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beef. Still, as I firmly believe that I am none the better for smoking, I think, if young again, I would not learn to smoke. Then again, I cannot help the conviction that smoking is rather the reverse of a sweet and cleanly practice. To be sure, my friends praise me for not betraying my habit; nevertheless, there are times when I am glad to rinse my mouth, and purify my garments, and fear that, after all, I carry about with me unmistakable tokens of what I have been doing. And I am quite sure that some of my smoking friends, who are less particular than I am, and especially those who cultivate dirty German pipes, are never free from the peculiar perfumery of stale tobacco. And as this is far from being pleasant to me, who am a smoker, I am sure it cannot be pleasant to those who are not smokers. Moreover, the expectoration which smoking provokes, is far from a pleasant or cleanly habit. On these accounts, then, had I to pass through life again, I think I would determine to pass through it without learning to smoke.

stances.

Again, I think that smoking does not add to a man's respectability. I am not sure that it has not, sometimes, a contrary tendency. This may depend on circumCertainly, some men of the highest respectability do not think it any derogation to be seen at times inhaling the vapor of a cigar or a pipe; but no one will say that they would not be equally respectable were they known to avoid smoking as an evil thing. Whereas, on the other hand, some have notoriously lost caste by being numbered among the smokers: and, in fact, I am reluctantly compelled to admit, if a smoker be reckoned a respectable man, it is in spite of his habit, and not because of it.

Once more, it is not to be denied that a good many people in the world are so fastidious and weak, some smokers say, as to think smoking a disagreeable habit. They do not willingly admit a smoker into their houses, because they dislike his accompaniments. Well, say, that it is fastidiousness and affectation, and "all nonsense"-though, friend and fellow-smoker, we have no right to say that—but suppose it be, the effect is the same; our practice makes us disagreeable, causes us to be shunned, and sometimes, if we don't take care, to be shut out from good society.

True, so far as I am concerned, I avoid

this evil the chance of being disagreeable, or thrust out from good society-by never smoking except where smoke is welcome. But it is not pleasant, at times, to be debarred a favorite resource for passing time. There is a little bit of self-denial required, I think, when a man would, bet dare not, put a pipe to his mouth. And as, more or less often, such sacrifices must be made by the smoker who has consideration for others as well as for himself, or who has indeed due consideration for himself, I would, I think, if my youth could be renewed, avoid the need for this self-denial by not learning to smoke.

I think, moreover, that smoking is not one of the things which help to push a man onward in the world; and I am mistaken if, sometimes, the habit is not like a clog to keep him back. I am very sure that a young man, for instance, is not more likely to obtain a situation of responsibility and trust because he knows how to handle a cigar in an elegant manner, or is refined in his appreciation of the best oroonoko; I have a strong impression, on the contrary, that such a one would prefer keeping this acquirement in the background. In other words, I cannot but be persuaded that—all things else being equal

the man who does not smoke has a better chance of success in the world than the man who does: and as, if I were young again, I should wish to succeed, if possible, I think I would not learn to smoke.

And I do not wonder that men of business, and employers generally, look with suspicion upon tobacco-smokers; for though a youth or a man, in spite of this practice, may be a valuable workman, it is not to be denied that the smoker at times lays himself open to temptations, strongly tugging at him, to draw him aside from integrity and honor. It is not every smoker that can puff away at a dry pipe; and the youth who, to be manly, puts himself to the discomfort of learning to smoke, is likely also, with the same object in view, to learn to tipple. In short, I fear it would be found, if curiously and strictly sought into, that smoking often leads to sottishness. I fear also that, as with every other needless expense, it leads sometimes to dishonesty. It is not always that a youth or a man can afford to dissipate twenty-five cents a week, nor twelve cents either, in smoke.

But a

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dollar a week would not suffice for the vespertine or nocturnal cigar and glass of many a "fast" youth of the present day. Where do they get their quarters?

Well, I never spent more than I thought I could honestly afford on smoke, (perhaps they do not either,) and I never needed to wet my pipe; but because of the temptations which beset the smoker, I think, could I go back again to the morning of life, I would not learn to smoke.

Again, I do not think that smoking is generally necessary as an aid to mental exertion, or an incentive to profound study. I cannot subscribe to the motto, "Ex fumo dare lucem;" that is to say, so far as tobacco smoke in concerned. There have been philosophers, poets, statesmen, and divines, among the smokers; so have there been among the nonsmokers. And I am compelled to conclude that wisdom does not coyly clothe itself in vapor. On the contrary, I am bound to acknowledge my reluctant belief that if the tobacco-pipe is sometimes a help-meet to the pen, it quite as often happens that the pen is the bond-servant of the pipe. Therefore, were I to begin the world again, I think I would not learn to smoke.

I think, lastly, that it is very disgusting to see beardless youths, and boys just entering their teens, puffing and spitting in the public streets. It was but an evening or two ago that I met a little manikin, about four feet in height, and probably twelve years of age, with a face as smooth as a girl's, sucking furiously at a dirty meerschaum nearly as long as his arm, till the ashes in the bowl glowed with a burning heat. And the most charitable wish I could frame for the poor misguided lad was, that before he got to the bottom of his pipe, he might be desperately sick.

Seriously, I have observed so many mischiefs connected with smoking-have known so many shipwrecks made by it, ay, even of faith and a good consciencehave seen so much time wasted, so much money too, and so much health-and have witnessed so much deterioration of character in some who have given themselves up to the practice, to be led captive by it at its will-that though I may have escaped, by God's help, its worst evils, yet if I had to begin life again, I would notI think I would not-learn to smoke.

HAPPY HORATIO-A SKETCH FROM SHAKSPEARE.

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F a prize of one hundred guineas were publicly offered for the best essay on happiness, it is fair to presume that the manuscripts sent in to the adjudicators would show a great variety in the mode of treatment; and enough is known of human nature in general, and essay-writing human nature in particular, to make it probable that some of the aspirants would adopt a style not unlike the following:

"Of all the objects which engage the pursuit of mankind, from the cradle to the grave, that of happiness is undoubtedly the most important and engrossing. Man, whether we regard him in the savage or in the civilized state, whether in the polished city or in the fastnesses of primeval forests, whether depressed by care or basking in the sunshine of prosperity, is uniformly occupied in the pursuit of happiness. Ask the monarch, with his jeweled crown; the mariner, on the stormy deep; the mother, watching by the cradle of her little one; the busy trader, immersed in buying and selling,-ask them, we say, what it is that they are seeking, and will they not answer, Happiness? Indeed, so profoundly implanted in our nature"&c., &c.

Writers of a less didactic turn, given to "meditations among the tombs," "among the flower-gardens," and that sort of thing, would probably fling themselves in medias res after the following fashion :

"Happiness! what art thou? A real entity, or a fleeting phantasy? A substance to be grasped, or a shadow to be pursued forever in vain? Art thou, O happiness, a dazzling jewel to be won and worn, or a fragile insect thing, whose colors vanish in the hand that seizes thee? From each recess and corner of this vast universe go up the groans of the wretched; sickness, sorrow, and death are all around us; and where doth the mourner find peace to his soul, save when the yewtree waveth over his last resting-place, and

-" &c., &c.

Besides these, there would of course be essayists well up in Bentham, in supply and demand, in the "principle of concert," in sanitary reform, in educational discipline, with the whole gang of bold crotcheteers; and some few who would treat happiness as "living through the entire

range of one's capacities and sensibilities;" he has sketched sound, cheerful, victo

rious natures, proof against "fortune's buffets and rewards," speak for his delight in them, and his own possession of their golden secret.

But to return to Horatio-happy Horatio. In Hamlet's description what a fine

a definition which will be remembered as occurring in the introductory chapter of Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter." Let all these pass. Non ragioniam di lor. We propose another mode of treatment. If history is "philosophy teaching by example," the drama is “poetry teach-ly-drawn picture we have of a man of ing by example,” and to the drama let us resort for a portrait of a happy man, steadfastly regarding which we may come at last to be "changed into the same image." We shall perhaps find a true Ikon Basil- | ike, a kingly portraiture of a king among

men,

The play of Hamlet with the part of Hamlet omitted has been thought a very deplorable conception, and no doubt is so, dramatically speaking; but the prince in black velvet and bugles has always seemed to us to be rather a flabby-minded personage, and as Leech's coxcomb says of Shakspeare, Quite an overrated man, sir,-quite!" But if the description of Horatio, for which we are indebted to Hamlet, does his discernment credit, as it does, it is also a picture of such extraordinary power and beauty, that one is tempted to say that irresolute maunderer could be spared from the play, if he would only leave his friend "alive and kicking," just as he is described. Who would not give all his worldly substance to be able to lay his hand upon his heart and say that a portrait"in this style" was a true portrait of himself?-Who? Hamlet thus

addresses Horatio :

Thou hast been

As one in suffering all that suffers nothing;
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks; and blest are
they,

Whose blood and judgment are so well com-
mingled

That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that

man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core-ay, in my heart of hearts!
Happy Horatio !

The fact is that, while depicting, with a few touches of the pencil, a very peculiar and rare type of character,

Thatte prynce of goode fellowes,
Willie Shakspere,

has drawn his own portrait, and left it
imperishably glorious for all men to look
at and love. Let the frequency with which

cheerful, sanguine temperament, who is yet self-contained and self-controlling! What suggestions arise in our minds, as we read of open-hearted outspoken gayety of character, with the beautiful and rare addition of equanimity, that dream of closet moralists and cultivators of the nil admirari-that sweet bosom-treasure of the few whose "blood and.judgment" happen-if anything happens to be "well commingled!"

There are several kinds of people in this odd world of ours who take, or seem to take, "fortune's buffets and rewards with equal thanks." There is, for example, your stupid apathetic fellow, whom nothing ruffles, to whom nothing comes amiss-who seems to live in a sort of natural besottedness, if such a strange phrase may be allowed. There is your reckless pleasure-lover, who, when he can,

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goes the whole hog" for enjoyment, without much nicety about modes and results; and when he cannot, folds his arms and sulks, with the forced indifference of a gambler whose losses come thick and fast upon him. There is your precious "bundle of habits," of the "Miss Millpond" school,

Who seemed the cream of equanimity,
Till skimmed, and then there was some milk
and water.

Lastly,

O beautiful, and rare as beautiful! we have the man who falls into the ranks of life without grumbling or ado of any kind; lives and loves cheerfully, "wisely," and "well;" cultivates pleasures where they do not bloom spontaneously; laughs with the happy, and weeps with the mourners; has an eye for the orange blossom and the funeral plume; is at home with prattling childhood and "narrative old age;" carries a sunshine about with him that sends the Smelfungus and Mundungus class of human owls hooting and blinking into holes and corners; in one word, a perfect Horatio. We see the man, as we write, in our mind's eye. He hath

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not six-feet-six in or out of his boots, but is of moderate stature and comely appearance; he is neither a sloven nor an Adonis, neither a Mawworm nor a "fast man.' He hath gently curling locks, of an excellent chestnut color, and his eyes are of a warm blue,-of a warm blue, by all means, forasmuch as there be eyes called azure, whose every glance is "nipping and eager." He hath a full chest, and a ruddy complexion. He is fond of the open air and of free exercise, heart and lungs being of goodly size

His shoulders broad, his armis lang,
Sae comely to be seen-

blow. We instantly feel the charm of that repose, and that spontaneousness which ever belong to harmoniously-developed character, precisely as we feel in our intercourse with women and children. Your unhappy man has neither repose nor freedom of action. Gilfillan and Lady Hester Stanhope between them have perfectly hit off the character of that type of uncomfortableness, that most un-Horatian being, Lord Byron, and it is in point to quote their words. Gilfillan attributes to him "the activity of a scalded fiend"-while the lady says, "he never seemed to do anything without a motive,"—two leading features in the picture of an unhappy man.

so that we can very well understand of The characteristic of a happy man is, the maiden how it was that

Aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazelgreen.

He hath a pleasant voice, an open manner, a habit of cordial greeting, and hearty handshaking, without being rough over it, like some vulgar fellows who can never

Teach themselves that honorable stop
Not to outsqueeze discretion;

who are most distinctly nuisances, pure and simple, because

cheerful spontaneous action, with an evident capacity for repose; and

Blest are they Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled

as to yield that result. Where, however, the natural constitution is not what we have taken upon ourselves to call Horatian, it is possible to subdue its restlessness and make it happier in action without a continual eye to results. Let it not be said that we introduce incongruous ideas

The man who hails you "Tom !" or "Jack !" into this paper, when we add, that a genial

And proves by thumps upon your back

How he esteems your merit,

Is such a friend that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon, or to bear it!

Happy Horatio is not prone to extravagances of any kind. For children he hath cherries, for young maidens chaste but loving kisses, for old men counsel and aid in their little dilemmas, for old ladies cough-drops and consolation. He is not proud in prosperity, neither in adversity doth he look down his nose. He is the very man-to borrow an expression of Leigh Hunt, speaking of "Tom Campbell"-the very man you would walk through ankle-deep snow, on a December night, to spend an hour with!

In daily life, it is not often,-far from it, that we encounter the man of Horatio stamp. When we do so, however, there is no mistake about it, he is at once recognized as a happy fellow. Amid all the cross-currents and conflicting influences of modern civilization, and the ups and downs resulting from complicated social relations, we see at once that he "stands four-square," whatever winds may

piety is the medicine that best "ministers to a mind diseased" with the Faust-like disquietude of modern life. A genial piety takes root most readily, of course, in cheerful natures; but in every soul, the necessary result of unbroken trust in “a faithful Creator" is repose, simplicity, harmonious unity of character. God is "The world is a beautiful world, great! after all," and the true "happy valley" is the serene depth of a man's own spirit.

It is in adversity that the true strength of woman is developed. Like the willow growing on the river bank, and hanging its weeping branches over its flowing waves, the heart of woman seems to gain her strength amid grief and tears. Adversity, which stuns and prostrates man, nerves her, on the contrary, with fresh strength. Forgetting herself, that she may think only of others, she is able not only to bear her own sorrows, but to alleviate those of others. The greater her grief, the more her soul seems to reveal itself, and her countenance assumes a new beauty while bathed in tears.-Sainte Foi.

THE WIVES OF DAVID TENIERS.

DAV

ROMANCE OF ARTIST LIFE.

AVID TENIERS was scarcely eleven years old when the painter Rubens came, one day, into the workshop of his father. David was daubing a small sketch; at the sight of the great master, the brush fell from his hand. Rubens, perceiving that his presence disconcerted the youth, picked it up, and added some touches to his work. From that day, David Teniers determined to be a great man; yet during more than ten years he worked as a mere painter of signs, waiting, like our old friend Dick Tinto, for better days, till the Archduke Leopold appointed him his painter in ordinary, and gentleman of the chamber.

A little adventure suddenly decided his fate. It happened about that time, that a certain gentleman of the court being about | to marry, gave instructions to Teniers to paint him a representation of the God Hymen. The gentleman being a connoisseur, Teniers employed upon the work all the resources of his genius: he imitated the graces of Albano, and the coloring of Rubens, till his Hymen became more beautiful than Adonis. The painter did not forget the flambeau; never did the hymeneal-torch shine with greater brilliancy. On the eve of the nuptials, Teniers invited the gentleman to his studio. "Here," said he, "you behold the highest ideal of love and beauty which my imagination has presented to me.

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"You have hardly been so successful as I expected," said the gentleman, shaking his head with an air of discontent. "I have a better idea of Hymen than this. There is something wanting—a certain expression, a something which I feel, though I cannot explain it."

"You are right in being dissatisfied with my work," replied Teniers. "It is scarcely dry yet. My colors, like those of our great masters, improve with time. Allow me to bring you this picture in a few weeks. Since your marriage takes place to-morrow, you will have other business to attend to besides looking at a portrait of Hymen. Take my word; and if you find I am mistaken, I renounce my claim to be paid for the work."

The gentleman had nothing to reply: he left the artist's abode to visit his intended bride. She was a Flemish woman,

of Spanish origin, as worthy of the pencil of Murillo as of that of Rubens; but as the lady had nothing to recommend her but her face, her mind not equalling her beauty, Teniers, like a sensible man, desired to give the gentleman time enough to recognize Hymen in his actual aspect. At the end of three months, he conveyed his picture to the residence of his friend.

"You are right," exclaimed the latter at the first glance. "Time has much improved your picture. Age is necessary even to the most perfect work. You will allow, however, that the expression is a little too lively. It is Hymen, remember, not Cupid, whom you intended to portray. That laughing eye is scarcely natural. Hymen is a reasonable god after all."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Teniers. "It has turned out as I predicted. Know, then, that it is not my painting, but your ideal, that has changed." For the honor of his wife, the gentleman was inclined to be angry; but how could he meet such a triumphant experiment? He offered at once to pay him the stipulated price.

"No," said the painter; has failed me in this affair. few days more."

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my genius Grant me a

Teniers set to work again, and accomplished a chef-d'œuvre. By the aid of perspective, he contrived to produce a portrait of Hymen which should appear charming when viewed sideways, at a certain distance; but which, on a closer inspection, should be found to have a slight frown. The Archduke Leopold having heard the history of this picture, desired that it should be placed at the end of his gallery. The curious, married and unmarried, came to inspect it. Dufresnoy, who relates this anecdote in his witty manner, concludes his recital thus: "The duke caused the portrait to be placed above a kind of daïs, to mount which the visitor had to pass a step very polished and slippery. Below this was the pleasing point of view; but no sooner had you passed the step, than, farewell the charm!-it was no longer the same thing."

Cornelius Schut, the painter-poet, first related this little story. "What is more curious," said he in his narrative," is, that this portrait of Hymen brought about the marriage of David Teniers." Cornelius Schut had a ward named Anne Breughel, daughter of Breughel of Velours, also a painter. As she was beautiful, and of

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