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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, February 24, 1913, Image 19',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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TO MY CIGARET:
I bow at your shrine, Oh, Idol of Mine,
Be you Turkish, Egyptian, or what,
As I deeply inhale of your smoke that's sublime,
And reflect on the comfort you've brought.
You've calmed lurid hatred to pity, the while
You've chastened red love into gray;
You've smoothed out a frown until it's a smile,
And you've hidden life's sorrows away.
The falseness of friends you have made me forget.
The fear of mine enemies, too;
Until I adore you, my sweet cigarette,
The one thing I know that is true.
They say you are wicked, immoral; begot
(They don't even know you, I bet),
Of the smoke out of Hell oh, damn it, what rot,
I love you, jny dear Cigarette!
To the Editor:
If Miss LePage's poem to her
cigarette places a valuation of a
a thousand bucks on her "soul,"
will you kindly estimate how
many nickels I should receive for
mine on the strength of the
This is mere curiosity and a
fondness for riddles. I am a hard
working girl in love with my
job, and my soul is wrapped away
in camphor as a protection
against moths. I thought, how-
That Canadian bank expert,
Sir Edmund Walker, suggests
that we have a bank note cur
rency "that will appear when
needed and disappear when the
need has passed." Splendid, Ed,
just splendid! The sort we've
new got seldom appears when
needed and its judgment on the
time to disappear isn't worth
ever, you might fill in with this
poetic effusion, as it embraces one
"Hell'' and a "damn," necessary
attributes of expressive "genius."
But, for the love of Mike, and
of my birthplace, Philadelphia, do
not append my name. If you wish
to show any gratitude, mail me a
copy of the paper containing the
above and I will send it to a
Quaker relative to show how
devilish a Philadelphia spinster
may become in the rarified atmos
phere of Chicago. A. M. D.
Patience They say her hus
band has a passion for music.
Patrice That's right. Every
time she plays or sings he flies in
That job as "provisional presi
dent" of Mexico seems to be an
other of the jobs for which there
is no riotous rush owing to the
unreliability of pay clays.