MARCH 20, 18 —.

Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago

Has subsequently chased me, high and low;

Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,

And shows no disposition to depart.

And so I've wandered‘ round ( too much, perhaps ),

And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,

And planted good cigars where they would seem

Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.

( I never smoke; but, travelling near and far,

There's few things help one like a good cigar;

When safe between a neighbor's teeth‘ tis hung,

It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.

I get more from cigars, before it's through,

Than all the fellows that I give them to.

Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,

My method helps their families foot the bill. )

Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,

Who smoked up every last cigar I had,

Unrolled the following story to my view,

Which I believe ( conditionally ) true: