ried bit,
A-lying by the trees;
He rubs it in his hands to dust
And then begins to sneeze.

Another leaf picks nimble Dick,
And dries it in the sun,
And rolls it up all neat and tight.
"My lads," says he, in fun,
"I mean to cook this precious weed."
And then from out his poke
With burning-glass he lights the end,
And quick blows up the smoke.

Says Jack, says he, "Of Paradise
I've heerd some people tell."
Says Tom, says he, "This here will do;
Let's have another smell."
Says Dick, his face all pleasant smiles,
A-looking through a cloud,
"It strikes me here's the cap'en bold,
And now we'll all be rowed."

Up comes brave Hawkins on the beach;
"Shiver my hull!" he cries,
"What's these here games, my merry men?"
And then, "Why, blame my eyes!
Here's one as chaws, and one as snuffs,
And t' other of the three
Is smoking like a chimbley-pot--
They've found out Tobac-kee!"

So if ever you should hear
Of Raleigh, and them lies
About his sarvant and his pipe
And him as "Fire!" cries,
You say as 'twas three sailors bold
As sailed to Virgin-ee
In brave old Hawkins' gallant ship
Who found out Tobac-kee.
A lurch to starboard, one to port,
Now forrard, boys, go we,
With a haul and a "Ho!" and a "That's your sort!"
To find out Tobac-kee.

_Cigar and Tobacco World_, London.

"KEATS TOOK SNUFF."

"Keats took snuff.... It has been established by the
praise-worthy editorial research of Mr. Burton Forman."

So "Keats took snuff?" A few more years,
When we are dead and famous--eh?
Will they record our pipes and beers,
And if we smoked cigars or clay?
Or will the world cry "Quantum suff"
To tattle such as "Keats took snuff"?

Perhaps some chronicler would wish
To know what whiskey we preferred,
And if we ever dined on fish,
Or only took the joint and bird.
Such facts are quite as worthy stuff,
Good chronicler, as "Keats took snuff."

You answer: "But, if you were Keats--"
Tut! never mind your buts and ifs,
Of little men record their meats,
Their drinks, their troubles, and their tiffs,
Of the great dead there's gold enough
To spare us such as "Keats took snuff."

Well, go your ways, you little folk,
Who polish up the great folk's lives;
Record the follies that they spoke,
And paint their squabbles with their wives.