POETRY OF SMOKE. 



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 t Bacon ! 



C. s. CALVERLEY, 



MY FRIENDLY PIPE. 



LET sybarites still dream delights 

 While smoking cigarettes, 



Whose opiates get in their pates, 

 Till waking brings regrets ; 



Oh, let them cloze, devoid of woes 

 Of troubles, and of frets. 



And let the chap who loves to nap 

 V, ith his cigar in hand 





