with tar?
Queer thing, that, my friend, but it’s none the
less true,
—This quirk of tobacco—I’ll leave it to you!
But there’s savor in wreaths from the brier and
cob,
In the depths of the forest afar from the mob;
And an incense that’s sweet to ecstatic degree
Curls up from the bowl of the ancient T. D.
While choicest Perfectos smell ranker than