kindly feelings. A hard-working laborer, smoking by the side of his hearth at night, presents a perfect picture of quiet enjoyment. I see him now in my mind's eye. He is seated in an old high-backed, cushionless arm-chair, but an easy one, nevertheless, to him, who from dawn till sunset, has been engaged in ploughing, thrashing, ditching, or mowing. With one leg thrown over the other, he quietly reclines backward, and with an expression of perfect mental composure, he gazes on the smoke that ascends from his pipe. There is a sentiment-exciting power[64] in the smoke of tobacco when perceived by the eye, as well as a pleasing sedative effect when inhaled; and those smokers who have any doubt of the fact should take a pipe with their eyes closed. A person who smokes with his eyes shut cannot very well tell whether his cigar is lighted or not. How soothing is a pipe or a cigar to a wearied sportsman, on his return to his inn from the moors! As he sits quietly smoking, he thinks of the absent friends whom he will gratify with presents of grouse; and, in a state of perfect contentment with himself and all the world, he determines to give all his game away. Full of such kindly feelings, he retires to bed; but, alas, with day-light, when the effect of the tobacco has subsided, the old leaven of selfishness prevails, and his good intentions are abandoned. 'Mary,' said an old Cumberland farmer to his daughter, when she was once asking him to buy her a new beaver, 'why dost thou always tease me about such things when I'm quietly smoking my pipe?' 'Because ye are always best-tempered then, feyther,' was the reply. 'I believe, lass, thou's reet,' rejoined the farmer; 'for when I was a lad, I remember that my poor feyther was just the same; after he had smoked a pipe or twee he wad ha' gi'en his head away if it had been loose.'" [Footnote 64: The smoke ascending from the snuff of a candle could excite a sentimental feeling in the minds of Wordsworth and Sir George Beaumont, though it seems to have had no such effect on the mind of Crabbe.--_Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott._] The following ode to a Cigar is no doubt familiar to many, yet will pay a re-perusal: "And oft, mild friend, to me thou art A monitor, though still; Thou speak'st a lesson to my heart Beyond the preacher's skill. "Thou'rt like the man of worth, who gives To goodness every day, The odor of whose virtues lives When he has passed away. "When in the lonely evening hour, Attended but by thee, O'er history's varied page I pore, Man's fate in thine I see. "Oft, as thy snowy column grows, Then breaks and falls away, I trace how mighty realms thus rose, Thus trembled to decay.