Such often, like the tube they so admire,
Important triflers! have more smoke than fire.
Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
Conversation.

Tobacco 's a musician,

W. COWPER.

And in a pipe delighteth;
It descends in a close
Through the organ of the nose,
With a relish that inviteth.

Song: Play of Technogamia.

The Cigar.

Some sigh for this and that;
My wishes don't go far;
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.

B. HOLIDAY.

T. HOOD.

The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, Makes half a sentence at a time enough; The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, Then pause, and puff-and speak, and pause again. Conversation.

W. COWPER.

To him 't was meat and drink and physic,
To see the friendly vapor

Curl round his midnight taper.

And the black fume

Clothe all the room,

In clouds as dark as science metaphysic.

Points of Misery.

C. M. WESTMACOTT.

Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,

A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;

The gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating dust;
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.
Rape of the Lock, Canto V.

TO-MORROW.

To-morrow yet would reap to-day,

As we bear blossoms of the dead;

A. POPE.

Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed
Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay.

Love Thou the Land.

A. TENNYSON.

In human hearts what bolder thoughts can rise,
Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn!
Where is to-morrow?
Night Thoughts, Night I.

DR. F. YOUNG.

To-morrow is a satire on to-day,
And shows its weakness.

The Old Man's Relapse.

DR. E. YOUNG.

Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
And in his simple show he harbors treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
King Henry VI., Pt. II. Act iii. Sc. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

Treason is not owned when 't is descried;
Successful crimes alone are justified.

Medals.

J. DRYDEN.

Treason doth never prosper: what 's the reason? For if it prosper, none dare call it treason. Epigrams.

SIR J. HARRINGTON.

Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence With vizored falsehood and base forgery? Comus.

Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave

Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!

Lalla Rookh: The Fire Worshippers.

MILTON.

T. MOORE.

To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master, And cried "All hail!" whereas he meant all harm. King Henry VI., Pt. III. Act v. Sc. 7. SHAKESPEARE.

Tellest thou me of ifs"? Thou art a traitor: Off with his head! so much for Buckingham! King Richard III. Altered, Act iv. Sc. 3.

C. CIBBER.

TREE.

Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets hail!
Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks !

Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep!
Delicious is your shelter to the soul.
Seasons: Summer.

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

The Recollection.

J. THOMSON.

P. B. SHELLEY.

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines

Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones; The arch beneath them is not built with stones, Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines, And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;

No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones,
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,

Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,

Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship without words.
My Cathedral.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. Hyperion, Bk. I.

A brotherhood of venerable Trees.

Sonnet composed at

Castle.

J. KEATS.

W. WORDSWORTH.

Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,
A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend
Shade above shade, a woody theatre

Of stateliest view.

Paradise Lost, Bk. IV.

MILTON.

Of vast circumference and gloom profound,
This solitary Tree! A living thing
Produced too slowly ever to decay;

Of form and aspect too magnificent
To be destroyed.

Yew-Trees.

W. WORDSWORTH.