the great Khalif in his "House of Pleasures"
+    Wager and lose it to the good Zaafar?
+
+  It may have soothed mild Spenser's melancholy,
+    While musing o'er traditions of the past,
+  Or graced the lips of brave Sir Walter Raleigh,
+    Ere sage King Jamie blew his "_Counterblast_."
+
+  Did it, safe hidden in some secret cavern,
+    Escape that monarch's pipoclastic ken?
+  Has Shakespeare smoked it at the Mermaid Tavern,
+    Quaffing a cup of sack with rare old Ben?
+
+  Ay, Shakespeare might have watched his vast creations
+    Loom through its smoke,--the spectre-haunted Thane,
+  The Sisters at their ghostly invocations,
+    The jealous Moor, and melancholy Dane.
+
+  Round its orbed haze and through its mazy ringlets,
+    Titania may have led her elfin rout,
+  Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,
+    Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it out.
+
+  Vain are all fancies,--questions bring no answer;
+    The smokers vanish, but the pipe remains;
+  He were indeed a subtle necromancer,
+    Could read their records in its cloudy stains.
+
+  Nor this alone. Its destiny may doom it
+    To outlive e'en its use and history;
+  Some ploughman of the future may exhume it
+    From soil now deep beneath the Eastern sea.
+
+  And, treasured by soma antiquarian Stultus,
+    It may to gaping visitors be shown
+  Labelled: "The symbol of some ancient cultus
+    Conjecturally Phallic, but unknown."
+
+  Why do I thus recall the ancient quarrel
+    Twixt Man and Time, that marks all earthly things?
+  Why labor to re-word the hackneyed moral
+    [Greek: Hos phyllon genee], as Homer sings?
+    '[Omega][sigmaf] [phi][upsilon][lambda][lambda][omega][nu]
+          [gamma][epsilon][nu][epsilon][eta], as Homer sings?
+
+  For this: Some links we forge are never broken;
+    Some feelings claim exemption from decay;
+  And Love, of which this pipe is but the token,
+    Shall last, though pipes and smokers pass away.
+
+W.H.B.
+
+
+
+
+MY LITTLE BROWN PIPE.
+
+
+  I have a little comforter,
+    I carry in my pocket:
+  It is not any woman's face
+    Set in a golden locket;
+  It is not any kind of purse;
+    It is not book or letter,
+  But yet at times I really think
+    That it is something better.
+
+  Oh, my pipe, my little brown pipe!
+    How oft, at morning early,
+  When vexed with thoughts of coming toil,
+    And just a little surly,
+  I sit with thee till things get clear,
+    And all my plans grow steady,
+  And I can face the strife of life
+    With all my senses steady.
+
+  No matter if my temper stands
+    At stormy, fair, or clearing,
+  My pipe has not for any mood
+    A word of angry sneering.
+  I always find it just the same,
+    In care, or joy, or sorrow,
+  And what it is to-day I know
+    It's sure to be to-morrow.
+
+  It helps me through the stress of life;
+    It balances my losses;
+  It adds a charm to all my joys,
+    And lightens all my crosses.
+  For through the wreathing, misty veil
+    Joy has a softer splendor,
+  And life grows sweetly possible,
+    And love more truly tender.
+
+  Oh, I have many richer joys!
+    I do not underrate them,
+  And every man knows what I mean,
+    I do not need to state them.
+  But this I say,--I'd rather miss
+    A deal of what's called pleasure,
+  Than lose my little comforter,
+    My little smoky treasure.
+
+AMELIA E. BARR.
+
+
+
+
+  Forsaken of all comforts but these two,--
+    My fagot and my pipe--I sit to muse
+    On all my crosses, and almost excuse
+  The heavens for dealing with me as they do.
+  When Hope steps in, and, with a smiling brow,
+    Such cheerful expectations doth infuse
+    As makes me think ere long I cannot choose
+  But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now.
+    But having spent my pipe, I then perceive
+    That hopes and dreams are cousins,--both deceive.
+  Then mark I this conclusion in my mind,
+    It's all one thing,--both tend into one scope,--
+    To live upon Tobacco and on Hope:
+  The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.
+
+SIR ROBERT AYTON.
+
+
+
+
+'TWAS OFF THE BLUE CANARIES.
+
+
+  'Twas off the blue Canary isles,
+    A glorious summer day,
+  I sat upon the quarter deck,
+    And whiffed my cares away;
+  And as the volumed smoke arose,
+    Like incense in the air,
+  I breathed a sigh to think, in sooth,
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I leaned upon the quarter rail,
+    And looked down in the sea;
+  E'en there the purple wreath of smoke,
+    Was curling gracefully;
+  Oh! what had I at such a time
+    To do with wasting care?
+  Alas! the trembling tear proclaimed
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I watched the ashes as it came
+    Fast drawing toward the end;
+  I watched it as a friend would watch
+    Beside a dying friend;
+  But still the flame swept slowly on;
+    It vanished into air;
+  I threw it from me,--spare the tale,--
+    It was my last cigar.
+
+  I've seen the land of all I love
+    Fade in the distance dim;
+  I've watched above the blighted heart,
+    Where once proud hope hath been;
+  But I've never known a sorrow
+    That could with that compare,
+  When off the blue Canaries
+    I smoked my last cigar.
+
+JOSEPH WARREN FABENS.
+
+
+
+
+LATAKIA.
+
+
+I.
+
+  When all the panes are hung with frost,
+  Wild wizard-work of silver lace,
+  I draw my sofa on the rug,
+  Before the ancient chimney-place.
+  Upon the painted tiles are mosques
+  And minarets, and here and there
+  A blind muezzin lifts his hands,
+  And calls the faithful unto prayer.
+  Folded in idle, twilight dreams,
+  I hear the hemlock chirp and sing,
+  As if within its ruddy core
+  It held the happy heart of Spring.
+  Ferdousi never sang like that,
+  Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay;
+  I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke,
+  And watch them rise and float away.
+
+
+II.
+
+  The curling wreaths like turbans seem
+  Of silent slaves that come and go,--
+  Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime,
+  Whom I behead from time to time,
+  With pipe-stem, at a single blow.
+  And now and then a lingering cloud
+  Takes gracious form at my desire,
+  And at my side my lady stands,
+  Unwinds her veil with snowy hands,--
+  A shadowy shape, a breath of fire!
+
+  O Love, if you were only here
+  Beside me in this mellow light,
+  Though all the bitter winds should blow,
+  And all the ways be choked with snow,
+  'Twould be a true Arabian night!
+
+T.B. ALDRICH.
+
+
+
+
+MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.
+
+
+  Some sombre evening, when I sit
+    And feed in solitude at home,
+  Perchance an ultra-bilious fit
+    Paints all the world an orange chrome.
+
+  When Fear and Care and grim Despair
+    Flock round me in a ghostly crowd,
+  One charm dispels them all in air,--
+    I blow my after-dinner cloud.
+
+  '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 vapor 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?
+
+HENRY S. LEIGH.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.
+
+
+  When that last pipe is smoked at last
+    And pouch and pipe put by,
+  And Smoked and Smoker both alike
+    In dust and ashes lie,
+  What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
+    Ah, will he smoke no more?
+  And will there be no golden cloud
+    Upon the golden shore?
+  Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
+    To Fate upon his hill,
+  For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
+    He goes on smoking still.
+  But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
+    If other men pursue
+  Their various earthly joys again
+    Beyond that distant blue,
+  If the poor Smoker might not ply
+    His peaceful passion too.
+  If Indian braves may still up there
+    On merry scalpings go,
+  And buried Britons rise again
+    With arrow and with bow,
+  May not the Smoker hope to take
+    His "cutty" from below?
+  So let us trust; and when at length
+    You lay me 'neath the yew,
+  Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
+    Pipes and tobacco too!
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.
+
+
+
+
+SWEET SMOKING PIPE.
+
+
+  Sweet smoking pipe; bright glowing stove,
+    Companion still of my retreat,
+  Thou dost my gloomy thoughts remove,
+    And purge my brain with gentle heat.
+
+  Tobacco, charmer of my mind,
+    When, like the meteor's transient gleam.
+  Thy substance gone to air I find,
+    I think, alas, my life's the same!
+
+  What else but lighted dust am I?
+    Then shew'st me what my fate will be;
+  And when thy sinking ashes die,
+    I learn that I must end like thee.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+CIGARETTE RINGS.
+
+
+  How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night;
+  I'm too sleepy to read and too lazy to write;
+  So I'll watch the blue rings, as they eddy and twirl,
+  And in gossamer wreathings coquettishly curl.
+  In the stillness of night and the sparseness of chimes
+  There's a fleetness in fancy, a frolic in rhymes;
+  There's a world of romance that persistently clings
+  To the azurine curving of Cigarette Rings!
+
+  What a picture comes back from the passed-away times!
+  They are lounging once more 'neath the sweet-scented limes;
+  See how closely he watches the Queen of Coquettes,
+  As her white hands roll deftly those small cigarettes!
+  He believes in her smiles and puts faith in her sighs
+  While he's dazzled by light from her fathomless eyes.
+  Ah, the dearest of voices delightfully sings
+  Through the wind intertwining of Cigarette Rings!
+
+  How sweet was her song in the bright summer-time,
+  When winds whispered low 'neath the tremulous lime!
+  How sweet, too, that bunch of forget-me-nots blue--
+  The love he thought lasting, the words he thought true!
+  _Ah, the words of a woman concerning such things_
+  _Are weak and unstable as Cigarette Rings!_
+
+J. ASHBY-STERRY.
+
+
+
+
+SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.
+
+
+    The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently
+    sufficient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he
+    designated himself, "Ralph Erskine, V.D.M." The peasantry
+    throughout the North of England always called it "Erskine
+    Song;" and not only is his name given as the author in
+    numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of "Gospel
+    Sonnets," from an early copy of which this version is
+    transcribed. The discovery, however, by Mr. Collier of the
+    First Part in a MSS. temp. James I., with the initials "G.W."
+    affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honor of
+    the entire authorship. G.W. is supposed to be George
+    Wither; but this is purely conjectural, and it is not at
+    all improbable that G.W. really stands for W.G., as it was
+    a common practice among anonymous writers to reverse their
+    initials.
+
+    The history, then, of the poem seems to be this: that the
+    First Part, as it is now printed, originally constituted the
+    whole production, being complete in itself; that the Second
+    Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine, and that
+    both parts came subsequently to be ascribed to him, as his
+    was the only name published in connection with the song. See
+    "Ballads of the Peasantry," Bell's edition. Variants of
+    this song will be found on pages 86 and 150 of the present
+    collection; the first is ascribed to George Wither, and
+    the other is taken from the first volume of "Pills to purge
+    Melancholy."
+
+
+PART I.
+
+  This Indian weed, now withered quite.
+  Tho' green at noon, cut down at night,
+        Shows thy decay,
+        All flesh is hay:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe, so lily-like and weak,
+  Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;
+        Thou art e'en such--
+        Gone with a touch:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And when the smoke ascends on high,
+  Then thou behold'st the vanity
+        Of worldly stuff--
+        Gone with a puff:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And when the pipe grows foul within,
+  Think on thy soul defiled with sin;
+        For then the fire
+        It doth require:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  And seest the ashes cast away,
+  Then to thyself thou mayest say,
+        That to the dust
+        Return thou must:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+
+PART II.
+
+  Was this small plant for thee cut down?
+  So was the Plant of Great Renown,
+        Which Mercy sends
+        For nobler ends:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  Does juice medicinal proceed
+  From such a naughty foreign weed?
+        Then what's the power
+        Of Jesse's Flower?
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The promise, like the pipe, inlays,
+  And by the mouth of faith conveys
+        What virtue flows
+        From Sharon's Rose:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  In vain the unlighted pipe you blow;
+  Your pains in outward means are so,
+        'Till heavenly fire
+        Your heart inspire:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+  The smoke, like burning incense, towers:
+  So should a praying heart of yours,
+        With ardent cries,
+        Surmount the skies:
+  Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO IS AN INDIAN WEED.
+
+
+  Tobacco's but an Indian weed,
+  Grows green at morn, cut down at eve;
+  It shows decay; we are but clay;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so lily white,
+  Wherein so many take delight,
+  Is broke with a touch,--man's life is such;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The pipe that is so foul within
+  Shows how man's soul is stained with sin,
+  And then the fire it doth require;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The ashes that are left behind
+  Do serve to put us all in mind
+  That unto dust return we must;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+  The smoke that does so high ascend
+  Shews us man's life must have an end;
+  The vapor's gone,--man's life is done;
+  Think of this when you smoke tobacco.
+
+From "_Pills to Purge Melancholy_."
+
+
+
+
+TOBACCO.
+
+
+  Let poets rhyme of what they will,
+  Youth, Beauty, Love, or Glory, still
+        My theme shall be Tobacco!
+  Hail, weed, eclipsing every flow'r,
+  Of thee I fain would make my bow'r,
+  When fortune frowns, or tempests low'r,
+        Mild comforter of woe!
+
+  They say in truth an angel's foot
+  First brought to life thy precious root,
+        The source of every pleasure!
+  Descending from the skies he press'd
+  With hallowed touch Earth's yielding breast;
+  Forth sprang the plant, and then was bless'd,
+        As man's chief treasure!
+
+  Throughout the world who knows thee not?
+  Of palace and of lowly cot
+        The universal guest,--
+  The friend of Gentile, Turk, and Jew,
+  To all a stay, to none untrue,
+  The balm that can our ills subdue,
+        And soothe us into rest!
+
+  With thee the poor man can abide
+  Oppression, want, the scorn of pride,
+        The curse of penury.
+  Companion of his lonely state,
+  He is no longer desolate,
+  And still can brave an adverse fate
+        With honest worth and thee!
+
+  All honor to the patriot bold
+  Who brought, instead of promised gold,
+        Thy leaf to Britain's shore.
+  It cost him life; but thou shalt raise
+  A cloud of fragrance to his praise,
+  And bards shall hail in deathless lays
+        The valiant knight of yore.
+
+  Ay, Raleigh! thou wilt live till Time
+  Shall ring his last oblivious chime,
+        The fruitful theme of story;
+  And man in ages hence shall tell
+  How greatness, virtue, wisdom, fell,
+  When England sounded out thy knell,
+        And dimmed her ancient glory.
+
+  And thou, O plant! shalt keep his name
+  Unwithered in the scroll of fame,
+        And teach us to remember;
+  He gave with thee content and peace,
+  Bestow'd on life a longer lease,
+  And bidding every trouble cease,
+        Made summer of December.
+
+THOMAS JONES.
+
+
+
+
+THE CIGAR.
+
+
+  Some sigh for this and that,
+    My wishes don't go far;
+  The world may wag at will,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some fret themselves to death
+    With Whig and Tory jar;
+  I don't care which is in,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Sir John requests my vote,
+    And so does Mr. Marr;
+  I don't care how it goes,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some want a German row,
+    Some wish a Russian war;
+  I care not. I'm at peace
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I never see the "Post,"
+    I seldom read the "Star;"
+  The "Globe" I scarcely heed,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Honors have come to men
+    My juniors at the Bar;
+  No matter--I can wait,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Ambition frets me not;
+    A cab or glory's car
+  Are just the same to me,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I worship no vain gods,
+    But serve the household Lar;
+  I'm sure to be at home,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  I do not seek for fame,
+    A general with a scar;
+  A private let me be,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  To have my choice among
+    The toys of life's bazaar,
+  The deuce may take them all
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  Some minds are often tost
+    By tempests like a tar;
+  I always seem in port,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  The ardent flame of love,
+    My bosom cannot char,
+  I smoke but do not burn,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+  They tell me Nancy Low
+    Has married Mr. R.;
+  The jilt! but I can live,
+    So I have my cigar.
+
+THOMAS HOOD.
+
+
+
+
+PIPE AND TOBACCO.
+
+
+  When my pipe burns bright and clear,
+  The gods I need not envy here;
+  And as the smoke fades in the wind,
+  Our fleeting life it brings to mind.
+
+  Noble weed! that comforts life,
+  And art with calmest pleasures rife;
+  Heaven grant thee sunshine and warm rain,
+  And to thy planter health and gain.
+
+  Through thee, friend of my solitude,
+  With hope and patience I'm endued,
+  Deep sinks thy power within my heart,
+  And cares and sorrows all depart.
+
+  Then let non-smokers rail forever;
+  Shall their hard words true friends dissever?
+  Pleasure's too rare to cast away
+  My pipe, for what the railers say!
+
+  When love grows cool, thy fire still warms me,
+  When friends are fled, thy presence charms me;
+  If thou art full, though purse be bare,
+  I smoke, and cast away all care!
+
+_German Folk Song._
+
+
+
+
+THE LATEST CONVERT.
+
+
+  I've been in love some scores of times,
+    With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary--
+  To name them all would stretch my rhymes
+    From here as far as Demerary.
+
+  But each has wed some other man,--
+    Girls always do, I find, in real life,--
+  And I am left alone to scan
+    The horizon of my own ideal life.
+
+  I still survive. I was, I think,
+    Not born to run in double harness;
+  I did not shirk my food and drink
+    When Nellie married Harry Carnice.
+
+  But I am wedded to my pipe!
+    That faithful friend, nought can provoke it;
+  Should it grow cold, I gently wipe
+    Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.
+
+  But it is sweet to kiss; and I
+    Should love to kiss a wife and pet her--
+  She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;
+    Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.
+
+  There's merry Maud--with her I'd dare
+    To brave the matrimonial ocean;
+  _She_ would not pout or fret, but wear
+    A constant smile of sweet devotion.
+
+  How know I that she will not change,
+    My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
+  (Pray this in smallest type arrange)
+    She smokes--at times--a cigareto.
+
+F.W. LITTLETON HAY.
+
+
+
+
+CONFESSION OF A CIGAR SMOKER.
+
+
+  I owe to smoking, more or less,
+  Through life the whole of my success;
+  With my cigar I'm sage and wise,--
+  Without, I'm dull as cloudy skies.
+  When smoking, all my ideas soar,
+  When not, they sink upon the floor.
+  The greatest men have all been smokers,
+  And so were all the greatest jokers.
+  Then ye who'd bid adieu to care,
+  Come here and smoke it into air.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+  Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth,
+    How sweet for thee to know
+  King James, who never smoked on earth,
+    Is smoking down below.
+
+
+
+
+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.
+  Even in the wane of dull October
+  I smoke my pipe and sip my "robar."
+  November's soaking show'rs require
+  The smoking pipe and blazing fire.
+  The darkest day in drear December's--
+  That's lighted by their glowing embers.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE.
+
+
+  As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone,
+  And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,
+  So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till in shadowy design
+  I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
+  As I turn it low, to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,
+  And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
+  Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the smoke.
+
+  'Tis a fragrant retrospection, for the loving thoughts that start
+  Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the heart;
+  And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine--
+  When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,
+  The voices of my children and the mother as she sings,
+  I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
+  When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.
+
+  In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm
+  To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm;
+  For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine
+  That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+  A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace,
+  Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;
+  And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes,
+  As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.
+
+  I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress
+  She wore when first I kissed her, and she answered the caress
+  With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine
+  Grew round the stump," she loved me,--that old sweetheart of mine!
+
+  And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,
+  As we used to talk together of the future we had planned:
+  When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do
+  But write the tender verses that she set the music to;
+
+  When we should live together in a cozy little cot,
+  Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,
+  Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,
+  And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine;
+
+  And I should be her lover forever and a day,
+  And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;
+  And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb
+  They would not smile in heaven till the other's kiss had come.
+
+  But ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,
+  And the door is softly opened, and my wife is standing there!
+  Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign
+  To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
+
+JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
+
+
+
+
+A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+        Let the learned talk of books,
+        The glutton of cooks,
+  The lover of Celia's soft smack--O!
+        No mortal can boast
+        So noble a toast
+  As a pipe of accepted tobacco.
+
+        Let the soldier for fame,
+        And a general's name,
+  In battle get many a thwack--O!
+        Let who will have most,
+        Who will rule the rooste,
+  Give me but a pipe of tobacco.
+
+        Tobacco gives wit
+        To the dullest old cit,
+  And makes him of politics crack--O!
+        The lawyers i' the hall
+        Were not able to bawl,
+  Were it not for a whiff of tobacco.
+
+        The man whose chief glory
+        Is telling a story,
+  Had never arrived at the smack--O!
+        Between ever heying,
+        And as I was saying,
+  Did he not take a whiff of tobacco.
+
+        The doctor who places
+        Much skill in grimaces,
+  And feels your pulse running tic-tack--O!
+        Would you know his chief skill?
+        It is only to fill
+  And smoke a good pipe of tobacco.
+
+        The courtiers alone
+        To this weed are not prone;
+  Would you know what 'tis makes them so slack--O?
+        'Twas because it inclined
+        To be honest the mind,
+  And therefore they banished tobacco.
+
+HENRY FIELDING.
+
+
+
+
+  Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.
+  What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?
+  In country or in town, on land or sea,
+  The weed is still delightful company.
+  In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
+  We fly to thee for solace once again.
+  Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
+  'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.
+
+ANON.
+
+
+
+
+  Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic,
+  That rules half the world in a way quite despotic;
+  So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks,
+  We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.
+
+
+
+
+TO MY CIGAR.
+
+  The warmth of thy glow,
+    Well-lighted cigar,
+  Makes happy thoughts flow,
+    And drives sorrow afar.
+
+  The stronger the wind blows,
+    The brighter thou burnest!
+  The dreariest of life's woes,
+    Less gloomy thou turnest!
+
+  As I feel on my lip
+    Thy unselfish kiss,
+  Like thy flame-colored tip,
+    All is rosy-hued bliss.
+
+  No longer does sorrow
+    Lay weight on my heart;
+  And all fears of the morrow,
+    In joy-dreams depart.
+
+  Sweet cheerer of sadness!
+    Life's own happy star!
+  I greet thee with gladness,
+    My friendly cigar!
+
+FRIEDRICH MARC.
+
+
+
+
+CIGARS AND BEER.
+
+
+        Here
+        With my beer
+    I sit,
+    While golden moments flit.
+        Alas!
+        They pass
+  Unheeded by;
+  And, as they fly,
+        I,
+        Being dry,
+        Sit idly sipping here
+        My beer.
+
+    Oh, finer far
+    Than fame or riches are
+    The graceful smoke-wreaths of this cigar!
+        Why
+        Should I
+        Weep, wail, or sigh?
+        What if luck has passed me by?
+    What if my hopes are dead,
+    My pleasures fled?
+        Have I not still
+        My fill
+    Of right good cheer,--
+    Cigars and beer?
+
+  Go, whining youth,
+  Forsooth!
+      Go, weep and wail,
+      Sigh and grow pale,
+      Weave melancholy rhymes
+      On the old times,
+  Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,--
+  But leave me to my beer!
+      Gold is dross,
+      Love is loss;
+  So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
+  Or see them drown
+  In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
+  Then do I wear the crown
+      Without a cross!
+
+GEORGE ARNOLD.
+
+
+
+
+EFFUSION BY A CIGAR SMOKER.
+
+
+  Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire,
+          Your fame to raise,
+          Upon its blaze,
+  Alas! ye do but light your funeral pyre!
+          Tempting Fate's stroke;
+  Ye fall, and all your glory ends in smoke.
+  Safe in my chair from wounds and woe,
+  _My_ fire and smoke from mine own mouth I blow.
+
+  Ye booksellers! who deal, like me, in puffs,
+          The public smokes,
+          You and your hoax,
+  And turns your empty vapor to rebuffs.
+          Ye through the nose
+  Pay for each puff; when mine the same way flows,
+  It does not run me into debt;
+  And thus, the more I fume, the less I fret.
+
+  Authors! created to be puff'd to death,
+          And fill the mouth
+          Of some uncouth
+  Bookselling wight, who sucks your brains and breath,
+          Your leaves thus far
+  (Without its fire) resemble my cigar;
+  But vapid, uninspired, and flat:
+  When, when, O Bards, will ye _compose_ like _that_?
+
+  Since life and the anxieties that share
+          Our hopes and trust,
+          Are smoke and dust,
+  Give me the smoke and dust that banish care.
+          The roll'd leaf bring,
+  Which from its ashes, Phoenix-like, can spring;
+  The fragrant leaf whose magic balm
+  Can, like Nepenthe, all our sufferings charm.
+
+  Oh, what supreme beatitude is this!
+          What soft and sweet
+          Sensations greet
+  My soul, and wrap it in Elysian bliss!
+          I soar above
+  Dull earth in these ambrosial clouds, like Jove,
+  And from my empyrean height
+  Look down upon the world with calm delight.
+
+HORACE SMITH.
+
+
+
+
+A POT, AND A PIPE OF TOBACCO.
+
+
+      Some praise taking snuff;
+      And 'tis pleasant enough
+  To those who have got the right knack, O!
+      But give me, my boys,
+      Those exquisite joys,
+  A pot, and a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      When fume follows fume
+      To the top of the room,
+  In circles pursuing their track, O!
+      How sweet to inhale
+      The health-giving gale
+  Of a pipe of Virginia tobacco.
+
+      Let soldiers so bold
+      For fame or for gold
+  Their enemies cut, slash, and hack, O!
+      We have fire and smoke,
+      Though all but in joke,
+  In a peaceable pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Should a mistress, unkind,
+      Be inconstant in mind,
+  And on your affections look black, O!
+      Let her wherrit and tiff,
+      'Twill blow off in a whiff,
+  If you take but a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      The miserly elf,
+      Who, in hoarding his pelf,
+  Keeps body and soul on the rack, O!
+      Would he bless and be blest,
+      He might open his chest
+  By taking a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Politicians so wise,
+      All ears and all eyes
+  For news, till their addled pates crack, O!
+      After puzzling their brains,
+      Will not get for their pains
+  The worth of a pipe of tobacco
+
+      If your land in the claw
+      Of a limb of the law
+  You trust, or your health to a quack, O!
+      'Tis fifty to one
+      They're both as soon gone
+  As you'd puff out a pipe of tobacco.
+
+      Life's short, 'tis agreed;
+      So we'll try from the weed,
+  Of man a brief emblem to tack, O!
+      When his spirit ascends,
+      Die he must,--and he ends
+  In dust, like a pipe of tobacco.
+
+_From "The Universal Songster, or Museum of Mirth."_
+
+
+
+
+IF I WERE KING.
+
+
+  If I were king, my pipe should be premier.
+  The skies of time and chance are seldom clear,
+    We would inform them all, with bland blue weather.
+  Delight alone would need to shed a tear,
+    For dream and deed should war no more together.
+
+  Art should aspire, yet ugliness be dear;
+    Beauty, the shaft, should speed with wit for feather;
+  And love, sweet love, should never fall to sere,
+            If I were king.
+
+  But politics should find no harbour near;
+    The Philistine should fear to slip his tether;
+  Tobacco should be duty free, and beer;
+    In fact, in room of this, the age of leather,
+  An age of gold all radiant should appear,
+            If I were king.
+
+W.E. HENLEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE PIPE YOU MAKE YOURSELF.
+
+
+  There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes as well,
+  There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes--things jes made to sell;
+  But any pipe that kin be bought fer marbles, chalk, or pelf,
+  Ain't ekal to the flaver of th' pipe you make yourself.
+
+  Jest take a common corn cob an' whittle out the middle,
+  Then plug up one end of it as tight as any fiddle;
+  Fit a stem into th' side an' lay her on th' shelf,
+  An' when she's dry you take her down, that pipe you made yourself.
+
+  Cram her full clar to th' brim with nachral leaf, you bet--
+  'T will smoke a trifle better for bein' somewhat wet--
+  Take your worms and fishin' pole, and a jug along for health,
+  An' you'll get a taste o' heaven from that pipe you made yourself.
+
+  There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes as well,
+  There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes--things jes made to sell;
+  But any pipe that kin be bought for marbles, chalk, or pelf,
+  Ain't ekal to th' flayer of the pipe you make yourself.
+
+HENRY E. BROWN.
+
+
+
+
+CHIBOUQUE.
+
+
+  At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
+    The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
+    Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
+  While round-limbed almees dance near his divan.
+
+  Slaves lure away _ennui_ with flowers and fan;
+    And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
+    In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
+  The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran!
+
+  Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
+    Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,
+    With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke,--
+  Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,
+    Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear
+    Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke!
+
+FRANCIS S. SALTUS.
+
+
+
+
+IN ROTTEN ROW.
+
+
+  In Rotten Row a cigarette
+  I sat and smoked, with no regret
+    For all the tumult that had been.
+    The distances were still and green,
+  And streaked with shadows cool and wet.
+
+  Two sweethearts on a bench were set,
+  Two birds among the boughs were met;
+    So love and song were heard and seen
+            In Rotten Row.
+
+  A horse or two there was to fret
+  The soundless sand; but work and debt,
+    Fair flowers and falling leaves between,
+    While clocks are chiming clear and keen,
+  A man may very well forget
+            In Rotten Row.
+
+W.E. HENLEY.
+
+
+
+
+THE DUET.
+
+
+  I was smoking a cigarette;
+    Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,
+  Were singing together a blithe duet,
+  And days it were better I should forget
+    Came suddenly back to me,--
+  Days when life seemed a gay masque ball,
+  And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.
+
+  As they sang together, the whole scene fled,
+    The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air,
+    Stately Maud, with her proud blond head,
+  And I seemed to see in her place instead
+    A wealth of blue-black hair,
+  And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette;
+  A face it were wiser I should forget.
+
+  We were back--well, no matter when or where;
+    But you remember, I know, Lisette.
+  I saw you, dainty and debonair,
+  With the very same look that you used to wear
+    In the days I should forget.
+  And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed,
+  Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.
+
+  Two small slippers with big rosettes
+    Peeped out under your kilt-skirt there,
+  While we sat smoking our cigarettes
+  (Oh, I shall be dust when my heart forgets!)
+    And singing that self-same air:
+  And between the verses, for interlude,
+  I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.
+
+  You were so full of a subtle fire,
+    You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette;
+  You were everything men admire;
+  And there were no fetters to make us tire,
+    For you were--a pretty grisette.
+  But you loved as only such natures can,
+  With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.
+
+  They have ceased singing that old duet,
+    Stately Maud and the tenor, McKey.
+  "You are burning your coat with your cigarette,
+  And _qu'avez vous_, dearest, your lids are wet,"
+    Maud says, as she leans o'er me.
+  And I smile, and lie to her, husband-wise,
+  "Oh, it is nothing but smoke in my eyes."
+
+ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+
+
+MY CIGARETTE.
+
+
+  Ma pauvre petite,
+  My little sweet,
+    Why do you cry?
+  Why this small tear,
+  So pure and clear,
+    In each blue eye?
+
+  "My cigarette--
+  I 'm smoking yet?"
+    (I'll be discreet.)
+  I toss it, see,
+  Away from me
+    Into the street.
+
+  You see I do
+  All things for you.
+    Come, let us sup.
+  (But, oh, what joy
+  To be that boy
+    Who picked it up.)
+
+TOM HALL.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S VIEWS.
+
+
+    A pipe, a book,
+    A cosy nook,
+  A fire,--at least its embers;
+    A dog, a glass:--
+    'Tis thus we pass
+  Such hours as one remembers.
+
+    Who'd wish to wed?
+    Poor Cupid's dead
+  These thousand years, I wager.
+    The modern maid
+    Is but a jade,
+  Not worth the time to cage her.
+
+    In silken gown
+    To "take" the town
+  Her first and last ambition.
+    What good is she
+    To you or me
+  Who have but a "position"?
+
+    So let us drink
+    To her,--but think
+  Of him who has to keep her;
+    And _sans_ a wife
+    Let's spend our life
+  In bachelordom,--it's cheaper.
+
+TOM HALL.
+
+
+
+
+PIPES AND BEER.
+
+
+  Before I was famous I used to sit
+    In a dull old under-ground room I knew,
+  And sip cheap beer, and be glad for it,
+    With a wild Bohemian friend or two.
+
+  And oh, it was joy to loiter thus,
+    At peace in the heart of the city's stir,
+  Entombed, while life hurried over us,
+    In our lazy bacchanal sepulchre.
+
+  There was artist George, with the blond Greek head,
+    And the startling creeds, and the loose cravat;
+  There was splenetic journalistic Fred,
+    Of the sharp retort and the shabby hat;
+
+  There was dreamy Frank, of the lounging gait,
+    Who lived on nothing a year, or less,
+  And always meant to be something great,
+    But only meant, and smoked to excess;
+
+  And last myself, whom their funny sneers
+    Annoyed no whit as they laughed and said,
+  I listened to all their grand ideas
+    And wrote them out for my daily bread!
+
+  The Teuton beer-bibbers came and went,
+    Night after night, and stared, good folk,
+  At our table, noisy with argument,
+    And our chronic aureoles of smoke.
+
+  And oh, my life! but we all loved well
+    The talk,--free, fearless, keen, profound,--
+  The rockets of wit that flashed and fell
+    In that dull old tavern under-ground!
+
+  But there came a change in my days at last,
+    And fortune forgot to starve and stint,
+  And the people chose to admire aghast
+    The book I had eaten dirt to print.
+
+  And new friends gathered about me then,
+    New voices summoned me there and here;
+  The world went down in my dingy den,
+    And drew me forth from the pipes and beer.
+
+  I took the stamp of my altered lot,
+    As the sands of the certain seasons ran,
+  And slowly, whether I would or not,
+    I felt myself growing a gentleman.
+
+  But now and then I would break the thrall,
+    I would yield to a pang of dumb regret,
+  And steal to join them, and find them all,
+    With the amber wassail near them yet,--
+
+  Find, and join them, and try to seem
+    A fourth for the old queer merry three,
+  With my fame as much of a yearning dream
+    As my morrow's dinner was wont to be.
+
+  But the wit would lag, and the mirth would lack,
+    And the god of jollity hear no call,
+  And the prosperous broadcloth on my back
+    Hung over their spirits like a pall!
+
+  It was not that they failed, each one, to try
+    Their warmth of welcome to speak and show;
+  I should just have risen and said good-bye,
+    With a haughty look, had they served me so.
+
+  It was rather that each would seem, instead,
+    With not one vestige of spleen or pride,
+  Across a chasm of change to spread
+    His greeting hands to the further side.
+
+  And our gladdest words rang strange and cold,
+    Like the echoes of other long-lost words;
+  And the nights were no more the nights of old
+    Than spring would be spring without the birds!
+
+  So they waned and waned, these visits of mine,
+    'Till I married the heiress, ending here.
+  For if caste approves the cigars and wine,
+    She must frown perforce upon pipes and beer.
+
+  And now 'tis years since I saw these men,
+    Years since I knew them living yet.
+  And of this alone I am sure since then,--
+    That none has gained what he toiled to get.
+
+  For I keep strict watch on the world of art,
+    And George, with his wide, rich-dowered brain!
+  His fervent fancy, his ardent heart,
+    Though he greatly toiled, has toiled in vain.
+
+  And Fred, for all he may sparkle bright
+    In caustic column, in clever quip,
+  Of a truth must still be hiding his light
+    Beneath the bushel of journalship.
+
+  And dreamy Frank must be dreaming still,
+    Lounging through life, if yet alive,
+  Smoking his vast preposterous fill,
+    Lounging, smoking, striving to strive.
+
+  And I, the fourth in that old queer throng,
+    Fourth and least, as my soul avows,--
+  I alone have been counted strong,
+    I alone have the laurelled brows!
+
+  Well, and what has it all been worth?
+    May not my soul to my soul confess
+  That "succeeding," here upon earth,
+    Does not alway assume success?
+
+  I would cast, and gladly, from this gray head
+    Its crown, to regain one sweet lost year
+  With artist George, with splenetic Fred,
+    With dreamy Frank, with the pipes and beer!
+
+EDGAR FAWCETT.
+
+
+
+
+A BACHELOR'S INVOCATION.
+
+
+  When all my plans have come to grief,
+      And every bill is due,
+  And every faith that's worth belief
+      Has proved itself untrue;
+  And when, as now, I've jilted been
+      By every girl I've met,
+  Ah! then I flee for peace to thee,
+      My darling cigarette.
+
+  Hail, sorceress! whose cloudy spells
+      About my senses driven,
+  Alone can loose their prison cells
+      And waft my soul to heaven.
+  Above all earthly loves, I swear,
+      I hold thee best--and yet,
+  Would I could see a match for thee,
+      My darling cigarette.
+
+  With lips unstained to thee I bring
+      A lover's gentle kiss,
+  And woo thee, see, with this fair ring,
+      And this, and this, and this.
+  But ah, the rings no sooner cease
+      (Inconstant, vain coquette!)
+  Than, like the rest, thou vanishest
+      In smoke, my cigarette.
+
+_Pall Mall Gazette_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pipe and Pouch, by Various
+
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