Very few cases have arisen in this country in which the genuineness of handwriting was the chief contention, and in which such momentous interests were at stake, as in the case of the forged "Morey-Garfield Letter." It was such as to arou... Read more of A FAMOUS FORGERY at Handwriting Analysis.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Smoking Poems

A Symphony In Smoke.
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet, Who likes to muse and ...

The Betrothed.
"_YOU MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN ME AND YOUR CIGAR._" Open the ...

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

Henry Fielding.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days. Wh...

Confession Of A Cigar Smoker.
I owe to smoking, more or less, Through life the whole...

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

To The Rev. Mr. Newton.
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, "I can't understand ...

A Pipe Of Tobacco.
Let the learned talk of books, The glutton...

The Happy Smoking-ground.
When that last pipe is smoked at last And pouch and ...

An Old Sweetheart Of Mine.
As one who cons at evening o'er an album all alone, An...

Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a s...

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

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

The Discovery Of Tobacco.
_A SAILOR'S VERSION_. They were three jolly sailors bo...

Ode To My Pipe.
O Blessed pipe, That now I clutch within my gripe, ...

My Cigar.
In spite of my physician, who is, _entre nous_, a fogy, ...

In Favor Of Tobacco.
Much victuals serves for gluttony To fatten men like s...

Sic Transit.
Just a note that I found on my table, By the bills of ...

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

Song Of The Smoke-wreaths.
_SUNG TO THE SMOKERS._ Not like clouds that cap the mo...



TO AN OLD PIPE.








Once your smoothly polished face
Nestled lightly in a case;
'Twas a jolly cosy place,
I surmise;

And a zealous subject blew
On your cheeks, until they grew
To the fascinating hue
Of her eyes.

Near a rusty-hilted sword,
Now upon my mantel-board,
Where my curios are stored,
You recline.

You were pleasant company when
By the scribbling of her pen
I was sent the ways of men
To repine.

Tell me truly (you were there
When she ceased that debonair
Correspondence and affair)
I suppose

That she laughed and smiled all day;
Or did gentle tear-drops stray
Down her charming _retroussee_
Little nose?

Where the sunbeams, coyly still,
Fall upon the mantel-sill,
You perpetually will
Silence woo;

And I fear that she herself,
By the little chubby elf.
Will be laid upon the shelf
Just as you.

DE WITT STERRY.





Next: TITLEPAGE DEDICATION.

Previous: THE PATRIOTIC SMOKER'S LAMENT.



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