Chapter VII: PIPES AND SMOKERS. (Continued.) (2)

"The 'Return from Parnassus' was published anonymously, and
the copy I have used is dateless. It was 'publicly acted by
the students of St. John's College in Cambridge.' In Act I.,
Scene 2d, characters are given of Spenser, Ben Jonson,
Marlow, Drayton, Marston and Shakespeare, together with some
other of the known poets and dramatists of the Elizabethan
age. It contains many references to tobacco. In 'Act IV.,
Scene 1st,' the characters are thus placed: 'Sir Rodericke
and Prodigo at one corner of the stage, Recorder and
Amaretto at the other. Two pages scouring of Tobacco pipes.'
Actual smoking from tobacco-pipes was introduced on the
stage afterwards; and instances from the early dramas have
been given by the writers on tobacco history. In the second
scene of Act III. smoking is alluded to as one of the marks
of the current man of fashion, and is coupled with that of
wearing love-locks, which was to prove such a scandal to the
Puritans. 'He gins to follow fashions. He wore thin
sireduelt in a smooky roofe, must take tobacco and must
weare a locke.' 'Work for Chimney Sweepers, or a Warning
against Tobacconists, by J. H.,' was published in quarto in
the year 1602.

"It was answered in the same year by the anonymous 'Defence
of Tobacco,' a quarto of seventy pages. The author of the
attack followed the line of King James, or, I should rather
say, showed him the line to take, for the King's
'Counterblast' did not appear until he had been King of
England for some years. The book is divided into sections,
each section being called 'A Reason.' The seventh 'Reason'
against the use of tobacco is, that the devil is the
discoverer and suggester of smoking. 'It was first used and
practised,' says J. H., 'by devils, priests, and, therefore,
not to be used by us Christians. That the devil was the
first author hereof. Monardus, in his 'Treatise of Tabaco,'
dooth sufficiently witnesse, saying: The Indian priests,
who, no doubt, were instruments of the devil, whom they
serve, even before they answer to questions propounded to
them by their princes, drinke of this tobacco-fume, with the
vigour and strength whereof they fall suddenly to the ground
as dead men, remaining so according to the quantity of smoke
that they had taken. And when the hearbe hath done his
worke, they revive and wake, giving answers according to the
vissions and illusions which they saw while they were wrapt
in that order.' It is not unlikely that J. H.'s authority
had confused opium with tobacco.

"It was the opinion of the age that every Pagan deity had a
real existence in the world of evil spirits. After further
quotations of Monardus, to prove that the devil is 'the
author of Tobacco, and of the knowledge thereof,' J. H.
concludes his seventh reason by declaring, 'Wherefore in
mine opinion this practice is more to be excluded of us
Christians, who follow Veritie and Truth, and detest and
abhor the devil as a lyar and deceiver of mankind.' In the
first year of this century, pipes were not only exhibited,
but were used upon the stage. They seem at first to have
been smoked, not during 'the induction.' In the induction to
Ben Jonson's 'Cynthia's Revels' (1601), the Third Child
says: 'Now, sir, suppose I am one of your genteel auditors,
that am come in, having paid my money at the door, with much
ado; and here take my place, and sit down, I have my three
sorts of tobacco in my pocket, my light by me, and thus I
begin.' The Third Child thereupon smokes; but it seems as if
the smoking on the stage was a kind of protest against a
prior smoking in the pit. In John Webster's 'Malcontent,' as
augmented by John Marston in 1604, Sly says in the
introduction: 'Come, coose, (coz or goose!) let's take some
tobacco.'

"In 'The Puritan, or the Widow of Watling Street,' published
in 1607, and attributed by some to Shakespeare,
tobacco-taking or tobacco-drinking (as smoking was then
usually called) appears no longer in the induction, but in
the play itself, Idle, the highwayman, says to the old
soldier, Skirmish, 'Have you any tobacco about you?' Idle
being supplied, smokes a pipe on the stage. These extracts,
however, may have been cited before, together with others of
like character in the great days of the English Drama. Pipes
continued to appear upon the stage until its abolition (in
company with the Prayer Book) by the Puritan rulers. They
reappeared on the stage of the Restoration. In Thomas
Shadwell's 'Virtuos' (1676),--to take one instance,--Mirando
and Clarinda fling away Snarl's cane, hat and periwig, and
break his pipes, because he 'takes nasty tobacco before
ladies.'"

There is printed evidence, however, in this same period to show not only that all the English ladies of the time were not enemies to tobacco, but that some of them were themselves smokers. In 1674 an anonymous quarto appeared under the title of "The Women's Petition against Coffee." It was a protest against the growing influence of the coffee-houses in seducing men away from their homes to sit together making mischief and drinking "this boiled soot." It was answered in the same year by "The Men's Answer to the Women's Petition." After speaking of the providential introduction of coffee into England in the midst of the Puritan epoch, when Englishmen wanted some kind of drink which would "at once make them sober and merry," the writer glorifies the coffee-house.

John Taylor, "the Water Poet," made a kind of compromise when he attributed the introduction of tobacco, not to the devil, but to Pluto,--"Pluto's Proclamation concerning his Infernal Pleasure for the Propagation of Tobacco." It appears in the folio collection of his works of the year 1628. The confusion of tobacco with opium and such destructive drugs seems to have been common with the travelers of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries. Camerarius, in his "Historical Meditations," translated into English by John Malle (folio, 1621), speaks of tobacco as to be seen growing in many gardens throughout Europe. He quotes Jerome Benzo as saying that in Hispaniola "there be among them some that take so much of it, as their senses being all overcome and made drunke with the same, they fell down flat to the ground as if they were dead, and there lie without sense or feeling most part of the day or of the night."

The tobacco-box, during the reign of Elizabeth, was no unimportant part of a dandy's outfit; sometimes a pouch or bag was used. Tobacco-boxes came into general use in England soon after the introduction of tobacco, and were much sought after by all who "drank" tobacco. Marston, the Duke of New Castle, and other dramatists, alluded to the tobacco-box as a part of the smoker's outfit; thus in the play of "The Man in the Moone" (1609), one character, in answer to an inquiry who one of the company is, answers: "I know not certainly, but I think he cometh to play you a fit of mirth, for I behelde pipes in his pocket; now he draweth forth his tinder-box and his touchwood, and falleth to his tacklings; sure his throate is on fire, the smoke flyeth so fast from his mouth; blesse his beard with a bason of water, lest he burn it; some terrible thing he taketh, it maketh him pant and look pale, and hath an odious taste, he spitteth so after it."

The tobacco boxes of the Seventeenth Century were much larger than those of the present. Some of them held a pound of tobacco besides space for a number of pipes.

Many of them were made of brass while others were fashioned from horn:

"There is also a simple and ingenious tobacco-box used
frequently in ale-houses, 'which keeps its own account,'
with each smoker and acts also as a money-box. It is kept on
parlor tables for the use of all comers; but none can obtain
a pipe-full, till the money is deposited through a hole in
the lid. A penny dropped in, causes a bolt to unfasten, and
allow the smoker to help himself from a drawer full of
tobacco. His honor is trusted so far as not to take more
than his pipe-full, and he is reminded of it by a verse
engraved on the lid:--

'The custom is, before you fill,
'To put a penny in the till.'"

Some of the tobacco boxes were made of silver and beautifully engraved with fancy sketches, historical scenes, or representations of personages, landscapes, flowers, etc. The late Duke of Sussex had a large collection of pipes and tobacco boxes.

A journal describing them says of the collection: "The Duke of Sussex had a wonderful collection of these, the values attached to some of them being almost fabulous. One example from the work-shop of Vienna--long celebrated for this description of art,--represented the combat of Hector and Achilles, the cover of the pipe being a golden hemlet cristatus of the Grecian type." Swiss and Tyrolean artists also produce exquisite carving, but use wood as a material; and in the famous collection of Baron de Watteville will be found a marvelous piece of carving representing Bellerophon overturning the Chimera. But French pipes are the most interesting of all to collectors, from the fact that tobacco was introduced into that country long before it was known in England, and also from the ingenuity of a people who can give interest of various kinds to what might seem a simple and prosaic branch of manufacture. In the sentiment of the following lines on "A pipe of Tobacco" by John Usher, all lovers of the plant will heartily join:

"Let the toper regale in his tankard of ale,
Or with alcohol moisten his thropple,
Only give me I pray, a good pipe of soft clay,
Nicely tapered, and thin in the stopple;
And I shall puff, puff, let who will say enough,
No luxury else I'm in lack o',
No malice I hoard, 'gainst Queen, Prince, Duke or Lord,
While I pull at my pipe of Tobacco.

"When I feel the hot strife of the battle of life,
And the prospect is aught but enticin',
Mayhap some real ill like a protested bill,
Dims the sunshine that tinged the horizon;
Only let me puff, puff,--be they ever so rough,
All the sorrows of life I lose track o',
The mists disappear, and the vista is clear,
With a soothing mild pipe of Tobacco.

"And when joy after pain, like the sun after rain,
Stills the waters, long turbid and troubled,
That life's current may flow, with a ruddier glow,
And the sense of enjoyment be doubled,--
Oh! let me puff, puff, till I feel _quantum suff_,
Such luxury still I'm in lack o',
Be joy ever so sweet, it would be incomplete,
Without a good pipe of tobacco.

"Should my recreant muse,--Sometimes apt to refuse
The guidance of bit and of bridle,
Still blankly demur, spite of whip and of spur,
Unimpassioned, inconstant, or idle;
Only let me puff, puff, till the brain cries enough,
Such excitement is all I'm in lack o',
And the poetic vein soon to fancy gives reign,
Inspired by a pipe of Tobacco.

"And when with one accord, round the jovial board,
In friendship our bosoms are glowing;
While with toast and with song we the evening prolong,
And with nectar the goblets are flowing;
Still let us puff, puff--be life smooth, be it rough,
Such enjoyment we're ever in lack o';
The more peace and goodwill will abound as we fill
A jolly good pipe of Tobacco."

The tobacco jar is another accessory of more recent date than tobacco pipes but interesting from the varieties of style and shapes. The finest are made of porcelain and are lavish in design and enrichment. Of all the articles of the smokers' paraphernalia none however exhibit more fanciful designs than Tobacco-stoppers used by smokers for crowding the tobacco into the pipe while smoking. The author of "A Paper of Tobacco" says:

"This was the only article on which the English smoker
prided himself. It was made of various materials--wood,
bone, ivory, mother-of-pearl, and silver: and the forms
which it assumed were exceedingly diversified. Out of a
collection of upwards of thirty tobacco-stoppers of
different ages, from 1688 to the present time, the following
are the most remarkable: a bear's tooth tipped with silver
at the bottom, and inscribed with the name of Captain James
Rogers of the Happy Return whaler, 1688; Dr. Henry
Sacheverel in full canonicals, carved in ivory, 1710; a
boat, a horse's hind leg, Punch, and another character in
the same Drama, to wit: his Satanic majesty; a countryman
with a flail; a milkmaid; an emblem of Priopus; Hope and
Anchor; the Marquis of Granby; a greyhound's head and neck;
a paviour's rammer; Lord Nelson; the Duke of Wellington; and
Bonaparte. The tobacco-stopper was carried in the pocket or
attached to a ring worn on the finger."

In Butler's Hudibras it is alluded to in connection with the astronomer's sign.

"----Bless us! quoth he,
It is a planet now I see;
And if I err not, by his proper
Figure that's like tobacco-stopper,
It should be Saturn!"

In James Boswell's "Shrubs of Parnassus" (1760) a description in verse of the various kinds of tobacco-stoppers is given:

"O! let me grasp thy waist, be thou of wood
Or levigated steel, for well 'tis known
Thy habit is disease. In iron clad
Sometimes thy feature roughen to the sight,
And oft transparent art thou seen in glass,
Portending frangibility. The son
Of laboring mechanism here displays
Exuberance of skill. The curious knot,
The motley flourish winding down the sides,
And freaks of fancy pour upon the view
Their complicated charms, and as they please,
Astonish. While with glee thy touch I feel,
No harm my fingers dread. No fractured pipe
I ask, or splinters aid, wherewith to press
The rising ashes down. Oh! bless my hand,
Chief when thou com'st with hollow circle crowned
With sculptured signet, bearing in thy womb
The treasured Cork-screw. Thus a triple service
In firm alliance may'st thou boast."

Tobacco-stoppers were often made of wood from some relic like a celebrated tree or mansion which gave additional value by its historic associations. Taylor alludes to several made from the well known Glastonbury thorn. He says:--

"I saw the sayd branch, I did take a dead sprigge from it,
wherewith I made two or three tobacco-stoppers, which I
brought to London."

Pipes and tobacco-stoppers have often been favorite testimonials of friendship and reward. Fairholt says:--

"It was the custom during the last century to present
country churchwardens with tobacco-boxes, after the faithful
discharge of their duties."

The following lines from "The Tobacco Leaf," penned by some favored one on receiving a rare pipe, are no doubt as neat as the object that called them forth:--

"I lifted off the lid with anxious care,
Removed the wrappages, strip after strip,
And when the hidden contents were laid bare,
My first remark was: "Mercy, what a pipe!"

A pipe of symmetry that matched its size,
Mounted with metal bright--a sight to see--
With the rich umber hue that smokers prize,
Attesting both its age and pedigree.

A pipe to make the royal Freidrich jealous,
Or the great Teufelsdrockh with envy gripe!
A man should hold some rank above his fellows
To justify his smoking such a pipe!

What country gave it birth? What blest of cities
Saw it first kindle at the glowing coal?
What happy artist murmured "_Nunc dimittis_,"
When he had fashioned this transcendent bowl!

Has it been hoarded in a monarch's treasures?
Was it a gift of peace, or price of war?
Did the great Khalif in his "Houre of Pleasures,"
Wager and lose it to the good Zaafar?

It may have soothed mild Spenser's melancholy,
While musing o'er traditions of the past,
Or graced the lips of brave Sir Walter Raleigh,
Ere sage King Jamie blew his "Counterblast."

Did it, safe hidden in some secret cavern,
Escape that monarch's pipoclastic ken?
Has Shakespeare smoked it at the Mermaid Tavern,
Quaffing a cup of sack with rare old Ben?

Ay, Shakespeare might have watched his vast creation
Loom through its smoke--the spectre-haunted Thane,
The Sisters at their ghostly invocations,
The jealous Moor and melancholy Dane.

Round its orbed haze and through its mazy ringlets,
Titania may have led her elfin rout,
Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,
Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it out.

Vain are all fancies--questions bring no answer;
The smokers vanish, but the pipe remains;
He were indeed a subtle necromancer,
Could read their records in its cloudy stains.

Nor this alone: its destiny may doom it
To outlive e'en its use and history--
Some ploughman of the future may exhume it
From soil now deep beneath the eastern sea.

And, treasured by some antiquarian Stultus,
It may to gaping visitors be shown,
Labelled: "The symbol of some ancient Cultus,
Conjecturally Phallic, but unknown."

Why do I thus recall the ancient quarrel
'Twixt Man and Time, that marks all earthly things?
Why labor to re-word the hackneyed moral,
[Greek: Ôs phhyllôngenehê], as Homer sings?

For this: Some links we forge are never broken:
Some feelings claim exemption from decay;
And Love, of which this pipe was but the token,
Shall last, though pipes and smokers pass away."

The verse that has been written in praise as well as dispraise of the "Indian Novelty" would of itself fill a volume of no "mean pretentions." The following clever lines from The Tobacco Plant entitled "Puffs from a Pipe," convey much advice to all smokers of tobacco.

Sage old friend! with judgment ripe;
Come and join me in a pipe.

Brother student! brother joker,
Thee I greet, O! brother smoker.

Smoke, O! men of every station,
Every climate, every nation.

East and West, and South and North,
Recognize Tobacco's worth.

Red man! let thy warfare cease:
Smoke the calumet of peace.

Chinaman! shun opium-grief:
Use the pure Tobacco leaf.

Frenchmen! no more foes provoke:
Follow arts of peace--and smoke!

German victors! crowned with laurel,
Smoke, content; and seek no quarrel.

Americans no one needs bid
To blow a cloud, or take a quid.

Though rows shake Dame Europa's school,
Johnny Bull smokes, calm and cool.

Toffy, it will ease thy brain, man!
Smoke and snuff, and smoke again, man!

Paddy, light of heart and gay,
Smoke thy dhudeen: short black clay.

Sawney, on thy Hielen' hill,
Tak' thy sneishin'; tak' thy gill!

Tourist, thou hast journey'd far;
Rest, and light a mild cigar.

Sailor, from the stormy seas,
Take a quid, and take thine ease.

"Soldier tired," put off thy shako;
Prepare to fire, and burn tobacco.

Workman, prize thine honest labor;
Burn thy weed, and love thy neighbor!

Evil-doers, when ye burn
The weed; think how soon 'twill be your turn.

Artist, let thy "coloring" be
Of a pipe; thy "drawing," free!

Miser, moderate thy greed!
Mend thy life, and take a weed.

Lawyer, loose thy bitter gripe!
Burn thy writ--to light a pipe.

Statesman, harassed night and day,
Blow a cloud; puff care away!

Hardy tiller of the soil!
Light a pipe; 'twill lighten toil.

Usurer, we surely know
Thou wilt have thy _quid pro quo_.

Merchant, smoke thy pipe; hang care!
Draughts are always honored there.

Gentle friend, whom troubles fret!
Smoke a soothing cigarette.

Preacher! take a pinch with me:
Snuff is dust, and so are we.

Hence with moralizings musty!
I say life is "not so dusty."

Smoke in gladness; smoke in trouble;
Soothe the last, the former double!

Teach the Fiji Indians, then,
To chew their quids, instead of men.

Pain from heart and brain to wipe,
Pass the weed, and fill your pipe!

Prince and peasant, lord and lackey,
All in some form take their 'Baccy.

The evil effects occasioned by man's indulging too frequently in tobacco have been the subject of many a fierce debate between the friends and foes of the "great plant." Many, however, are not aware of the fatality attending its use by the brute creation. A modern English poet on hearing of the result produced on a cow from chewing tobacco, penned the following sad lines which he entitles--"An elegy on somebody's Cow."

Weep! weep, ye chewers! Lowly bend, and bow;
Here lieth what was once a happy cow.
No more her voice she'll raise, now low, now high,
In amber fields, beneath an autumn sky;
No more she'll wander to the milking-pail,
While swine stand by to see her chew "pig-tail;"
No more round her the bees, a busy crew,
Shall linger, eager after "honey-dew;"
No more for her shall smoking grains be spread:
All bellowless remains her empty shed.

Sad was her fate. Reflect, all ye who read:
Life's flower destroyed by the accursed weed.
When first the yellow juice streamed o'er her lip,
One might have said, "This is a sad cow-slip."
To chew the peaceful cud by nature bid,
Degraded man taught her to chew a quid.
Sad the effect on body and on mind:
Her coat grew "shaggy," her milk nicotined;
Over her head shall naught but clover grow,
While o'er her peaceful grave the clouds shall blow.

No invalid shall ask for her cow-heel,
To heal his ailments with the simple meal;
Her whiskful tail into no soup shall go;
Mother of "weal" that would but bring us woe.
Her tripe shall honor not the festive meal,
Where smoking onions all their joys reveal;
Nor shall those shins that oft lagged on the road,
Be sold in cheap cook-shops as "_a la mode_,"
Her tongue must soon be sandwiched under ground,
Nor at pic-nics with cheap champagne go round;
Yea, even her poor bones are past all hope--
Not fit to be boiled down for scented soap.

Ah! hide her hide, poor beast. Her stomachs five
Dyed with the chewing she could not survive;
The very worms from her will turn away,
To seek some anti-chewer for their prey.
Ye chewers! be ye pilgrims to her tomb;
Lament with us o'er her untimely doom.
Awhile she stood the anti-chewer's butt,
Till scythe-arm'd Time gave her an "ugly cut."
She stagger'd to her death, and feebly cried,
And sneezed, "Achew! achew!" and chewing died.

There are many parodies of popular poems written in praise of the weed; of which the following in imitation of Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade," entitled "The Charge of the Tobacco Jar Brigade," is one of the best.

"Epigrams, epigrams,
Pour'd in, and numbered--
Good, bad, indifferent--
More than Six Hundred.
"Epigrams potters want,"
Quoth The Tobacco Plant:
Write! you for fame who pant;
Write! we'll three prizes grant."
Wrote for Tobacco-Jars,
Over Six Hundred.

Postmen, ere morning's light;
Postmen, whilst day was bright;
Postmen, as closed in night,
Ran--tan'd and thunder'd
Loud at our office door;
Brought letters, many score--
Contents of bags--to pour
Table and desk all o'er:
Handfuls and armfuls bore,
Casting them on the floor.
Then through the town they tore,
Hastening back for more--
More than Six Hundred.

Letters to right of us,
Letters to left of us,
Letters in front of us,
Seeming unnumbered!
Envelopes every size
Met our astonish'd eyes.
Writer with writer vies!
Which wins the chiefest prize
Out of Six Hundred.

How did each writer strain
After a happy vein!
Pegasus, spurning rein,
Shied, jibb'd, and blunder'd.
Reverend writers, then
Took up the winged pen;
Suff'rers on beds of pain
Sought the bright muse again;
Lawyer and barrister
Courted and harassed her;
M. D.s and editors;
Debtors and creditors;
Artists and artisans,
Nicotine's partisans;
Nurses and gentle dames
Call'd it endearing names;
Poets, ship-masters, too;
Ay! poetasters, too;
Wooing fair Nicotine,
Six hundred scribes were seen.
Anti-Tobacco cant,
Bigoted, bilious rant,
Bursting to vent their spleen,
Joined the Six Hundred.

Flash'd many fancies rare;
Flash'd like Aurora's glare;
Quick jotted down with care;
Some the reverse of fair;
Some that we well could spare;
Some that were made to bear
Blunders unnumbered.
Plunging in metaphor,
Not a bit better for--
Pardon the Cockney rhyme!--
Similies plunder'd.
Praising Tobacco smoke,
Heeding not grammar's yoke,
Prosody's rules they broke.
Many a rhyming moke,
Sense from rhyme sundered:
Many wrote well, but not--
Not the Six Hundred.
Honour Tobacco! roll'd,
Cut, press'd, however sold.
Alpha and Beta, bold,
Ye shall be tipp'd with gold.
Omega shall be sold,
Others in type behold
Nearly Six Hundred."

The following poem entitled "Weedless," after Byron's "Darkness," gives a vivid description of the world without tobacco.

"I had a dream, and it was all a dream:
Tobacco was abolish'd, and cigars
Were flung by "Antis" fearsome space--
The foreign and the British fared alike--
And the blue smoke was blown beyond the moon.
Night came and went and came, and brought no "weed,"
And men forgot their suppers, in the dread
Of the dire desolation; and all tongues
Were tingling with the taste of empty pipes;
And they did live all wretched; old hay bands,
And street-door mats, and clover brown and dry;
Carpets, rope-yarn, and such things as men sell,
Were burnt for 'bacca; haystacks were consumed,
And men were gathered round each blazing mass,
To have another makeshift sniff.
Happy were those who smoked, with smould'ring logs,
The harmless Yarmouth bloater after death--
Another pipe not all the world contain'd;
The furze was set on fire, but, hour by hour,
The stock diminish'd; all the prickly points
Quivered to death, and soon it all was gone.
The lips of men by the expiring stuff
Drew in and out, and all the world had fits.
The cinders fell upon them; some sprang up,
And blew their noses loud, and some did stand
Upon their heads, and sway'd despairing feet;
And others madly up and down the world
With "two-pence" hurried, shouting out for "Shag;"
And wink'd and blink'd at th' unclouded sky,
The "Anti's" smokeless banner--then again
Flung all their halfpence down into the dust,
And chewed their tainted pockets; snuffers wept,
And, flatt'ning noses on the dreary ground,
Inhaled the useless dust; the biggest "rough"
Came mild, tobacco-begging; p'licement came,
And mix'd themselves among the multitude,
"Run in" forgotten; uniforms were chew'd,
And teeth which for a moment had had rest,
Did move themselves again; old beaver hats
Fetch'd little fortunes; they were torn in bits,
And smok'd or chew'd at will; no bits were left.
All earth was but one thought, and that was smoke,
Immediate and glorious; and a pang
Of horror came at intervals, and men
Cried; and the boys were restless as themselves,
Till by degrees their stockings were devour'd;
E'en pipes were dropp'd despairing--all, save one,
One man was faithful to his pipe, and kept
Despair and deeper misery at bay,
By seeking ever for a "topper," dropped
From some spurned pipe, but that he could not find;
So, with a piteous and perpetual glare,
And a quick dissolute word, sucking the pipe,
Which answer'd never with a whiff, he slept;
The crowd dispersed by slow degrees, but two
Of all the dreary company remain'd,
And they kept 'bacca shops; they sat upon
The scanted lid of a tobacco tub,
Wherein was heap'd a mass of coined bronze--
Profits of 'bacca, sold--they were sold out;
They, grinning, scraped with their warm, eager hands
The little halfpence and the bigger pence,
Counted a little time, and cried "Haw! haw!"
Like a whole rookery; then lifted up
The tub as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's profits; saw, and smiled, and winked,
Uncaring that the world was poor indeed,
So they were rich in pence. The world was mad,
The populace and peerage both alike
Birds--Eyeless, Shagless, and returnless, too--
Oh! day of death, oh! chaos of hard times!--
And princes, dukes, and lords, they all stood still,
Feeling within their pockets' silent depths;
And sailors went a-moaning out to sea,
And chew'd their cables piecemeal: then they wept,
And slept on the abyss without a quid.
All quids were gone, cigars were in their graves;
The plant, their mother, had been rooted up;
Pawnbrokers had a ton of pipes apiece,
And "Antis" triumph'd. Then they had no need
To keep a "Sec.," so Reynolds got the "sack."

One of the best of all parodies is one in imitation of Longfellow's "Excelsior," entitled "Tobacco." It is from "Copis' Tobacco Plant."

"The summer blight was falling fast,
When straight through dirty London passed
A youth, who bore, through road and street,
A packet, thereon written neat;
"Tobacco!"

His brow was glad, his laughing eye
Flashed like a gooseberry in a pie;
And like a penny whistle rung
The piping notes of that strange tongue--
"Tobacco!"

In dusty homes he saw the light
Of supper fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the ruddy chimneys smoked:
He from his lips the word evoked--
"Tobacco!"

"Try not the weed," good Reynolds said;
"I've smoked it 'till I'm nearly dead:
Take not the juice in thy inside;"
But loud the jovial voice replied--
"Tobacco!"

"Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest;
I have got on my Sunday best:"
A wink stood in his bright blue eye,
And answered he, without a sigh--
"Tobacco!"

"Beware the briar's poison'd root;
Beware the birds-eye put into 't."
This was the Anti's latest greet.
A voice replied, far up the street--
"Tobacco!"

At break of day, on Clapham Rise.
A pot-boy opened both his eyes,
And to himself did gently swear,
To hear a voice call through the air--
"Tobacco!"

A traveler up a tree he found,
Who smoked and spat upon the ground;
And then among the blossoms ripe
He cried, while puffing at his pipe--
"Tobacco!"

There in the grayish twilight, "What's
That you say?" cried eager Pots,
And from the branch so green and far,
A voice fell like a broken jar--
"Tobacco."

The following lines from the same source have been very appropriately called "The Smoker's Calendar."

When January's cold appears,
A glowing pipe my spirit cheers;
And still it glads the length'ning day,
'Neath February's milder sway.
When March's keener winds succeed,
What charms me like the burning weed?
When April mounts the solar car,
I join him, puffing a cigar;
And May, so beautiful and bright,
Still finds the pleasing weed a-light.
To balmy zephyrs it gives zest,
When June in gayest livery's drest.
Through July Flora's offspring smile,
But still Nicotia's can beguile;
And August, when its fruits are ripe,
Matures my pleasure in a pipe.
September finds me in the garden,
Communing with a long churchwarden.
Ev'n in the wane of dull October,
I smoke my pipe and sip my "robur,"
November's soaking show'rs require
The smoking pipe and blazing fire:
The darkest day in drear December's--
That's lighted by their glowing embers.

The Hon. "Sunset" Cox in his lecture on American Humor alluded to the national characteristics of the French, Spanish, German, and other nationalities, says:--

"The highest enjoyment of a Frenchman is to hear the last
cantatrice, the Spaniard enjoys the most skillful thrust of
the matador in the bull arena, the Neapolitan the taste of
the maccaroni, the German his beer and metaphysics, the
darkey his banjo, and the American--

'To the American there's nothing so sweet
As to sit in his chair and tilt up his feet,
Enjoy the Cuba, whose flavor just suits,
And gaze at the world through the toes of his boots.'"

This would seem to be a feature of the Dutch according to a late traveler, who says:--

"I like Holland--it is the antidote of France. No one is
ever in a hurry here. Life moves on in a slow, majestic
stream, a little muddy and stagnant, perhaps, like one of
their own canals; but you see no waves, no breakers; not an
eddy, nor even a froth bubble, breaks the surface. Even a
Dutch child, as he steals along to school, smoking his short
pipe, has a mock air of thought about him."

The following epigrams for tobacco jars from "The Tobacco Plant" evince much "taste, wit, and ingenuity."

Fill the bowl, you jolly soul,
And burn all sorrow to a coal.

_Henry Clay._

That man is frugal and content indeed,
Who finds food, solace, pleasure in a weed.

_The "Weed"._

Behold! this vessel hath a moral got,
Tobacco-smokers all must go to pot.

_Epigrammatic._

A weed you call me, but you'll own
No rose was e'er more fully blown.

_Sic Itur ad Nostra._

Great Jove, Pandora's box with jars did fill
This Jar alone has power those jars to still.

_In Nubilus._

Tobacco some say, is a potent narcotic,
That rules half the world in a way quite despotic;
So to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks,
We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.

_Zed._

No use to draw upon a bank if no effects are there,
But a draw of this Tobacco is quite a safe affair;
And a pipe with fragrant weed (such as I hold) neatly stuffed,
Is just the only thing on earth that ought to be well puffed.

_R. S. Y. P._

Poor woman "pipes her eye,"
When in affliction's gripe;
But man, far wiser grown,
Just eyes his pipe.

_In Nubilus._

Sir Walter Raleigh! name of worth,
How sweet for thee to know
King James, who never smoked on earth,
Is smoking down below.

_Ex Fumo dare Lucem._

Travelers say Tobacco springs
From the graves of Indian kings:
Fill your pipe, then--smoke will be
Incense to their memory.
Though the weed's nor rich nor rare,
'Tis a balm for every care.

_Peter Piper._

Give me the weed, the fragrant weed,
My wearied brain to calm;
In a wreath of smoke, while I crack my joke,
I'll find a healing balm.

Day after day, let come what may,
The pipe of peace I'll fill;
I readily pay for briar or clay,
To save a doctor's bill.

_Pompone._

Great men need no pompous marble
To perpetuate their name;
Household gear and common trinkets
Best remind us of their fame.

Raleigh's glory rests immortal
On ten thousand thousand urns,
Every jar is _in memoriam_,
Every fragrant pipe that burns.

_At an Ash._

There are jars of jelly, jars of jam,
Jars of potted-beef and ham;
But welcome most to me, by far,
Is my dear old Tobacco-Jar.
There are pipes producing sounds divine,
Pipes producing luscious wine;
But when I consolation need,
I take the pipe that burns the weed.

_Jars._

Friend of my youth, companion of my later days,
What needs my muse to sing thy various praise?
In country or in town, on land or sea,
The weed is still delightful company.
In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
We fly to thee for solace once again.
Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.

_Erutxim._

Hail plant of power, more than king's renown,
Beloved alike in country and in town;
In hotter climes oft mingled with the jet
Of falling fountains; whilst the cigarette
Kisses the fair one's lips, and by thy breath
Redeems the wearied heart from ennui's death.

_Theta._

If e'er in social jars you join,
Seek this, and let them cease:
Let all your quarrels end in smoke,
And pass the pipe of peace.

_Fumigator._

Many a jar of old outbroke
Into fire and riot;
This will yield, with fragrant smoke,
Happy thought, and quiet.

41,911.

The moralist, philosopher, and sage.
Have sought by every means, in every age,
That which should cause the strife of men to cease,
And steep the world in fellowship and peace;
But all their toil and diligence were vain,
'Till Raleigh, noble Raleigh! crossed the main,
And brought to Britain's shores the wish'd-for prize,
The sovereign balm of life--within it lies.

_Dum Spiro Fumigo._

To rich men a pastime, to poor men a treat,
To all a true tonic most bracing and sweet,
To talent a pleasure, to genius a joy,
To workmen a comfort, to none an alloy,
The tyrant it softens; it soothes him if mad,
The king who may rule if he smokes not, is sad.

_Kit._

Sacred substance! sweet, serene;
Soothing sorrow's saddest scene:
Scent-suffusing, silv'ry smoke,
Softly smoothing suffering's stroke;--
Solacing so silently--
Still so swift, so sure, so sly:
Smoke sublimated soars supreme,
Sweetest soul-sustaining stream!

_Similia Similibus._

Why should men reek, like chimneys, with foul smoke,
Their neighbors and themselves to nearly choke?
Avoid it, ye John Bulls, and eke ye Paddies!
Avoid it, sons of Cambria, and Scottish laddies!
Let reason convince you that it very sad is,
And far too bad is,
And enough to make one mad is
To be smoked like a red herring or rank Finedon haddies.

_J. S._

No punishment save hanging's too severe
For those who'd rob the poor man of his beer;
But for the wretch who'd take away his pipe,
I think he's fully execution ripe!

_Pipe Clay._

Weeds are but cares! Well, what of that!
There's one weed bears a goodly crop;
And this exception, then, 'tis flat,
Doth give that rule a firmer prop.
Tobacco brings the genial mood,
Warm heart, shrewd thought, and while we reap
From this poor weed such harvest good,
We'll hold more boasted harvests cheap.

_Festus._

To poets give the laurel wreath, let heroes have their lay,
Of roses twine for lovely youth the garland fresh and gay;
But we poor mortals, quite content, life's fev'rish way pursue,
Can we but crown our foolish pates with wreaths of fragrant blue,
Convinced that all terrestrial things which please us or provoke,
Of ashes come, to ashes go, and only end in smoke.

_Pocosmipo._

Whilst cannon's smoke o'erwhelms with deadly cloud
The soldier's comrades in a common shroud,
And whilst the conflagration in the street,
With crushing roar the ruin makes complete,
Tobacco's smoke like incense seeks the skies--
Blesses the giver, and in silence dies!

_Theta._

Use me well, and you shall see
An excellent servant I will be;
Let me once become your master,
And you shall rue the great disaster!

As coin does to he who borrows,
I'll soothe your cares and ease your sorrows;
Abuse me, and your nerves I'll shatter,
Your heart I'll break, your cash I'll scatter,

_Use, not Abuse._

The savage in his wild estate,
When feuds and discords cease,
Soothes with the fragrant weed his hate,
And smokes the pipe of peace.

Long may the plant good-will create,
And banish strife afar:
Our only cloud its incense sweet,
And this our only jar.

_Scire Facias._

Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said;
I'll have to smoke, or I'll be dead?
If so, then let the caitiff dread!
My wrath shall fall upon his head.
'Tis plain he ne'er the Plant hath read;
But "goody" trash, perchance, instead.
Dear Cope, good night!--Yours, Master Fred.

That tobacco in one form or another has been patronized from the cottage to the throne, no one will deny who is at all acquainted with the history of the plant. And while it has had many a royal hater, it can also boast of having many a kingly user. A favorite of king and courtier, its use was alike common in the palace and the courtyard. It can claim, also, many celebrated physicians who have been its patrons, and among them the noted Dr. Parr. We give an anecdote of him showing his love of weed and wit.

The partiality this worthy Grecian always manifested for smoking is well known. Whenever he dined he was always indulged with a pipe. Even His Majesty, when Dr. Parr was his guest at Carlton Palace, condescended to give him a smoking-room and the company of Colonel C----, in order that he might suffer no inconvenience. "I don't like to be smoked myself, doctor," said the royal wit, "but I am anxious that your pipe should not be put out." One day, Dr. Parr was to dine at the house of Mr. ----, who informed his lady of the circumstance, and of the doctor's passion for the pipe. The lady was much mortified by this intimation, and with warmth said, "I tell you what, Mr. ----, I don't care a fig for Dr. P.'s Greek; he shan't smoke here." "My dear," replied the husband, "he must smoke; he is allowed to do so everywhere." "Excuse me, Mr. ----, he shall not smoke here; leave it to me, my dear, I'll manage it." The doctor came; a splendid dinner ensued; the Grecian was very brilliant. After dinner, the doctor called for his pipes. "Pipes!" screamed the lady. "Pipes! For what purpose?" "Why, to smoke, madam!" "Oh! my dear doctor, I can't have pipes here. You'll spoil my room; my curtains will smell of tobacco for a week." "Not smoke!" exclaimed the astonished and offended Grecian. "Why, madam, I have smoked in better houses." "Perhaps so, sir," replied the lady, with dignity; and she added with firmness, "I shall be most happy, doctor, to show you the rights (rites?) of hospitality; but you cannot be allowed to smoke." "Then, madam," said Dr. Parr, looking at her ample person; "then, madam,--I must say, madam,--" "Sir, sir, are you going to be rude?" "I must say, madam," he continued, "you are the greatest tobacco-stopper in all England." Of the clergy, Whatley was one of the greatest in intellect, and, as a smoker was devotedly attached to tobacco; his pipes, when out, served him for a book-marker. In summer-time he might be seen, of an evening, sitting on the chains of Stephen's Green, thinking of "that," as the song says, and of much more, while he was "smoking tobacco." In winter he walked and smoked, vigorously in both cases, on the Donnybrook road; or he would be out with his dogs, climbing up the trees to hide amid the branches a key or a knife, which, after walking some distance, he would tell the dogs he had lost, and bid them look for it and bring it to him.

Of many warriors, none have been more devoted to the plant than Napoleon, Frederick of Prussia and Blücher the Bold. The following anecdote of the latter is one of the best of its kind: "As is well-known, Field-Marshal Blücher, in addition to his brave young 'fellows' (as he called his horsemen), loved three things above all, namely, wine, gambling, and a pipe of Tobacco. With his pipe he would not dispense, and he always took two or three puffs, at least, before undertaking anything. 'Without Tobacco, I am not worth a farthing,' he often said. Though so passionately fond of Tobacco, yet old 'Forwards' was no friend of costly smoking apparatus; and he liked best to smoke long, Dutch clay pipes, which, as everybody knows, very readily break. Therefore, from among his 'young fellows' he had chosen for himself a Pipe-master, who had charge of a chest well packed with clay pipes; and this chest was the most precious jewel in Blücher's field baggage. If one of the pipes broke, it was, for our hero, an event of the greatest importance. On its occurrence, the 'wounded' pipe was narrowly examined, and if the stem was not broken off too near the head, it was sent to join the corps of Invalids, and was called 'Stummel' (Stump, or Stumpy). One of these Stumpies the Field-Marshal usually smoked when he was on horseback, and when the troops were marching along or engaged in a reconnoissance, and eye-witnesses record that many a Stumpy was shot from his mouth by the balls of the enemy--nothing but a piece of the stem then remaining between his lips. Blücher's Pipe-master, at the time of the Liberation War, was Christian Hennemann, a Mecklenburg and Rostock man, like Blücher himself, and most devotedly attached to the Field-Marshal. He knew all the characteristic peculiarities of the old hero, even the smallest, and no one could so skillfully adapt himself to them as he. His duties as Pipe-master, Hennemann discharged with great fidelity; yea, even with genuine fanatical zeal. The contents of the pipe-chest he thoroughly knew, for often he counted the pipes. Before every fierce fight, Prince Blücher usually ordered a long pipe to be filled. After smoking for a short time, he gave back the lighted pipe to Hennemann, placed himself right in the saddle, drew his sabre, and with the vigorous cry, 'Forward, my lads!' he threw himself into the fierce onset on the foe.

On the ever-memorable morning of the battle of Belle-Alliance (Waterloo), Hennemann had just handed a pipe to his master, when a cannon-ball struck the ground near, so that earth and sand covered Blücher and his gray horse. The horse made a spring to one side, and the beautiful new pipe was broken before the old hero had taken a single puff. 'Fill another pipe for me,' said Blücher; 'keep it lighted, and wait for me here a moment, till I drive away the French rascals. Forwards, lads!' Thereupon there was a rush forwards; but the chase lasted not only 'a moment,' but a whole hot day. At the Belle-Alliance Inn, which was demolished by shot,--the battle having at last been gained,--the victorious friends, Blücher and Wellington, met and congratulated each other on the grand and nobly achieved work, each praising the bravery of the other's troops. 'Your fellows slash in like the very devil himself!' cried Wellington. Blücher replied, 'Yes; you see, that is their business. But brave as they are, I know not whether one of them would stand as firmly and calmly in the midst of the shower of balls and bullets as your English.' Then Wellington asked Blücher about his previous position on the field of battle, which had enabled him to execute an attack so fatal to the enemy.

Blücher, who could strike tremendous blows, but was by no means a consummate orator, and could not paint his deeds in words, conducted Wellington to the place itself. They found it completely deserted; but on the very spot where Blücher had that morning halted, and from which he had galloped away, stood a man with his head bound up, and with his arm wrapped in a handkerchief. He smoked a long, dazzling white clay pipe. 'Good God!' exclaimed Blücher, 'that is my servant, Christian Hennemann. What a strange look you have, man! What are you doing here?' 'Have you come at last?' answered Christian Hennemann, in a grumbling tone; 'here I have stood the whole day, waiting for you. One pipe after another have the cursed French shot away from my mouth. Once even a blue bean (a bullet) made sad work with my head, and my fist has got a deuce of a smashing. That is the last whole pipe, and it is a good thing that the firing has ceased; otherwise, the French would have knocked this pipe to pieces, and you must have stood there with a dry mouth.' He then handed the lighted pipe to his master, who took it, and after a few eagerly-enjoyed whiffs, said to his faithful servant, 'It is true, I have kept you waiting a long time; but to-day the French fellows could not be forced to run all at once.' With astonishment, Wellington listened to the conversation. Amazed, he looked now at the Field-Marshal, now at the 'Pipe-master,' and now at the branches of trees and the balls scattered all round, which made it only too evident what a dangerous post this spot must have been during the battle. The wound in Hennemann's head proved to be somewhat serious; his hand was completely shattered; and yet, in the midst of the tempest of shot, he had stood there waiting for his beloved master."[55]

[Footnote 55: During the conquest of Holland, Louvais
paid more attention to furnishing tobacco than
provisions; and even at this day, as well as in former
times, more care is taken to procure tobacco than bread
to the soldier. Every soldier was obliged to have his
pipe and his matches.]

Tobacco smoking, however, can boast of many patrons besides warriors, physicians and statesmen, some of the finest writers of the last three centuries have indulged in the weed. The following extract from the "Australasian" entitled, "Tobacco Smoking" refers to many literary smokers.

"Burke felt himself precluded from 'drawing an indictment
against a whole community.' The critical moralist pauses
before the formidable array of the entire social world,
civilized and savage. The Cockney, leaving behind him the
regalias and meerschaums of the Strand, finds the wax-tipped
clay-pipe in the parlors of Yorkshire: finds dhudeen and
cutty in the wilds of Galway and on the rugged shores of
Skye and Mull. The Frenchman he finds enveloped in clouds of
Virginia, and the Swede, Dane, and Norwegian, of every grade
or class, makes the pipe his travelling companion and his
domestic solace. The Magyar, the Pole and the Russian rival
the Englishman in gusto, perhaps excel him in refinement;
the Dutch boor smokes finer Tobacco than many English
gentlemen can command, and more of it than many of our
hardened votaries could endure; but all must yield, or
rather, all must accumulate, ere our conceptions can
approach to the German. America and the British colonies
round off the picture, adding Cherokees, Redmen and
Mongolians _ad libitum_. The Jew whether in Hounds ditch,
Paris Hamburgh, or Constantinople, ever inhales the choicest
growths, and the Mussulman's 'keyf' is proverbial. India and
Persia dispute with us the palm of refinement and intensity,
but the philosopher of Australia is embarrassed when he asks
himself to whom shall I award that of zealous devotion?

"Dr. Adam Clarke, who could never reconcile himself to the
practice, deemed it due to his piety to find a useful
purpose in the creation of tobacco by all-seeing Wisdom, and
as that discovered by the instincts of all the nations of
the planet, and practiced by mankind for three centuries, is
wrong, the benevolent Wesleyan of Heydon, applied himself
diligently and generously to correct the world, and to
vindicate its Author. 'In some rare cases of internal injury
tobacco may be used but not in the customary way.' Be it
known, then, that the Creator has not created it in vain.
Dr. Clarke must have been a very good-natured man. He
tortured his brains to find a hope of pardon for Judas
Iscariot, and held that the creature (Nachash) who tempted
Eve was not a serpent but a monkey cursed by the forfeiture
of _patella_ and _podex_; therefore doomed to crawl! But I
fear, if the present form of using tobacco be not the true
one, we must despair of ever finding it, and people will go
on smoking and 'hearing reason' as long as the world goes
round. Robert Hall received a pamphlet denouncing the pipe.
He read it, and returned it. 'I cannot, sir, confute your
arguments, and I cannot give up smoking,' was his comment.
It is loosely asserted that smoking is more prevalent among
scholars, intellectualists, and men who live by their
brains, than among artisans and subduers of the soil. This
is an error. Tobacco is less a fosterer of thought than a
solace of mental vacuity. The thinker smokes in the
intervals of work, impatient of _ennui_ as well as of
lassitude, and the ploughman, the digger, the blacksmith or
the teamster, lights his cutty for the same reason. No true
worker, be he digger, or divine, blends real work with
either smoking or drinking. Whenever you see a fellow drink
or smoke during work, spot him for a gone coon; he will come
to grief, and that right soon. Sleep stimulates thought, and
sometimes a pipe will bring sleep, but trust it not of
itself for either thought or strength. It combats _ennui_,
lassitude, and intolerable vacuity, soothing the nerves and
diverting attention from self. Sam Johnson came very near
the mark: 'I wonder why a thing that costs so little
trouble, yet has just sufficient semblance of doing
something to break utter idleness, should go out of fashion.
To be sure, it is a horrible thing blowing smoke out; but
every man needs something to quiet him--as, beating with his
feet.'

"Life is really too short for moralists and medici who have
read Don Quixote, to attack a verdict arrived at and acted
upon by the combined nations of the entire world, during the
experience of three centuries, and apparently deepened by
their advancing civilization. Give us rules and
modifications, give us guides and correctives, give us
warnings against excess, precipitancy, and neglect of other
enjoyments, or of important duties, if you will. The urbane
æstheticism that regulates pleasure also limits it; and true
refinement ever modifies the indulgence it pervades. But it
is emulating Mrs. Partington and her mop to attempt to
preach down a world. When they do agree, their unanimity is
irresistible. Prohibition may give zest to enjoyment, and
provocation to curiosity, but can never overcome the
instincts of nature or cravings of nervous irritability, and
he who rises in rebellion against her absolute decree will
respect the limits and study the laws of a recognized and
regulated enjoyment.