With a pipe in my mouth, and a drop in my eye;
With a cask of good liquor, old rye coffee named,
How blest could I live, and how calm could I lie
By the side of yon oak, where an old toper sips
His glass of gin toddy, how sweet to recline,
And to know that the liquor I rais’d to my lips,
Had never been tasted by any but mine.
From The Mirror, 1823.
An Editor’s Troubles.