O’ thet thar shag, an’ I aint blamin’ on ye, Tho’ onct ’n a while it sort o’ turns my stummick. What is’t, ‘_Farmer’s Delight_’?” “Nope, ‘_Dago’s Joy_’”, I sez, a-rammin’ in another charge. I got it goin’, an’ after while he sez: “Looks like it might be; ’f yew kin smoke thet stuff, I reckin yew’re a smoker, an’ would stand Fer ennything from burdock ter hoss-redish, Or tan-bark, blacksmith’s parin’s, stable sweepin’s, An’ sich like stuff they put in them thar kind O’ boxes ’t yew got thar.” “Aw, quit yer josh,” I sez, “I’ve smoked all them one time or ’nother, An’ know the diff’runce. This ’ere smoke is reel Terbacker; guess I know.” “Terbacker nuthin’”, Sez ’e; “smells more ter me like some ol’ buf’- Lo robe hed ketched afire.” An’ then ’e laffed. Ef ennybody else but Bill hed poked Thet kind o’ fun at me, I might o’ got A leetle riled; but somehow ’r ’nuther ’taint No use ter let yerself git hot around Yer neck when Bill throws in his leetle hooks. Yew _hev_ ter laff in spite o’ ev’ry thing. An’ so I cooled ri’ down an’ sez reel quiet: “Ef yew knowed ennything about terbacker, Ef yew’s a smoker, ’n’ hed the feelin’ on ’t, Yew’d quit remarkin’ things like that ’a’ one. I bet yew never even smoked corn-silk, Rattan, hay-seed, sweet fern, an’ baby stuff Like that, thet cubs begins on when they’re smart. I tell ye yew do’ know nuthin’ about it.” I tho’t I’d fixed ’im, fer a spell at least, Fer ’e kep’ still, an’ hummed reflective like. Bimeby he went ’t the door an’ hawked an’ spit, Come back, an’ set, an’ coughed—fer I hed puffed A lot o’ smoke right towards ’is empty cheer— An’ kind o’ choky sez: “I s’pose yew think Yew’ve sized me up correc’. I’ll tell ye suthin’: Yew do’ know no more ’n nuthin’ what yer sayin’; A rabbit knows more ’bout terbacker ’n yew Compared ter me.” “W’y, Bill, I never seen Ye smoke,” I sez, “nor chaw, in all these years.” “Wal, that don’t mean,” he sez, “’t I never did. When I was a young feller, I begun Ter smoke an’ chaw like all the other han’s, Only I done it more ’n they did. I’d hev Ter hev my chaw ez soon ez I was out O’ bed, an’, ’cept at meals, I chawed all day An’ part the night, an’ smoked the rest the time. I’ve woke up many nights an’ lit a pipe. Ez time went on I kep’ a-gittin’ wuss. Laury, she said my mouth was like a sewer When ’t wa’n’t a fact’ry chimbley; an’ I noticed The things I et wa’n’t relishin’; I couldn’t Tell pepper-grass from pie, or Woostersheer From coffee; eatin’ wa’n’t no fun no more. An’ then I found I couldn’t git terbacker Nowheres near strong enough. I tried all kinds From fine-cut down ter _Black Twist Nigger Head_, A leetle mite o’ which will make a hog So sick he cain’t eat nuthin’ fer a week, An’ like enough he’ll die. I give a mule