In Florida, tobacco was called "petun,"
whence the name of our pretty summer flowers,
the petunias, who are cousins-german, if not
half-brothers, to tobacco. But what did the
Old World peoples do, when cigars and shag
were alike unknown?* Were our unsmoking
ancestors weaker, duller, less robust than their
posterity of unceasing smokers? Can a drug,
an indulgence, a luxury, a sedative, with which
Europe, Asia, and Africa uncomplainingly
dispensed from the beginning of the world up to
A.D. 1570, or thereabouts, be really necessary for
our physical welfare?

* Something was smoked even before that time.
Pipes, which could have served no other purpose,
have been found amongst the remains of early
antiquity.

The question is natural; but, if urged as an
objection to tobacco, might be applied, with
equal reason, to many other articles of daily
consumption—to every medicinal or alimentary
discovery. Wine is ancient; but alcohol and
its modifications, brandy, whisky, rum, and gin,
are modern. So, too, are tea and coffee. It
might be argued that, if the great majority of
existing nations have lived for ages, happily and
healthily, without tea, coffee, toddy, or punch,
therefore those beverages are so many unnecessary
extras. We need, however, no learned
professor to convince us that such is not the
case. We feel that tea and coffee are great
blessings—tea especially, as we use it, not
mixing it, like the Russians, with spirit. We
also, as a general rule, confine coffee to its
proper use; not making one stimulant, as the
French do, the vehicle of another, brandy.
There are occasions, too (as after a thorough
wetting, strong emotion, severe fatigue, or
profuse loss of blood), when a small dose of spirit
may avert disease or even death. Before tea
and coffee were, some other drink had to be
taken at the morning meal. But it is not every
head (belonging to in-door workers) that could
obey Cobbett's order to take beer for breakfast,
without at least sacrificing an hour or two to
let the fumes of the beer evaporate.

What makes smoking appear to non-smokers
so utterly superfluous a waste of money, is,
that the smoke inhaled has not the slightest
pretence to be nutritious. Tea, coffee, and
spirit, it is thought, may afford a little nourishment
in their way; smoking is an indulgence,
and nothing more. Are the other three never
taken as indulgences? Tobacco, certainly, can
be abused; and so can anything else. Balzac
shortened his life by the immoderate use of
coffee by night, which hastened and ripened
heart disease. It is possible, then, that tobacco,
properly used, may have its attendant advantages.
The inclination for it, felt by multitudes,
is a presumptive argument in its favour. The
same instinct which has led men (short of salt)
and animals to rush to salt springs; feverish
invalids to suck in with delight bitter pond-water
in which cinchona branches were steeped;
and small-pox convalescents to beg for pots of
porter, may be also the influence which has
sometimes caused tobacco to gravitate towards
human lips. Take a case, which is authentic.

Z. had never smoked, except once or twice,
as a boyish bravado, which made him sick.
When about forty years of age, Z. had serious
troubles and afflictions, followed by an illness
which nearly cost him his life. During a slow
recovery, with every needful comfort around
him, Z. still felt in want of something, he knew
not what. To hit upon an indefinite restorative
"something," was really no easy feat. But one
day the happy thought flashed on him that the
something must be—a cigar. The experiment
was tried with signal success, and a box of
Havannahs completed the cure. Z. has since
rejoiced that he was not tempted to try any
"nervous debility" doctor's stuff. That, and
the doctor together, might have finished him
off, long ago. And he advises any one who
may be so tempted, to try a mild Havannah first.
Z. is now no slave to tobacco. He can either
smoke, or refrain from smoking; which last, on
the majority of days, he does. But, if the
slightest touch of the old longing comes over
him, he thinks it no sin to blow a small cloud.

The tobacco question is of sufficient importance
to deserve calm and serious consideration.
If tobacco have now intemperate devotees, at
the outset it had as intemperate enemies. Our
James the First's "Counterblast" is scarcely
worth notice; because, had King Jamie been
wise, he would not have thrown stones at
tobacco, nor at anything else. Snuffing was the
form of tobacco-taking which seems to have
excited the greatest aversion. The Sultan
Mahomet the Fourth, of all people in the world,
prohibited it in his dominions under pain of
death. The Grand-Duke of Muscovy (Russia
was not then what it is now) pitilessly hung
every wretch who was caught in the fact of
snuffing. The King of Persia commuted that
punishment to the milder penalty of cutting off
snuffers' noses. James the First of England
and Christian the Fourth of Denmark contented
themselves with inflicting money fines, or simple
whippings. Pope Urban the Eighth issued a
bull excommunicating people who should
indulge in snuff-taking in church. Deterrent
stories are also told of people who had so dried
up their brains by taking snuff, that, after death,
a little black lump was all that was found
remaining in their skull.

In those days, there were four ways of using
tobacco, three only of which have survived to
us: in powder, up the nose, as snuff; by smoking
in a pipe; by chewing; and lastly, in long plugs
(like miniature cigars) stuffed up the nostrils,
and kept there, with, it was believed, very
salutary effect. Some even slept with their
nostrils so garnished, but it was found to
produce nausea in the morning. The French
"chiquer," to chew tobacco, and "chique," a
quid, are evidently abbreviations from "machicatoire,"
a jaw-piece. From what root has our
"quid" sprouted?

On either side of the Channel there has