My own, my loved, my Cigarette,

My dainty joy disguised in tissue,

What fate can make your slave regret

The day when first he dared to kiss you?

I had smoked briars, like to most

Who joy in smoking, and had been a

Too ready prey to those who boast

Their bonded stores of Reina Fina.

In honeydew had steeped my soul

Had been of cherry pipes a cracker,

And watched the creamy meerschaum's bowl

Grow weekly, daily, hourly blacker.

Read CALVERLEY and learnt by heart

The lines he celebrates the weed in;

And blew my smoke in rings, an art

That many try, but few succeed in.

In fact of nearly every style

Of smoke I was a kindly critic,

Though I had found Manillas vile,

And Trichinopolis mephitic.

The stout tobacco-jar became

Within my smoking-room a fixture;

I heard my friends extol by name

Each one his own peculiar mixture.

And tried them every one in turn

(O varium, tobacco, semper!);

The strong I found too apt to burn

My tongue, the week to try my temper.

And all were failures, and I grew

More tentative and undecided,

Consulted friends, and found they knew

As little as or less than I did.

Havannah yielded up her pick

Of prime cigars to my fruition;

I bought a case, and some went "sick."

The rest were never in condition.

Until in sheer fatigue I turned

To you, tobacco's white-robed tyro,

And from your golden legend learned

Your maker dwelt and wrought in Cairo.

O worshipped wheresoe'er I roam,

As fondly as a wife by some is,

Waif from the far Egyptian home

Of Pharaohs, crocodiles, and mummies;

Beloved, in spite of jeer and frown;

The more the Philistines assail you,

The more the doctors run you down,

The more I puff you—and inhale you.

Though worn with toil and vexed with strife

(Ye smokers all, attend and hear me),

Undaunted still I live my life,

With you, my Cigarette, to cheer me.

Wich I say, Missis 'ALSBURY, Mum,

We are all getting into a quand'ry;

You and me can no longer be dumb,

Seein' how we're the heads of the Laundry:

It is all very well to stand 'ere,

Sooperintending the soaping and rinsing;

Old pleas for delay, I much fear,

Are no longer entirely conwincing.

Just look at the Linen—in 'eaps!

And no one can say it ain't dirty!

Our clients, a-grumbling they keeps,

And some of 'em seem getting shirty.

Wotever, my dear, shall we do?

Two parties 'as axed me that question;

And now I just puts it to you,

And I 'ope you can make some suggestion.

My dear Missis COLEY, I own

I ain't heard from the parties you 'int at.

But them Linen-'eaps certny has grown,

Wich their bulk I 'ave just took a squint at.

We sud, and we rub, and we scrub.

And the pile 'ardly seems to diminish.

It tires us poor Slaves of the Tub,

And the doose only knows when we'll finish,

Percisely, my dear, but it's that,

As the Public insists upon knowin',

Missis MATHEW 'as told me so, pat,

Wich likeways 'as good Missis BOWEN.

You can't floor their argyments, quite,

'Owsomever you twirl 'em or 'twist 'em;

They say, and I fear they are right,

There is somethink all wrong with our System!

Our System! Well, well, my good soul,

You know 'twasn't us as inwented it.

We wouldn't have got into this 'ole,

If you and me could 'ave perwented it.

I know there's no end of a block,

That expenses is running up awfully;

The sight of it gives me a shock,

But 'ow can we alter it—lawfully?

I fear, Mum, I very much fear,

That word doesn't strike so much terror

As once on the dull public ear;

Times change. Mum, they do, make no error!