1827.] [ 581 ] 



THE PRAISES OF TOBACCO. 



" The pipe that is so lily white, 

 In which so many take delight, 

 It breaks with a touch- 

 Man's life is but such : 



Think of this when you take Tobacco. 



" The Indian weed doth quickly burn 

 So doth man's strength to weakness turn ; 

 The fire of youth extinguished quite, 

 Comes age, like embers dry and white : 



Think of this when you take Tobacco." 



Old Song. 



" LONG life to Sir Walter Raleigh, though he be dead ; and success to 

 King James's counterblast, though it be overblown" says some wit, who I 

 have forgotten ; and had the royal declaimer known what fearful odds he 

 had to encounter, probably he would not have ventured on an attack in 

 which he was sure of being defeated. The unknown author of the two 

 immortal couplets heading this article has done more, in recommendation of 

 the fragrant Indian herb, than the regal eloquence and learning would have 

 effected in its disparagement, even within the compass of a folio volume. 

 The poet, whoever he be, is truly poetical ; he is also a moralist a true 

 smoker who is always meditating over his pipe : indeed, the last of these 

 stanzas is quoted by Sir W. Scott; he has put it into the mouth of Justice 

 Inglewood, whose character it very well suits. I think a pipe may, indeed, 

 in some measure, bean interpreter of the thoughts which are passing in the 

 mind of another. For, mark the smoker how deep he is in meditation ! 

 Notice the difference in the puffs he continually sends forth ! Now they 

 issue slowly and regularly, indicating that some laborious train of thought 

 is going on ! And mark that voluminous puff! he has settled the point to 

 his fancy, and is clearing his brains for an attack upon another section of 

 his cogitations, whatever they may be. Notice those irregular puffs, 

 accompanied by an unsettled expression of countenance ! he is tossing his 

 ideas backward and forward on the seas of doubt. But see that somewhat 

 impatient puff! he has discovered a fundamental error in the process of 

 his reasoning, and has dismissed it altogether. But enough of this : my 

 pipe, which I now hold in my mouth, has set me rhyming against my 

 nature. 



TO THE LlLY AND MY PlPE. 



I. 



Thou regal pride of Flora's power, 

 With which she decks the July bower, 

 When summer suns their radiance pour 



O'er drooping nature ! 



II. 



I love thee ! though thou canst not give 

 The joys I from my Pipe receive ; 

 Thou canst not, if thou wouldst, retrieve 



Thy withering beauties. 



III. 



When rising winds and drenching rain 

 Descend upon the thirsty plain, 

 And thy bright halls of silver stain 



With golden pollen ; 



