University of Virginia Library

TOBACCO.

In all countries, Christian, Mahomedan, Jewish and
Pagan, some foolish abomination or other has, in
the dark ages, sprung up amongst the people, no
one knows how, and been perpetuated, no one knows
why. It is not my intention to illustrate the art of
spinning-out in writing, and impose upon the public
by entering into minute details, and citing grave
authorities from cyclopædias, to show how the followers
of the prophet first came to eat opium, the
inhabitants of Cochin China whang-te, or any other
parallel case, but confine myself closely to the subject
more immediately under consideration—a subject
which, it may be said, is in every man's mouth,
and “comes home to the bosom and business of
all.”

It is strange what a strong propensity nature
has implanted in the human species, from infancy
to old age, to convey all sorts of substances into

that orifice which serves as a port of entry for the
stomach. Even the small weeping and wailing
babe, no sooner grasps with its tiny and unsteady
hand any thing eatable, than its cries are stilled, and
it carries it instinctively to its mouth; while, beyond
all question, a mother's most infallible recipe for assuaging
the grief of the hardy urchins around her,
is a substantial slice of bread and butter. It is pleasant
to note the sudden transition from grief, or
rather mechanical crying, to joy, which takes place
in a little fellow as soon as a pacifying piece of victuals
is placed in his hand. How his face lightens
up, and his bright eyes sparkle and glisten through
the moisture which overflows them, while ever and
anon the “big round tears” unconsciously leave his
silken eyelashes, and
It is a pretty study for a painter. The capacities
for eating possessed by young children at a tender
age are immense—many of the young rouges will
continue stuffing from the rising to the going
down of the sun, with a gusto calculated to excite
the astonishment of an epicure and the horror of a
valetudinarian. The swallowing capabilities of a
man, however, are by no means so great, though
his early objections to letting his jaw-bones remain
in a quiescent state continue equally strong; he has,
therefore, adopted various ways of indulging this
propensity without danger to himself, and among
these, masticating tobacco stands strikingly conspicuous
in this section of the globe. To such an
extent is this carried, that not only are thousands of
acres of fertile land devoted to the purpose of raising
it, but ships are fitted out and sent across
the ocean; and men, esteemed by statesmen and
philosophers of an inferior order on account of their
color, are torn from their home and wives and children,
in order to cultivate a weed for other men of
another color to put into their mouths and then take
out again!

To me tobacco appears a very unodoriferous and
anti-poetical substance. To rebut the latter charge
it may be urged that Byron, the greatest poet of
the age, was partial to it; but it must be remembered
that Byron used it only as a medicine—
an antidote to rotundity—in small round balls,
in order to allay the pangs of hunger when his
lordship chose to fast, to prevent his growing,
like Falstaff, “out of all compass—out of all reasonable
compass.” No—tobacco is death to poetry
and poetical associations wherever it comes in
contact with them. Fancy, for an instant, a fine
clear sabbath morn in some of the snug sheltered

villages on the Connecticut river, the bell from
the simple spire summoning the hardy yeomanry,
far and near, to the house of prayer. Fancy a venerable
old man trudging along the narrow pathway
that runs winding through the sweet-scented meadows
which lie betwixt his home and the spot consecrated
to the service of his Maker, with his smiling
happy family tripping gaily at his heels. He feels
the benign influence of nature in the balmy air,
and is glad, though he almost deems cheerfulness
a sin at such a time, while the rising generation
find their hearts leaping with frolic glee as the
delicious southern breeze, laden with the merry
music of birds and the breath of flowers, comes
sweeping over the bold hills and beautiful valleys.
There is poetry, deep and pure, in such a sight.
But suppose, for an instant, the old man, or any
part of the male progeny, “chew”—faugh! what
a jar it gives the feelings—it is like a discord in a
strain of music, or a blot from a sign-painter's brush
on one of Turner's landscapes. It brings you at
once from the poetry of life to the harsh prose—
the scurvy reality—and you see nothing but an old
farmer and his tobacco-munching sons lounging
along, employed in transferring large quantities of
that detestable weed from one side of their mouths
to the other, and ever and anon staining the bright
young grass and pretty wild-flowers with their impure
squirtations as they pass on their way.

Much is said of the influence which females exercise
in this country, but it is, we fear, over-rated.
Powerful as may be their commands and entreaties,
and strong as may be their charms; it is
reasonable to suppose that the charms of tobacco
are still stronger, or they would doubtless have
banished it from civilized society long ere this. It is
shocking to think of a delicate creature with lips
“like two young rose-leaves torn,” having them at
any time come in contact with those attached to
what out of courtesy is called the mouth of a man,
but which, in reality, is nothing better than a damp
tobacco-box. Yet there is much kissing going on
in the world for all this.

It is curious what strange and childish notions
will perpetuate an evil. Drinking, gambling, &c.
are enticing in the first instance, but all agree that
the use of tobacco is dreadfuly disagreeable to the
young beginner; yet boys will imitate the actions
of men; unfortunately it is considered manly to
swear, drink mint juleps, eat tobacco, and smoke
cigars; and thousands of beardless, puny creatures
are led away by the desire to appear older than they
are. Poor children! Why do not their parents
whip them and put them to bed early for doing

such naughty, filthy tricks? Solomon says, “he that
spareth the rod spoileth the child;” and it would be
better for themselves and their offspring, if the worthy
inhabitants of this city would pay a little more respect
to Solomon's sayings; though, alas, with
what consistency can a man correct his son for the
very abominations he himself indulges in? It must
be left to that indefinite power of education which
it is the fashion of the hour to set forth as a remedy
for all disorders and irregularities. One thing is
clear; so much expectoration must be highly injurious
to half-grown boys, and many of them, with
wasp waists and the mere outlines of a face, look
as if the liquor they are so fond of extracting
had mingled with the current of their young blood,
and was the cause of tobacco-colored complexions.
We are very sorry for Messrs. Lorillard, but, as small
political editors with seventeen bad subscribers say
—“our duty to the public imperatively commands
us to speak out.”