TOBACCO LEAVES 



The ills of life, 

 Its toil and strife, 



From memory fade away, 

 As the sweet smoke rain 

 On the dry, tired brain 



Works the charm of magic fay. 



Then honour the pipe! 

 May its blessings ripe 



To weary hearts ne'er cease; 

 May its power to soothe 

 Make the rough path smooth 



The sad hours, hours of peace ! 



New York Tobacco Leaf. 



THE SMOKE OF MY OLD BLACK PIPE 

 A Song 



As the blue smoke curls from my old black 



pipe, 

 I dream of the days gone by 



91 



