In a cloud of smoke.
Ah, yes! ’tis a mystical “Basingstoke,”[25]
That guides my thoughts to a saner flow
So a fig to the Anti-Tobacco folk!
Her tongue has no “measured beat and slow;”
She says that in fumes narcotic I soak;
But her withering scorn seems to softer grow
In a cloud of smoke.
From Judy. April 18, 1888.