_The London Magazine._ November, 1875. ―――― ODE TO MY PIPE. My pipe to me, thro’ gloom and glee, Has been my faithful friend; I sit and _smoke_――not sit and soak, For that I can’t commend. Bird’s eye, returns, or shag that burns Most freely and most bright; This Indian weed, it is, indeed, My solace and delight. Some people say it steals away The brain, till all is bare, But they are foes, or _chiefly_ those Who’ve got no brains to spare. Great Doctor Parr, bright learning’s star, A scholar rare and ripe, Would sit and puff, through smooth and rough, Enraptured with his pipe. My pipe I’ll fill, and smoke I will, Though all the world condemn; And if I die burnt black and dry, Pray, what is that to them? _The Echo._ February 16, 1889. ―――― WHO SCORNS THE PIPE. Who scorns the pipe? Show me the man, I do not mention “glasses,” He’s writhing under social ban The jink his soul compasses―― Old friend Tobacco! Ye carping souls, who, envious, doom The weed to dire perdition, Just take a whiff――dispel the gloom That clouds your mental vision―― Of rare Tobacco! ――――:o:―――― MOTTO FOR A TOBACCO JAR. Come! don’t refuse sweet Nicotina’s aid, But woo the goddess through a yard of clay; And soon you’ll own she is the fairest maid To stifle pain and drive old Care away. Nor deem it waste, what though to ash she burns, If for your outlay you get good Returns! Some time since, in _Cope’s Tobacco Plant_, there was a competition for the best inscription for a Tobacco Jar. The first and second prizes were awarded to the following, and many others were printed:―― _First._ INSCRIPTION FOR A TOBACCO JAR. Three hundred year ago or soe, Ane worthye knight and gentleman Did bring mee here, to charm and cheer Ye physical and mental man. God rest his soul, who filled ye bowl, And may our blessings find him; That hee not miss some share of bliss, Who left soe much behind him! YE SMOKE JACK (BERNARD BARKER). _Second._ Keep me at hand, and as my fumes arise You’ll find a _jar_ the gates of Paradise. [Illustration] THE CIGAR. Some sigh for this and that; My wishes don’t go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar. Some fret themselves to death With Whig and Tory jar, I don’t care which is in, So I have my cigar. Sir John requests my vote And so does Mr. Marr; I don’t care how it goes, So I have my cigar. Some want a German row, Some wish a Russian war, I care not――I’m at peace, So I have my cigar.