"_Cure._--After the plants have been transferred, and hung sometime, pressing or SMOKING, as it is technically termed, they should be taken down, and again laid in a heap and pressed with heavy logs of wood for about a week: but this climate may probably require a longer time. While they remain in this state it will be necessary to introduce your hand frequently into the heap, to discover whether the heat be not too intense; for in large quantities this will sometimes be the case, and considerable damage will be occasioned by it. When they are found to heat too much, that is, when the heat exceeds a moderate glowing warmth, part of the weight, by which they are pressed, must be taken away; and the cause being removed, the effect will cease. This is called the second or last sweating; and when completed, the leaves must be stripped from the stalks for use. Many omit this last sweating; but Mr. Carver thinks it takes away its remaining harshness, and makes it more mellow. The strength of the stalk is also diffused by it through the leaves, and the whole mass becomes equally meliorated. When the leaves are stripped from the stalks, they are to be tied up in bunches or _hands_, and kept in a cellar or other damp place. At this period the tobacco is thoroughly cured, and as proper for manufacturing as that imported from the colonies. ORIGINAL POETRY. NEW WORDS TO AN OLD TUNE. A COMIC DITTY. Lieutenant Fire was fond of smoke, And cash he ow'd a deal; Tho' some said he'd a heart of OAK, For others it could feel: With wit he was,--not money stor'd,-- His landlord thought it meet, As he'd liv'd free so long on board, Why he should join the FLEET. The station he lik'd not at all, And wish'd the duty o'er; He saw some fights, and many ball, But ne'er saw such before. To banish care, he sought a rod, And smok'd like any mid, But unlike some,--altho' in quod,-- Disdain'd to take a QUID. And though a man, both short and stout, All knew him in a crowd; For oh, he never mov'd, without His head was in a CLOUD: In pris'n he met a friend he'd known Full many years ago, In 'four in hand' his cash had flown, And now he'd come to WOE. Poor Brown, alas! he had been GREEN, And so his hopes had marr'd; But thought it strange in turn, I ween, He should be driven HARD. Now he took snuff, in _quantum suff._, He thought it calm'd his woes,-- While one friend blew the light cigar, The other blew his NOSE. "As we have bask'd in fortune's calm, Now squalls come we'll not flinch," Thus spoke the tar, and gave his arm, And Brown gave him a PINCH. "Now, Fire, all snuffs are good, we know, Except when ill-prepar'd, I love a BOX and you a BLOW, But keep me from BLACKGUARD.