As a pinch of snuff ends in a sneeze, so sniffing ends in sneezing, and with a hearty sneeze we bring our pinch of snuff to a sudden ending. What comfort and consolation there is sometimes in a hearty sneeze, no one knows better than him who has just made two or three attempts, and ingloriously failed. With half closed eyes, and open mouth, and bated breath—once—twice—thrice—no! it will not be beguiled—psh-h-h-h-haw! “God bless you!”
“The year 750,” says a writer in the Gentleman’s Magazine, “is commonly reckoned the era of the custom of saying God bless you to one who happens to sneeze.” It is said that, in the time of the pontificate of St. Gregory the Great, the air was filled with such a deleterious influence, that they who sneezed immediately expired. On this the devout pontiff appointed a form of prayer, and a wish to be said to persons sneezing for averting them from the fatal effects of this malignancy. A fable contrived against all the rules of probability, it being certain that this custom has from time immemorial, subsisted in all parts of the known world. According to mythology, the first sign of life Prometheus’s artificial man gave, was by sternutation. This supposed creator is said to have stolen a portion of the solar rays, and filling a phial with them, sealed it up hermetically. He instantly flew back to his favourite automaton, and opening the phial, held it close to the statue, the rays still retaining all their activity, insinuated themselves through the pores, and set the factitious man a sneezing. Prometheus transported with success, offered up a prayer with wishes for the preservation of so singular a being. The automaton observed him, remembering his ejaculations, was careful, on like occasions to offer these wishes in behalf of his descendants, who perpetuated it from father to son in all their colonies. The Rabbis, also, fix a very ancient date to the custom. Pliny says, that to sneeze to the right was deemed fortunate; to the left, and near a place of burial, the reverse. Tiberius, otherwise a sour man, would perform this right of blessing most punctually to others, and expect the same from others to himself. Aristotle has a problem, “Why sneezing from noon to midnight was good, but from night to noon unlucky.” St. Austin tells us that the ancients were accustomed to go to bed again, if they sneezed while they put on their shoe.
When Themistocles sacrificed in his galley before the battle of Xeres, one of the assistants upon the right hand sneezed, Euphrantides the soothsayer, presaged the victory of the Greeks, and the overthrow of the Persians.
When the Greeks were consulting concerning their retreat in the time of Cyrus the Younger, it chanced that one of them sneezed, at the noise whereof, the rest of the soldiers called upon Jupiter Soter.
Brand tells us, that when the king of Mesopotamia sneezes, acclamations are made in all parts of his dominions. The Siamese wish long life to persons sneezing. And the Persians look upon sneezing as a happy omen, especially when repeated often.
A writer lately gives us the following “Philosophy of a sneeze” for which he alone is responsible. “The nose receives three sets of nerves—the nerves of smell, those of feeling, and those of motion. The former communicate to the brain, the odorous properties of substances with which they may come in contact, in a diffused or concentrated state; the second, communicate the impressions of touch; the third, move the muscles of the nose; but the power of these muscles is very limited. When a sneeze occurs, all these faculties are excited to a high degree. A grain of snuff excites the olfactory nerves, which despatch to the brain the intelligence that ‘snuff has attacked the nostril.’ The brain instantly sends a mandate through the motor nerves to the muscles, saying ‘cast it out!’ and the result is unmistakable. So offensive is the enemy besieging the nostril held to be, that the nose is not left to its own defence. It were too feeble to accomplish this. An allied army of muscles join in the rescue—nearly one-half the body arouses against the intruder—from the muscles of the lips to those of the abdomen, all unite in the effort for the expulsion of the grain of snuff.”
[CHAPTER VII.]
QUID PRO QUO.
“A third party sprang up, headed by the descendants of Robert Chewit, the companion of the great Hudson. These discarded pipes altogether, and took to chewing tobacco; hence, they were called Quids.”——Knickerbocker’s, New York.
Any one who will take the trouble to read through the “Curiosities of Food,” will soon become convinced, from the examples which Mr. P. L. Simmonds has collected so assiduously from all parts of the world, that there is no accounting for tastes. What extraordinary things men will admit between their teeth to gratify their appetites, is almost enough to set one’s own teeth on edge. Tobacco is certainly not more nauseous or revolting, than to us would be many of the delicacies dished up for dinner by some of the bipedal race. “Some Europeans,” observes the author, “chew tobacco, the Hindoo takes to betel nut and lime, while the Patagonian finds contentment in a bit of guano, and the Styrians grow fat and ruddy on arsenic. English children delight in sweetmeats and sugar-candy, while those of Africa prefer rock salt. A Frenchman likes frogs and snails, and we eat eels, oysters, and whelks. To the Esquimaux, train oil is your only delicacy. The Russian luxuriates upon his hide and tallow; the Chinese upon rats, puppy dogs, and shark’s fins; the Kaffir upon elephant’s foot and trunk or lion steaks; while the Pacific islander places cold missionary above every other edible. Why then should we be surprised at men’s feeding upon rattle snakes and monkeys, and pronouncing them capital eating?”[14]