“St. Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with Raleigh, and had brought home tobacco, and the knight smoked. But he thought that St. Betsy, like other fine ladies of the Court, would fain that he should smoke out of doors, nor taint with tobacco smoke the tapestry, whereupon the knight would seek his garden, his orchard, and, in any weather, smoke _sub Jove_. Now it chanced, as the knight smoked, St. Betsy came to him and said, ‘My lord, pray ye come into the house;’ and the knight went with St. Betsy, who took him into a newly cedared room, and said, ‘I pray my lord henceforth smoke here, for is it not a shame that you, who are the foundation and prop of your house, should have no place to put your head into and smoke?’ And St. Betsy led him to a chair, and with her own fingers filled him a pipe; and from that time the knight sat in the cedar chamber and smoked his weed.” No pipe, no smoke, no dreams! Never again, on a beautiful summer’s day would two young Ottoman swains sit smoking under a tree, by the side of a purling stream, hearing the birds sing, and seeing the flowers in bloom, to become the actors in a scene like that described in one of their own songs. By and bye came a young damsel, her eyes like two stars in the nights of the Ramazan. One of the swains takes his pipe from his mouth, and “sighing smoke,” gazes at her with delight. The other demands why his wrapt soul is sitting in his eyes, and he avows himself the adorer of the veiled fair. “Her eyes,” says he, “are black, but they shine like the polished steel, nor is the wound they inflict less fatal to the heart.” The other swain ridicules his passion, and bids him re-fill his pipe. “Ah, no!” cries the lover, “I enjoy it no more; my heart is as a fig thrown into a thick leafy tree, and a bird with bright eyes has caught it and holds it fast.”