Opium indulgence is, after all, very un-English, and never has been, nor ever will be, remarkably popular; and if we smoke our pipes of tobacco ourselves, while in the midst of the clouds, we cannot forbear expressing our astonishment at the Chinese and others who indulge in opium. Pity them we may, perhaps, looking upon them as miserable wretches the while, but they do not obtain our sympathies. Philanthropists at crowded assemblies denounce, in no measured terms, “the iniquities of the opium trade,” and then go home to their pipe or cigar, thinking them perfectly legitimate, whether the produce of slave labour or free. It is the same sort of feeling that the Hashasheens of the East inspire, and indeed all, who have a predilection for other narcotics than those which Johnny Englishman delights in, come in for a share of his contempt. A carrion crow was once indulging in a feast upon the carcase of a nice fat rat which had just been caught in a neighbouring barn and thrown out into the road. A wood pigeon, who had finished his meal in a field of peas hard by, came past at the time and saw his friend the crow in full enjoyment of his rat. “I cannot imagine,” said the pigeon, “how you can eat such a disgusting creature as that on which you are making your breakfast—the sight of it turns my stomach.” “It is quite a matter of taste,” said the crow, “and I think that I have the advantage, my food is juicy and sweet, this rat has lived upon the best of the farmer’s corn, and the farmer would enjoy the treat himself, I am confident, if he only knew what a delicious breakfast it would make. You should be welcome to an acre of peas every day, if you would bring me such a dish as this. Besides, if I did not eat it, it would soon putrefy, and fill the air with disgusting smells, so that I am, in myself, a perfect board of health, working for the good of society, you, no better than a vagabond, stealing from society your daily bread.” “I have heard it said,” added the pigeon, “that it was you and your companions that destroyed a whole field of turnips in grubbing after the worms—I suppose that was a benefit to society.” “Go and eat your peas,” said the crow, “and leave me to enjoy my rat in peace.” Calculations as to the number of persons indulging in the use of opium are necessarily liable to objections; one person asserting that in China, for instance, not less than twenty millions of people indulge in opium, whilst others consider that two millions and a half are all that can be calculated upon. The number which Johnston estimates as the proportion of the human race using opium is four hundred millions, or about half the number of those who indulge in tobacco. This is, perhaps, as near an approximation as can be made, but one which must be based on the quantity produced, deducing therefrom the number required to consume it, rather than on any details of consumption, which cannot be arrived at.