To cheer my night or glad my day
  My pipe was ever willing;
  The meerschaum or the lowly clay
  Alike repaid the filling. 
  Grown men delight in blowing clouds,
  As boys in blowing bubbles,
  Our cares to puff away in crowds
  And vanish all our troubles. 
      My pipe I nearly made my pet,
      Above cigar or cigarette.

  A tiny paper, tightly rolled
  About some Latakia,
  Contains within its magic fold
  A mighty panacea. 
  Some thought of sorrow or of strife
  At ev’ry whiff will vanish;
  And all the scenery of life
  Turn picturesquely Spanish. 
      But still I could not quite forget
      Cigar and pipe for cigarette.

  To yield an after-dinner puff
  O’er demi-tasse and brandy,
  No cigarettes are strong enough,
  No pipes are ever handy. 
  However fine may be the feed,
  It only moves my laughter
  Unless a dry delicious weed
  Appears a little after. 
      A prime cigar I firmly set
      Above a pipe or cigarette.

  But after all I try in vain
  To fetter my opinion;
  Since each upon my giddy brain
  Has boasted a dominion. 
  Comparisons I’ll not provoke,
  Lest all should be offended. 
  Let this discussion end in smoke
  As many more have ended. 
      And each I’ll make a special pet;
      My pipe, cigar, and cigarette.

HENRY S. LEIGH.

SMOKE IS THE FOOD OF LOVERS.

  When Cupid open’d shop, the trade he chose
  Was just the very one you might suppose. 
  Love keep a shop?—­his trade, oh! quickly name! 
  A dealer in tobacco—­fie, for shame! 
  No less than true, and set aside all joke,
  From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke;
  Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made;
  Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade;
  His capital all smoke, smoke all his store,
  ’Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no more—­
  And thousands enter daily at his door! 
  Hence it was ever, and it e’er will be
  The trade most suited to his faculty: 
  Fed by the vapors of their heart’s desire,
  No other food his votaries require;
  For that they seek—­the favor of the fair—­
  Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.

JACOB CATS:  Moral Emblems.

CLOUDS.

  Mortals say their heart is light
  When the clouds around disperse;
  Clouds to gather, thick as night,
  Is the smoker’s universe.

From the German of Bauernfeld.

IN FAVOR OF TOBACCO.

  Much victuals serves for gluttony
  To fatten men like swine;
  But he’s a frugal man indeed
  That with a leaf can dine,
  And needs no napkin for his hands,
  His fingers’ ends to wipe,
  But keeps his kitchen in a box,
  And roast meat in a pipe.