the result produced on a cow from chewing tobacco,
penned the following sad lines which he entitles--"An elegy on
somebody's Cow."

Weep! weep, ye chewers! Lowly bend, and bow;
Here lieth what was once a happy cow.
No more her voice she'll raise, now low, now high,
In amber fields, beneath an autumn sky;
No more she'll wander to the milking-pail,
While swine stand by to see her chew "pig-tail;"
No more round her the bees, a busy crew,
Shall linger, eager after "honey-dew;"
No more for her shall smoking grains be spread:
All bellowless remains her empty shed.

Sad was her fate. Reflect, all ye who read:
Life's flower destroyed by the accursed weed.
When first the yellow juice streamed o'er her lip,
One might have said, "This is a sad cow-slip."
To chew the peaceful cud by nature bid,
Degraded man taught her to chew a quid.
Sad the effect on body and on mind:
Her coat grew "shaggy," her milk nicotined;
Over her head shall naught but clover grow,
While o'er her peaceful grave the clouds shall blow.

No invalid shall ask for her cow-heel,
To heal his ailments with the simple meal;
Her whiskful tail into no soup shall go;
Mother of "weal" that would but bring us woe.
Her tripe shall honor not the festive meal,
Where smoking onions all their joys reveal;
Nor shall those shins that oft lagged on the road,
Be sold in cheap cook-shops as "_a la mode_,"
Her tongue must soon be sandwiched under ground,
Nor at pic-nics with cheap champagne go round;
Yea, even her poor bones are past all hope--
Not fit to be boiled down for scented soap.

Ah! hide her hide, poor beast. Her stomachs five
Dyed with the chewing she could not survive;
The very worms from her will turn away,
To seek some anti-chewer for their prey.
Ye chewers! be ye pilgrims to her tomb;
Lament with us o'er her untimely doom.
Awhile she stood the anti-chewer's butt,
Till scythe-arm'd Time gave her an "ugly cut."
She stagger'd to her death, and feebly cried,
And sneezed, "Achew! achew!" and chewing died.

There are many parodies of popular poems written in praise of the
weed; of which the following in imitation of Tennyson's "Charge of the
Light Brigade," entitled "The Charge of the Tobacco Jar Brigade," is
one of the best.

"Epigrams, epigrams,
Pour'd in, and numbered--
Good, bad, indifferent--
More than Six Hundred.
"Epigrams potters want,"
Quoth The T