he always took half an hour in the morning, and as long at evening, to smoke his pipe and read the news of the day.  He scarcely ever, when at home, under any pressure of circumstances omitted these two half hours of repose, or as his excellent wife used to say, of ‘fumigation.’  She passed to her rest years ago, leaving behind her the pleasant odor of a good name, a memory cherished by all who knew her.

“Men denounce the use of tobacco, and I do not quarrel with them for doing so.  Say that it is a vile and a filthy habit; be it so, I will not now stop to deny it.  Say that it is bad for the constitution, ruinous to the health; be it so.  I will not gainsay it.  Still I never see an old man, seated in his great arm chair, with his grandchildren playing around him, smoking his pipe and enjoying its, to him, pleasant perfume, its soothing influences, without regarding that same pipe as an institution which I would hardly be willing to banish entirely from the world.

“There is a good deal of philosophy, too, in a pipe, if one will but take the trouble to study it; great subjects for moralizing, much food for reflection; and all this outside of the physical enjoyment, the soothing influences of a quiet pipe, when the day is drawing to a close, and its cares require some gentle force to banish them away.  It does not weaken the power of thought, nor stultify the brain.  It quiets the nerves, makes a man look in charity upon the world, and to judge with a chastened lenity the shortcomings of his neighbors.  It reconciles him to his lot, and sends him to his pillow, or about his labors, with a calm deliberate cheerfulness, very desirable to those who come under the law that requires people to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow.

“I said there is a good deal of philosophy in a pipe, and I repeat it.  Who can see the smoke go wreathing and curling upward from his lips in all sorts of fantastic shapes, spreading out thinner and thinner, till it fades away and is lost among the invisible things of the air, without saying to himself, ’Such are the visions of youth; such the hopes, the grand schemes of life, looming up in beautiful distinctness before the mind’s eye, growing fainter and fainter as life wears away, and then disappearing forever.  Such are the things of this life, beautiful as they appear, unsubstantial shadows all.’  And then, as the fire consumes the weed, exhausting itself upon the substance which feeds it, burning lower and lower, till it goes out for lack of aliment, who will not be reminded of life itself? the animated form, the body instinct with vitality, changing and changing as time sweeps along, till the spirit that gave it vigor and comeliness, and power and beauty, is called away, and it becomes at last mere dust and ashes.  And then again, when the pipe itself falls from the teeth, or the table, or the mantel, or the shelf—­as fall it surely will, sooner or later—­and is broken, and the fragments are thrown out of the window, or swept out at the door, who can fail to see in this, the type of life’s closing scene? the body broken by disease and death, carried away and hidden in the earth, to remain among the useless rubbish of the past, to be seen no more forever?  Yes, yes! there is a great deal of philosophy in a pipe, if people will take pains to study it.