Jest take a common corn cob an' whittle out the middle,
Then plug up one end of it as tight as any fiddle;
Fit a stem into th' side an' lay her on th' shelf,
An' when she's dry you take her down, that pipe you made yourself.
Cram her full clar to th' brim with nachral leaf, you bet--
'T will smoke a trifle better for bein' somewhat wet--
Take your worms and fishin' pole, and a jug along for health,
An' you'll get a taste o' heaven from that pipe you made yourself.
There's clay pipes an' briar pipes an' meerschaum pipes as well,
There's plain pipes an' fancy pipes--things jes made to sell;
But any pipe that kin be bought for marbles, chalk, or pelf,
Ain't ekal to th' flayer of the pipe you make yourself.
HENRY E. BROWN.
CHIBOUQUE.
At Yeni-Djami, after Rhamadan,
The pacha in his palace lolls at ease;
Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please,
While round-limbed almees dance near his divan.
Slaves lure away _ennui_ with flowers and fan;
And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, he sees,
In dreamy trance, those marvellous mysteries
The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran!
Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded hair,
Dart through the opal clouds like agile deer,
With sensuous curves his fancy to provoke,--
Delicious houris, ravishing and fair,
Who to his vague and drowsy mind appear
Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in smoke!
FRANCIS S.
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