A PLEA FOR SMOKING.

Westport Times, Volume III, Issue 504, 15 May 1869, Page 3

A PLEA FOR SMOKING.

(feoii a diggek's note book.) I am out of humor, so I fill my pipe and take a smoke. The moralizing effect tobacco has upon the mind is astonishing. "What profound inquiries may suggest themselves to a smoker! When he sees the smoke curling upwards he has a fitting illustration of this world's vanity. Eeaeh forward, seize a handful, and he acquires fame. It isabubble; it is tobacco smoke. The shortness of life is as a smoke of a pipe, and their mutual ends are ashes. What illustration would be more forcible or poetical, I ask you, shade of Artemus "Ward ? " 'Taint in Natur," says the shade. A moderate smoke sets the thoughts atune to harmony. Sceptics, I only ask a trial. Have you had losses in business ? Has any of your acquaintances slighted or slightly insulted you ? If so, go summon up your philosophy, and philosophy is not at home. But try the mild incantation of a pipe ofbird's-eye, and, 10, he appears. The sun does not melt ice instantaneously: no more will the first few whiffs polish off your friend's unkindness or unwrinkle Fortune's frown. Now watch the patient! Puff, puff—he savagely puffs the primary whiff. But the spell works, and slowly the contracted brow relaxes: Philosophy knocks at the door of common sense. No; that can't be, for then he knocks at his own door. However, they manage somehow together to smooth the wrinkled front of the subject under experiment. Now see the patient's graceful action as with dramatic ease he lays hold of the pipe and streams from his mouth in curling wreaths a mellow whiff. As the change comes over his aspect, so the change comes over his feelings, and before naif the pipe is consumed, thus he moralizes:—" Pshaw! That fellow who tried to annoy me I pity. A weak-pated slave of passion, unworthy my indignation or notice, so I will bother my brains no more about him." The acme of philosophic indifference was accomplished by a smoker during the Crimean war. When the order came for the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava this worthy was enjoying his pipe. Still smoking, he mounts his steed, takes his place in that devoted band, and, amid the dread clamor of death-dealing artillery, rides firmly onward to the charge. Like a Trojan he deals his lusty blows, still blowing a cloud, mind you; and when the little band with their lessened numbers are again collected, this sturdy hero still has his pipe alight. "All humbug," says the sceptic. Well, if it is, the fiction is a worthy one, and reflects credit on its author, who was, no doubt, a smoker. Once upon a time I was digging up we Buller river. I had two mates — one a smoker and the other not. Une *pectedly our tobacco ran short, and

it was during a very wet season, when floods were high, and thus there was no chance of getting to the store for a fresh supply. We felt our pockets, and not a particle was there. " Turn out your blankets," says my mate, and we will search the bunks. So we did, but not a vestige was to be seen. Despair was fast seizing on our minds, and to irritate us the more our nonsmoking friend was laughing at our desolation. My mate gave up the search as hopeless and in moody thought lay in his bunk. Not yet convinced of the hopelessness of the search, I continued prying in all sorts of likely and unlikely crannies and harbors, and at last, joy inexpressible, I found a fig of Barret's twist, I announced the discovery, and up jumps my mate, with a knife in one hand and pipe in the other. " Good on you," he says, " let me have a pipeful." So I take the prize to a candle, and, behold, it is only a dried twig! I was as much crestfallen as my friend • but he commenced to rail at me. " There's no mistake," he says, " you are a mean mau—nothing short of it; such a trick shows a mean disposition." Though much annoyed I could not forbear laughing at my friend's troubles. Full of irritation we went to bed, and, next day, my mate made off for the store, and our penance ceased. Ceusob. Addison's Flat, May 10. |