The love-sick Switzer from his frozen lake, Lights thee to cheer him thro' the upland way; To her who sighs impatient for his sake, And thinks a moment loiter'd, is a moon's delay. The hardy Scot amidst his mountain snow, When icy fetters bind the dreary vale, Draws from his muse the never-failing glow, And bids defiance to the rushing gale. The honest Cambrians round their cyder cask, In friendship meet the moments to solace; Tell all thy worth as circles round the ask, And cheerly sing of "Shenkin's noble race." The hardy tar in foamy billows hid, While fiery flashes all around deform; Clings to the yard and takes his fav'rite _quid_, Smiles at the danger and defies the storm; And when the foe with daring force appears, Recurrent to the sav'ry pouch once more, New vigour takes and three for George he cheers, As vict'ry smiles, and still the cannons roar. The soldier loves thee on his dreary march, And when in battle dreadful armies join; 'Tis thou forbids his sulphur'd lips should parch, And gives new strength to charge along the line. Thy acrid flavour to new toil invites The ploughman, drooping 'neath the noon-day beam; Inspir'd by thee, he thinks of love's delights, And down the furrow whistles to his team. Thus all admire thee: search around the globe, The rich, the poor, the volatile, the grave; Save the SWEET fop, who fears to taint his robe, The smock-fac'd fribble, and the henpeck'd slave. Thus all esteem thee, and to this agree, Thou art the drug preferr'd in ev'ry clime; To clear the head, and set the senses free, And lengthen life beyond the wonted time. _The Social Pipe._ ON A PIPE OF TOBACCO. BY ISAAC HAWKINS BROWN, ESQ. Pretty tube of mighty power! Charmer of an idle hour; Object of my hot desire, Lip of wax and eye of fire; And thy snowy taper waist, With my fingers gently brac'd; And thy lovely swelling crest, With my bended stopper prest; And the sweetest bliss of blisses, Breathing from thy balmy kisses; Happy thrice and thrice agen-- Happiest he of happy men! Who, when again the night returns, When again the taper burns; When again the crickets gay, Little crickets full of play; Can afford his tube to feed, With the fragrant Indian weed; Pleasure for a nose divine, Incense of the god of wine! Happy thrice and thrice agen-- Happiest he of happy men! MY LAST CIGAR. The mighty Thebes, and Babylon the great, Imperial Rome, in turn, have bowed to fate; So this great world, and each 'particular star', Must all burn out, like you, my last cigar: A puff--a transient fire, that ends in smoke, And all that's given to man--that bitter joke-- Youth, Hope, and Love, three whiffs of passing zest, Then come the ashes, and the long, long, rest. A REVIEW OF THE LAWS AND REGULATIONS CONCERNING TOBACCO.