* * * * *

PLEASURES OF SNUFF-TAKING.

Let some the joys of Bacchus praise,
The vast delights which he conveys,
And pride them in their wine;
Let others choose the nice _morceau_,
The piquant joys of feasting know,
But other gifts are mine.

Give me, ye gods, my quantum suff.
Of Grimstone's or Gillespie's snuff--
These are the sorts I crave;
Defend me from the Lundyfoot,
'Tis to my nostrils worse than soot,
And from the Irish save.

Your Prince's Mixture I despise,
It clogs the head and dims the eyes--
The nose rejects such burden;
Sure 'tis the critic's vast delight,
So dull and stupidly they write,
I call for witness ----.

Oh! where shall I for courage fly?
Or what restorative apply?
A pinch be my resource;
Perchance the French are not polite,
And with my country wish to fight,
Then I must grieve perforce;

Or, if with doubt the bosom heaves.
The heart for Grecian sorrows grieves,
And pines to see them fail.
Such critics sometimes court the muse,
And I perchance the rhymes peruse,
Then heaves the breast with pain.

To soothe the mind in such an hour,
A pinch of snuff has ample power--
One pinch--all's well again.
A pinch of snuff delights again,
And makes me view with great disdain,
And soothes my patriot grief.

Thus for the list of human woes,
The pangs each mortal bosom knows,
I find in snuff relief:
It makes me feel less sense of sorrow,
When modern bards their verses borrow,
And soothes my patriot grief.

Then let me sing the praise of snuff--
Give me, ye gods, I pray, enough--
Let others boast their wine;
Let some prefer the nice _morceau_
And piquant joys of feasting know,
The bliss of snuff be mine.

* * * * *

ODE ON A COLLEGE FEAST DAY.

(_For the Mirror._)

Hark! hear ye not yon footsteps dread
That shook the hall with thundering tread?
With eager haste,
The fellows past.
Each intent on direful work.
High lifts the mighty blade and points the deadly fork!

But hark! the portals sound and pacing forth,
With steps, alas! too slow,
The college gips of high illustrious worth
With all the dishes in long order go;
In the midst, a form divine,
Appears the fam'd Sir-loin;
And soon with plums and glory crown'd,
A m