* * * *

A PUFF OF SMOKE.

(_What the heart of the young Vocalist said to the
Anti-Tobacconist, after reading Mr. Charles Santley's sage
observations on Singing and Smoking, in his new book "Student
and Singer."_)

["Smoking is an art; it may be made useful or otherwise,
according as it is exercised."--Mr. SANTLEY.]

Tell me not, ye mournful croakers,
Smoking is a dirty habit.
Brainless are ye, sour non-smokers,
As a vivisected rabbit.

"Smoking is an Art," says SANTLEY;
There is Beauty in the bowl.
They who doubt it must be scantly
Blest with sense, or dowered with soul.

_As_ an Art it claims attention;
Study is the only way.
Smoking skill, _not_ smoke-prevention,
Is the thing we want to-day.

Art is long and smoke is fleeting;
But puff on until you learn
Good tobacco's not for _eating_!
Pipe-bowls are not meant to _burn_!

Smoke without expectorating,
Do not sputter, do not chew;
Puff not as though emulating
Some foul factory's sooty flue

Let not oily dark defilement
Sting your lips; there is no need.
Joy and care need reconcilement
For enjoyment of the weed.

Trust no "Germans," buy no "British,"
Sound Havanas only smoke!
"Lady Nicotine" is skittish,
Penny Pickwicks are no joke.

Smoke no strong shag, no rank "stinger,"
Pick your baccy, puff with skill,
And--although you are a singer,
You may smoke, and not feel ill.

Let us then be up and smoking,
An an Art the thing pursue;
As great SANTLEY, who's not joking,
Says _he_ does, and all _may_ do!

* * * * *

LADY GAY'S DISTRACTION.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--You are as fickle as the rest of your sex, I fear,
otherwise you would not have requited my devotion to you and your
interests in such an awful manner as you did in publishing my
husband's letter last week!--and _such_ a letter! Oh, I could write
such a _scathing_ reply to it!

Of course, it was jealousy on the part of Sir CHARLES at my literary
success--(setting aside the _wonderful_ tips)--which caused the
explosion that led to his writing to you, but I never--never--thought
you would insert his letter, especially as I slipped in a postscript
which to my mind explained _everything_--as, indeed, postscripts
_should_ do, or what is the good of writing a long letter about
nothing in front of them? The wretch