ibre burns out, as a curl of
smoke from the ashes in the bowl of the pipe, and mingling
with the perfumed breeze of heaven, or the hot breath
of--well, never mind; we hope not. Then the clay is cold,
and glows no more from the fire within; the pipe is broken,
and ceases to comfort and console. We say, 'A friend has
left us,' or 'Poor old Joe; his pipe is out.' We have all a
certain supply of life, or, if we would pursue the
comparison, a share of tobacco. Some young men smoke too
rapidly, even voraciously, and thus exhaust their share
before their proper time,--then we say they have 'lived too
fast,' or 'pulled at their pipes too hard.' Others, on the
contrary, make their limited supply go a long way, and when
they are taking their last puffs of life's perfumed plant
their energy is unimpaired; they can run a race, walk a mile
with any one, and show few wrinkles upon their brow.

[Illustration: The artist.]

"A delicate person is like a pipe with a crack in the bowl,
for it takes continued and careful pulling to keep his light
in; and to take life is like willfully dashing a lighted
pipe from the mouth into fragments, and scattering the
sparks to the four winds of heaven. An artist is a good
coloring pipe; an attractive orator is a pipe that draws
well; a communist is a foul pipe; a well-educated woman
whose conversation is attractive is a pipe with a nice
mouthpiece; a girl of the period is a fancy pipe, the
ornament of which is liable to chip; a female orator on
woman's rights is invariably a plain pipe; an old toper is a
well-seasoned pipe; an escaped thief is a cutty pipe, and
the policeman in pursuit is a shilling pipe, for is he not a
Bob?"

From these ingenious "conceits" we turn to a few thoughts on the
present condition and history of the plant.

[Illustration: The Yankee smoker.]

The calumet or pipe of peace, decorated with all the splendor of
savage taste, is smoked by the red man to ratify good feeling or
confirm some treaty of peace. The energetic Yankee bent upon the
accomplishment of his ends, puffs vigorously at his cigar and with
scarcely a passing notice, strides over obstacles that lie in his path
of whatever nature they may be. The dancing Spaniard with his eternal
castanets whispers but a word to his dark-eyed senorita as he hands
her another perf