140 NEW CROP OF TOBACCO POETRY. 



O, what subtle satisfaction is my pip*, 



Brier pipe ; 



Nothing mundane can impart 

 Such contentment to my heart ; 



She's my idol, she's my Queen, 



Is my Lady Nicotine ; 

 When in trouble how I yearn 

 For the incense which I burn 



At her shrine. 



How I pine 



For the fragrance of her breath ; 

 Robbed of terrors e'en is death 



By her harmless hypnotism ; 



Healed is every mortal schism. 

 Foe and friend 

 Sweetly blend 



At the burning of the brier ; 



Greed, cupidity, desire 

 Fade away within the smoke 

 In the fragrant, fleecy smoke, 



From my pipe, magic pipe ; 



From my glowing, peace-bestowing, 

 gurgling pipe. 

 SIGEL ROUSH in New York Sun. 



"SHE." 



YES, Dear, 



I fear 



I love another, strange to say. 



Brunette, 



This pet, 



And I am with her night and day. 



