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.