These are sulphuric, nitric, and hydrochloric acids. Symptoms of Poisoning by the Mineral Acids.--Acid taste in the mouth, with violent burning pain extending into the oesophagus and stomach, and commencing immediately on the poison being s... Read more of The Mineral Acids at Forensic Medicine.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

The Ballad Of The Pipe.
Oh, give me but Virginia's weed, An earthen bowl, a st...

Effusion By A Cigar Smoker.
Warriors! who from the cannon's mouth blow fire, ...

My Cigarette.
My cigarette! The amulet That charms afar unrest and...

An Ode Of Thanks For Certain Cigars.
_TO CHARLES ELIOT NORTON._ Luck, my dear Norton, still...

On Receipt Of A Rare Pipe.
I lifted off the lid with anxious care, Removed the ...

Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers.
When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just th...

A Pot, And A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Some praise taking snuff; And 'tis pleasant en...

In Rotten Row.
In Rotten Row a cigarette I sat and smoked, with no re...

A Poet's Pipe.
_FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES BAUDELAIRE._ A poet's pipe...

A Winter Evening Hymn To My Fire.
Nicotia, dearer to the Muse Than all the grape's bewil...

Inscription For A Tobacco Jar.
Keep me at hand; and as my fumes arise, You'll find _a...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale, Or with ...

Ashes.
Wrapped in a sadly tattered gown, Alone I puff my brie...

Too Great A Sacrifice.
The maid, as by the papers doth appear, Whom fifty tho...

Invocation To Tobacco.
Weed of the strange flower, weed of the earth, Killer ...

The Dreamer's Pipe.
Meerschaum, thing with amber tip, Clutched between the...

Ad Nicotina.
"_A CONSTRAINED HYPERBOLE._" Let others sing the prais...

Chibouque.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan, The pacha in his pala...

The Last Pipe.
When head is sick and brain doth swim, And heavy hangs...

She.
The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint! Around my pretty...



SHE.








The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
Around my pretty, cherished book,
The odor vile, the noisome taint
Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
Yet lingers!
The hateful man, my book to spoil!
Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
My fingers!

This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
These violets he has sent to me
The odor of his pipe exhale!
Am I to blame that I should be
Enraged?
Tell Mr. Simpson every time
He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm
Engaged!

ARTHUR LOVELL.





Next: TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

Previous: A WARNING.



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