IN a cloud of smoke when the lights are low
I half forget that I'm nearly "broke,"
And my cares and my sorrows they seem to go
In a cloud of smoke.

Ah, yes! 'tis a mystical" Basingstoke,'
That guides my thoughts to a saner flow
So a fig to the Anti-Tobacco folk!

Her tongue has no "measured beat and slow; "
She says that in fumes narcotic I soak;
But her withering scorn seems to softer grow
In a cloud of smoke.

From Judy. April 18, 1888.

LINES ON AN EMPTY TOBACCO-POUCH.

I, WHO was brisk and R T once,

Am C D now; become a dunce.

If U the reason would descry,
I'll very quickly tell U Y.

I ne'er indulged in sad I-000!

When smoke was curling round my N-000; But I am falling 2 D K,

Who could X L, no distant day.

I lack not T, or O D V,

But B 4 long my want U'll C:
My pouch is M T ; so, indeed,
IN V men with lots of weed.

ICU feel an interest

In what your poet would request;
There 4 I ask U 2 X QQQ
The plaint of my dejected M UUU.

I CUR the smoker's friend;
Send me some weed, B 4 my end!
This craving I would fain ap PPP,
And smoke my pipe "OK" at EEE.

Declare I lived and died in peace,
If U should hear of my D CCC.
Erect an F-I-G of me,

And write this in my L-E-G.

Here lies a man of Letters, C, Who shunned X S; and yet was E Merry and YYY ; a busy B, Who never made an N M E. From Cope's Tobacco Plant.

:0:

November 1871.

was the Keel of the vessel that bore

Lots of the "Weed" from Columbia's shore.
was the Mariner, chewing a quid,
was a Noodle, who vowed "If he did,
"Only 'Orrible qualms would arise."

Р was the Punch that he got 'twixt his eyes,
Q with the Quid; he turned sickly and wan,
R was the "Robert " who made him "move on."
was the Snuff, pungent, fragrant, and light,

T the Torment of Headache cured by it quite.

U the plant Universal, that is still

the Victor over full many an ill.

W the Wealth, that its growers may hoard,

is a Xebeck, with tobacco on board.

was a Yankee, who offered cheroots,

&

was a Zealot, who said "Fit for brutes !" the Yankee replied, "Brutes don't talk,or wear boots."

ANONYMOUS.

An allusion to a phrase in Ruddigore.

POEMS IN PRAISE OF TOBACCO.

In the following pages the poems are thus arranged-on Tobacco generally, on the Pipe, Cigar and Cigarette, and on Snuff. No poets have been found, however, to sing the praise of chewing Tobacco, a very old form of enjoying the weed. This habit is now principally confined to sailors, soldiers, policemen and others, whose duties compel them to remain in solitude for many hours at a stretch without the solace of a pipe. The following amusing letter shows the importance a sailor attaches to his Quid :— GRAVESEND, March 24, 1813.

Dear Brother Tom ;

This comes hopein to find you in good health as it leaves me safe anckor'd here yesterday at 4 P. M. arter a pleasant voyage tolerable short and a few squalls. - Dear Tom-hopes to find poor old father stout, and am quite out of pig-tail.-Sights of pig-tail at Gravesend, but unfortinly not fit for a dog to chor.

Dear Tom, Captain's boy will bring you this, and put pigtail in his pocket when bort. Best in London at the Black Boy in 7 diles, where go acks for best pig-tail-pound a pigtail will do, and am short of shirts. Dear Tom, as for shirts ony took 2 whereof one is quite wored out and tuther most, but don't forget the pig-tail, as I aint had a quid to chor never since Thursday. Dear Tom, as for shirts, your size will do, only longer. I liks um long-get one at present, best at Tower-hill, and cheap, but be particler to go to 7 diles for the pig-tail at the Black Boy, and Dear Tom, acks for pound best pig-tail, and let it be good.

Captain's boy will put the pig-tail in his pocket he likes pigtail, so ty it up. Dear Tom, shall be up about Monday there or thereabouts. Not so perticuler for the shirt, as the present can be washed, but dont forgit the pig-tail without fail, so am your loving brother,

P.S.-Dont forget the pig-tail.

:0:

Timothy Parsons.

THE INDIAN WEED.

Many versions exist of the following very old song, and the history of it is somewhat contradictory and confusing. It has been ascribed to George Wither (1588-1667), and was originally published in 1631, in a volume entitled The Soules Solace, by Thomas Jenner. Another version was printed in 1672 in "Two Broadsides against Tobacco." One version commenced with the following stanza :

WHY should we so much despise
So good and sweet an exercise
As, early and late, to meditate?

Thus think, and drink tobacco. *
The most usually accepted version runs as follows:-

THE Indian weed withered quite,

Green at noon, cut down at night,

Shows thy decay,

All flesh is hay:

Thus think, then drink tobacco.

* The term “drinking" tobacco was commonly used in

the early days of smoking.

INVOCATION TO TOBACCO.

WEED of the strange power, 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,
Foster'd in freedom, America's child;
Come in Virginia, come in Havannah,
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, for ever carest. From Nicotiana, by Henry James Meller. Effingham Wilson. 1832.

VIRGINIA TOBACCO.

Two maiden dames of sixty-two
Together long had dwelt:
Neither, alas! of love so true,
The bitter pangs 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, tooth-ache,

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.'

London

From Gimcrackiana, or Fugitive pieces on Manchester Men and Manners. Manchester, 1833. (Attributed to John Stanley Gregson.)

AN IMITATION OF MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY.

"THE lazy Earth doth steam amain,

And fumes and smokes beneath the rain :
The Rivers, Brooks, and Rivulets are
No less in smoke particular

At nightfall: and the storm blast loud
Is often wont to blow a cloud
Around the mountain-tops, and they
Do take delight in this same way;
And send a fiery fume from out
Their angry heights, and such a rout
Of burnt-up ashes, that do strow
Great cities in the plains below.
The setting Sun is oft made dim
With smoky mists that circle him.
So all the world's on smoking bent,
And puffs and fumes to its content :
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high,
Fill all the gaping pipes, for why
Should every creature smoke but I :
Why, man of morals, tell me why?"

From "The Anatomy of Tobacco: or Smoking Methodised, Divided, and Considered after a new fashion." By Leolinus Siluriensis. London. George Redway, 1884.

AN ADDRESS TO THE CRITICS.

CRITICS avaunt-tobacco is my theme,
Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam;
And you Court insects-flutter not too near
Its light, nor buzz within its scorching sphere.
Pollio, with flame like thine, my verse inspire,
So shall the Muse, with smoke, elicit fire;
Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff,
Yet all their claim to wisdom is-a puff.
Lord Fopling smokes not-for his teeth afraid
Sir Tawdry smokes not-for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon;
They love no smoke, except the smoke of town.
But courtiers hate the puffing tribe- no matter,
Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter.
Its foes but show their ignorance, can he
Who scorns the leaf of knowledge, love the tree?
Citronia vows it has an odious stink,

She will not smoke, ye gods, but she will drink;
And chaste Prudella-blame her if you can-
Says-pipes are used by that vile creature man.
Yet crowds remain, who still its worth proclaim,
For some for pleasure smoke, and some for fame-
Fame, of our actions, universal spring,

For which we drink, eat, sleep, smoke-everything. Smoking and Smokers. By W. A. Delamotte. 1845.

A MANILLA SONNET.
LUSCIOUS leaf of fragrant savour,
Mild cheroot of choicest flavour,
Wafting incense to the sky,

Like the gales of Araby,

Let us press thee to our lips,
As the bee the honey sips;

Culling as our well-earned meed,

Joys from thee-thou heavenly weed!
Ere thy burnished lip we kiss,
Let us thus enjoy the bliss,

Lit by the promethean spark,
Kindled from the congreve dark;
In summer-house or country villa,
There's nothing like a good Manilla !

From A Pipe of Tobacco, by E. L. Blanchard. London. H. Beal. (No date.)

L'HEUREUX FUMEUR.

CERTAIN fumeur courtisait une veuve,

Grâce à l'hymen, lorsqu'il fut dans ses lacs,
Pour te donner, lui dit-il, une preuve
De mon amour, je vais mettre en éclats
Si tu le veux, ma pipe toute neuve ;
-Non, non; la pipe a pour toi trop d'appas;
Je ne la crains que lorsque je suis grosse :
L'odeur m'en plait quand je ne la suis pas ;
Tu peux fumer. Notre époux, dans la Beauce
Comme héritier d'un oncle, avait des droits ;
Il part. Suivant des conseils maladroits,
Dans un procès chicaneau vous l'enfourne;
Ce n'est qu'après absence de vingt mois,
Qu'à son logis un matin il retourne,

Pipe à la bouche. Oh! qu'est ce que je vois?
S'écria-t-il en rentrant; quoi! commode,
Console igi! pendule, glace la?
D'ou viennent donc ces meubles à la mode?
-D'un troc. Je vais te conter tout cela;
Mais-mon mari-ta pipe m'incommode.
TONS DE VERDUN.

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 Alchymist,
Who daily labours with a vain expense
In distillations of the Quintessence,
Not knowing that this golden Herb alone
Is the Philosopher's admired Stone.
Its a favour 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 frost 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 at 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 this 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?
Should we not thirst with mod'rate drink repress,
Because a dropsy springs from such excess?
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. TEMP., JAMES I.
From The Smoker's Guide, Philosopher and Iriend, by a
veteran of Smokedom. London. Hardwicke and Bogue.

An herb with which the hart is said to cure its wounds.

I FLIRTED first with cigarettes
One windy, wild March day;
But found their fire, like fair coquettes,
Too soon consume away.

And then I wooed the mild cheroot,
As balmy as the south;
Inserting, after much dispute,
The big end in my mouth.

Awhile I dallied with cigars,
Havanna's ripe brunettes;
And wafted incense to the stars,
In blue and spiral jets.

Shag, bird's-eye, twist, and negro-head
This infant doth eschew;

And cavendish he hath "cut" dead:
But "Chacun à son goût."

One Christmas on an ottoman
I sat, and some turkey

A fair girl brought me in a can-
Ister, a duck was she!

I bought a pipe, with amber tip,
Of Moses Abrahams;
Alas! one day I let it slip-

I'll love no more mere-shams!

ODE TO THE Weed.

WHEN happy quite and cosy grown,

I feel for meditation ripe,

I need companionship, and so
I take a pipe.

When from the irksome cares of life

I pine to be removed far,

They vex no longer if I light,
A good cigar,

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: