Dr. Johnson,[16] Dr. Thorious, Dr. Aldrich, Dr. Parr, Pope, Swift, Addison, Steele, and a host of other approved writers of celebrity, independent of those of the present day, are all similarly indebted to the genial influence of tobacco, under one preparation or another, for the stimulus of their inspiration. The fact is incontrovertible. Where was transcendant literary ability before the introduction of tobacco?—Nowhere—it was unknown:—but, no sooner, we repeat, did IT become known and in use, than its generative powers became quickly visible: the minds of men, though previously barren, became fructified by its influence, and letters flourished. With truth it is observed, we formerly were a nation of readers; but, who is so ignorant as not to know, that as tobacco has become diffused, with knowledge, we are now a nation of smokers and writers. It may, indeed, be fairly set down as an axiom we may rely upon, that nearly every one occasionally gets a penchant for scribbling who smokes or snuffs; from the cobler, whose “soul on higher things is bent,” that composes a ditty to the measure of some admired production gracing his stall, to the peer of the realm, who, lounging on an ottoman under the inspiration of prince’s mixture, dictates a sonnet, or a novel, to his secretary, as the humour may chance to be of the moment. That tobacco has effected wonders in the promotion and promulgation of knowledge, we flatter ourselves we have plausibly shown; that it is equally distinguished in diplomacy and war, is a fact we shall now proceed to demonstrate. To commence then: who ever knew or heard of a plenipotentiary without his jewelled snuff-box?—The thing were out of nature: without it, indeed, he were but an automaton—a body without a head—a mere ‘cypher in the great account,’ unbacked and unsupported. So well aware, indeed, are civilized governments of this fact, that snuff-boxes set with brilliants to the value of a thousand pounds are given them, that they may be stimulated to business; diving into the cabals and intrigues of the state,—concealing their own, and, in a word, never be deserted at a PINCH. Nay, so much is snuff the fashion, that a courtier in most European countries without it were a sort of curiosity. Many of the greatest of men, have been remarkable for the snuff they took. Napoleon was among this number; he (acute and penetrating) was up to snuff, disdaining your common methods of worshipping that “spirit stirrer” of the human mind, he took it out of his waistcoat-pocket, and when vexed or thwarted by any unexpected occurrence, was always observed to have recourse to it, previous to exerting his mind on the subject. The greatness of his fortunes was commensurate with the quantity he consumed: the greatest snuff-taker in the French territories, it is by no means singular to relate, he became the first in grandeur and consequence, as well as the most idolized of men. At the same time, he was by no means insensible of the powers of smoking, for we find it recorded, that his greatest relief from extreme fatigue (as he used to declare) arose from “a CIGAR, a cup of coffee, and a warm bath;” three things, we affirm, highly creditable to the taste of so great a genius. Nor did Buonaparte confine the use of it solely to his own person: fully impressed with its powers, he ordered its use throughout the whole of the French army. The immediate consequence was, that under his influence and that of the stimulating weed, they conquered all before them, and became renowned throughout Europe for their discipline and determined bravery. This may, by those who dive no further than the surface, be attributed to the ability of their general, to a certain degree we in our candour acknowledge; but the grand secret and mover of it was tobacco—sovereign tobacco! What sceptic so rash, dares breathe a doubt of the truth of this statement? Does he require additional evidence?—If so! let him turn his eyes to the British navy. What is it, ever since the time of Elizabeth, from the defeat of the Spanish Armada up to the victory at Trafalgar, has rendered them invincible and the terror of the world?—what, we exclaim, but tobacco! To quids! quids! alone is their success to be attributed; but deprive them of these, and you take the spirit of the men away. Immortal, godlike pigtail! And well too does government know this fact, and wisely institute an allowance to each man. Hunger, thirst, and every hardship is borne without a murmur by each gallant tar, so long as there is pigtail in the locker. Go seek the man, whether topman, afterguard, or idler, who has ever been upon a seven or three years’ station, and ask him whence his chief consolation in the watch of safety, or peril, and he, if a true sailor, shall answer with an indescribable roll of the jaw—“Pigtail!!!” ’Tis the essence, in fact, the very quintessence of the man, and its consideration in his mind may be sufficiently gleaned from the following well-known epistle—at once an irrefutable proof, if any be needed.
“Warren Hastings East Indyman,
off Gravesend.
March 24, 1813.
Dear Brother Tom;
This comes hopein to find you in good health as it leaves me safe anckor’d here yesterday at 4 P. M. arter a pleasant voyage tolerable short and a few squalls.—Dear Tom—hopes to find poor old father stout, and am quite out of pig-tail.—Sights of pig-tail at Gravesend, but unfortinly not fit for a dog to chor. Dear Tom, Captain’s boy will bring you this, and put pig-tail in his pocket when bort. Best in London at the Black Boy in 7 diles, where go acks for best pig-tail—pound a pig-tail will do, and am short of shirts. Dear Tom, as for shirts ony took 2 whereof one is quite wored out and tuther most, but don’t forget the pig-tail, as I a’n’t had a quid to chor never since Thursday. Dear Tom, as for the shirts, your size will do, only longer. I liks um long—get one at present; best at Tower-hill, and cheap, but be particler to go to 7 diles for the pig-tail at the Black Boy, and Dear Tom, acks for pound best pig-tail, and let it be good. Captain’s boy will put the pig-tail in his pocket, he likes pig-tail, so ty it up. Dear Tom, shall be up about Monday there or thereabouts. Not so perticuler for the shirt as the present can be washed, but don’t forget the pig-tail without fail, so am your loving brother.”
“T. P.”
“P. S.—Don’t forget the pig-tail.”
Treating of the milder virtues of tobacco, who ever knew a smoker—one of your twenty years’ standing,—ill tempered; or a veteran snuff-taker, who did not occasionally give utterance to witty sayings?—the thing were against reason. In conclusion, what can we say more for thee, omnipotent, prolific herb! than in the inspired lines of thy true admirer Byron?
| Sublime tobacco, which from east to west, Cheers the tar’s labours or the Turkman’s rest; Which on the moslems’ ottomans divides His hours, and rivals opium and his brides: Magnificent in Stamboul, but less grand, Though not less lov’d, in Wapping or the Strand. Divine in hookas; glorious in a pipe, When tipped with amber, mellow, rich and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing thy caress, More dazzling fair and glaring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire, by far, Thy naked beauties—give me a cigar? |