"I like Holland--it is the antidote of France. No one is ever in a hurry here. Life moves on in a slow, majestic stream, a little muddy and stagnant, perhaps, like one of their own canals; but you see no waves, no breakers; not an eddy, nor even a froth bubble, breaks the surface. Even a Dutch child, as he steals along to school, smoking his short pipe, has a mock air of thought about him." The following epigrams for tobacco jars from "The Tobacco Plant" evince much "taste, wit, and ingenuity." Fill the bowl, you jolly soul, And burn all sorrow to a coal. _Henry Clay._ That man is frugal and content indeed, Who finds food, solace, pleasure in a weed. _The "Weed"._ Behold! this vessel hath a moral got, Tobacco-smokers all must go to pot. _Epigrammatic._ A weed you call me, but you'll own No rose was e'er more fully blown. _Sic Itur ad Nostra._ Great Jove, Pandora's box with jars did fill This Jar alone has power those jars to still. _In Nubilus._ Tobacco some say, is a potent narcotic, That rules half the world in a way quite despotic; So to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks, We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics. _Zed._ [Illustration: Smoker reading epigrams.] No use to draw upon a bank if no effects are there, But a draw of this Tobacco is quite a safe affair; And a pipe with fragrant weed (such as I hold) neatly stuffed, Is just the only thing on earth that ought to be well puffed. _R. S. Y. P._ Poor woman "pipes her eye," When in affliction's gripe; But man, far wiser grown, Just eyes his pipe. _In Nubilus._ Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth, How sweet for thee to know King James, who never smoked on earth, Is smoking down below. _Ex Fumo dare Lucem._ Travelers say Tobacco springs From the graves of Indian kings: Fill your pipe, then--smoke will be Incense to their memory. Though the weed's nor rich nor rare, 'Tis a balm for every care. _Peter Piper._ Give me the weed, the fragrant weed, My wearied brain to calm; In a wreath of smoke, while I crack my joke, I'll find a healing balm. Day after day, let come what may, The pipe of peace I'll fill; I readily pay for briar or clay, To save a doctor's bill. _Pompone._ Great men need no pompous marble To perpetuate their name; Household gear and common trinkets Best remind us of their fame.