To Tom Mills.

Here’s a health to thee, Tom Mills—

May your shadow never be less;

Long may you scatter SUGAR PILLS,

Through this Western wilderness.

When the air is keen and my nose is cold,

Along State Street I hope,

To a snug retreat I know of old—

‘Tis Tom Mills’ Candy Shop.

Sometime next week I’ll make a call—

Perhaps on New Year’s day—

I want a few good things, that’s all,

To sweeten my mortal clay.

Says I, “Good morning, Mrs. Mills,

You are always at the bar;

I’ve come to puff away at life’s ills,

With a Principee Segar. P. S. M.

Lansingburgh Democrat. December 25, 1851: 2 col 3. [State Street=Second Avenue]