"For this reason
One bad season,
(If to say so be not treason,)
In an island town the people
Were reduced to great distress.
"Though on mainland
They would fain land,
They were storm-bound in their ain land,
Where each luxury was little,
And grew beautifully less.
"But whose sorrow,
That sad morrow,
When no man could beg or borrow
From a friend's repository,
Equall'd theirs who craved for snuff.
"But, most sadden'd,
Nearly madden'd
For the lack of that which gladden'd
His proboscis, was the parson,
Hight the Rev'rend Neil Macduff.
"If a snuffer,
Though no puffer,
You may guess what pangs he'd suffer
In his journey through a snow-drift,
Visiting a neighboring town.
"From his rushing
For some sneishing;
But his choring and his fishing
Could procure no Toddy's Mixture,
Moist Rappee, or Kendal Brown.
"In his trouble—
Now made double,
Since his last hope proved a bubble—
To his aid came Beadle Johnnie,
In his parish right-hand man.
"With a packet,
Saying, Tak' it,
It's as clean as I can mak' it,
If ye'd save yer snuff on Sabbath
A toom box ye needna scan.
"Being lusty
(Though 'twas musty)
To his nose the snuff so dusty
Put the minister, too much in want,
The gift to scrutinize.
"An idea
He could see a
Blessing in this panacea;
So he took such hearty pinches as brought
Tears into his eyes.