FORGING.--Gently warm the steel to remove any chill, is particularly desirable in the winter, then heat slowly and carefully to a scaling heat, that is a lemon heat (1,800 to 2,000 deg.F.), and forge uniformly. Reheat the tool for further forgi... Read more of Lathe And Planer Tools at Steel Making.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Song Without A Name.
AIR: "_THE VICAR OF BRAY_." 'Twas in Queen Bess's gold...

To A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Come, lovely tube, by friendship blest, Belov'd and ...

Cigarette Rings.
How it blows! How it rains! I'll not turn out to-night; ...

Those Ashes.
Up to the frescoed ceiling The smoke of my cigarette...

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

A Bachelor's Soliloquy.
I sit all alone with my pipe by the fire, I ne'er kn...

An Encomium On Tobacco.
Thrice happy isles that stole the world's delight, And...

Ode To Tobacco.
Come then, Tobacco, new-found friend, Come, and thy ...

With Pipe And Book.
With Pipe and Book at close of day, Oh, what is sweete...

Sublime Tobacco.
But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breath...

Pipe And Tobacco.
When my pipe burns bright and clear, The gods I need n...

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

Titlepage Dedication.
"Let those smoke now who never smoked before, And those ...

A Brief Puff Of Smoke.
Great Doctor Parr, the learned Whig, Ne'er deemed the ...

My Pipe And I.
There may be comrades in this world, As stanch and t...

My Friendly Pipe.
Let sybarites still dream delights While smoking cig...

The Old Clay Pipe.
There's a lot of solid comfort In an old clay pipe, ...

The Lost Lotus.
'Tis said that in the sun-embroidered East, There dw...

Pipes And Beer.
Before I was famous I used to sit In a dull old unde...

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



THE HAPPY SMOKING-GROUND.








When that last pipe is smoked at last
And pouch and pipe put by,
And Smoked and Smoker both alike
In dust and ashes lie,
What of the Smoker? Whither passed?
Ah, will he smoke no more?
And will there be no golden cloud
Upon the golden shore?
Ah! who shall say we cry in vain
To Fate upon his hill,
For, howsoe'er we ask and ask,
He goes on smoking still.
But, surely, 'twere a bitter thing
If other men pursue
Their various earthly joys again
Beyond that distant blue,
If the poor Smoker might not ply
His peaceful passion too.
If Indian braves may still up there
On merry scalpings go,
And buried Britons rise again
With arrow and with bow,
May not the Smoker hope to take
His "cutty" from below?
So let us trust; and when at length
You lay me 'neath the yew,
Forget not, O my friends, I pray,
Pipes and tobacco too!

RICHARD LE GALLIENNE.





Next: SWEET SMOKING PIPE.

Previous: MY AFTER-DINNER CLOUD.



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