_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.

Raleigh's glory rests immortal
On ten thousand thousand urns,
Every jar is _in memoriam_,
Every fragrant pipe that burns.

_At an Ash._

There are jars of jelly, jars of jam,
Jars of potted-beef and ham;
But welcome most to me, by far,
Is my dear old Tobacco-Jar.
There are pipes producing sounds divine,
Pipes producing luscious wine;
But when I consolation need,
I take the pipe that burns the weed.

_Jars._

Friend of my youth, companion of my later days,
What needs my muse to sing thy various praise?
In country or in town, on land or sea,
The weed is still delightful company.
In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
We fly to thee for solace once again.
Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.

_Erutxim._

Hail plant of power, more than king's renown,
Beloved alike in country and in town;
In hotter climes oft mingled with the jet
Of falling fountains; whilst the cigarette
Kisses the fair one's lips, and by thy breath
Redeems the wearied heart from ennui's death.

_Theta._

If e'er in social jars you join,
Seek this, and let them cease:
Let all your quarrels end in smoke,
And pass the pipe of peace.

_Fumigator._

[Illustration: The explosion.]

Many a jar of old outbroke
Into fire and riot;
This will yield, with fragrant smoke,
Happy thought, and quiet.

41,911.

The moralist, philosopher, and sage.
Have sought by every means, in every age,
That which should cause the strife of men to cease,
And steep the world in fellowship and peace;
But all their toil and diligence were vain,
'Till Raleigh, noble