HOW A BOSTON D. D. GAVE UP TOBACCO.
By Rev. G. Trask
The devotee of tobacco who trifles with the habit, is a slave laughing in his chains. The man who pours scorn on the Anti-Tobacco Reform, shows a pitiable ignorance of what is indispensable to elevate and save our race. In my abject slavery I was not given to smoke. An English gentleman once offered Orestes Bronson his snuff-box. “No, no!” said the Catholic priest, “I don’t serve the Devil in that shape; I chew.” I came under the same category with Orestus, and belonged to that portion of the animal creation that “chew the cud.” I rolled the sin as a sweet morsel under my tongue twenty years and more. It gave me, as a city pastor, intolerable annoyance; and was, I may say in truth, a blighting curse upon my ministry. My sorrows and tribulations in this quarter were many and severe, and it may not be amiss to state a few as examples. In my parochial duties, I would sometimes be walking up Washington street, and see a deacon of my church, with whom I must come in close quarters; and, in so doing, expose my abominable habit. Indignant, chagrined, I would spitefully eject my quid, resolve never to resume its use, do my best to cleanse my mouth and protect my breath, and cordially greet my deacon. The evening would pass, the night would pass, with but little trouble. The morning, however, would come with unearthly and insatiable cravings; and it seemed as though I would “give my kingdom” for a bit of pig-tail or cavendish! I would take my study, feverish and half-delirious, and drive for a sermon or a lecture. But it was all in vain; all thought was spell-bound. I would walk the diagonal of my room, rub my throbbing temples; and at last, in utter despair, rap upon the banister, and cry, “John! John! Get me some tobacco!” The tobacco would come, and I would eat it as greedily as an ox eats green clover. My delirium tremens would pass away, my mind become calm and clear, and I would drive on my sermon respecting self-denial, or consecration to God, or battling the “world, the flesh, and the Devil,” in Jehu style! Oh! I now hate tobacco! It makes hypocrites of ministers; it made one of me. A short time would pass on, and a similar flare-up would occur. I would see before me in my walks, some sister of my church, who would expect a few kind words from her pastor, in an interview rather unavoidable. But the thought would occur: Oh! she will see my mouth! She will detect a habit which she loathes, and which I try to despise. I would cast out the abomination; I would resolve never to use another particle—never; and, with the apparent innocency of a child, greet the sister with usual salutations as her pastor and friend. I repeat it, I abhor tobacco! It makes hypocrites of ministers; it made me a hypocrite. These are specimens of my battles with this most popular poison on the globe. At length, however, I fought the last battle with this Apollyon. It was in this wise. I called on a dying man, a member of my church. The good brother, on the verge of the grave, made many confessions, and among the rest he said: “Tobacco has been an idol with me. It has brought me to this death-bed, and I shall die a happier man if I leave my testimony against it; and I wish my testimony to be written.” I wrote from his dictation. We raised him from his pillow; and, the last time he ever used his pen, he affixed his name to a humble confession that he had sinned against God in ruining his health and cutting short his life by the use of tobacco. This was a trying moment. My reflections were painful. I was in agony. A dying brother giving his testimony against a sin of which I, his pastor, am guilty! I resolved then as I never resolved before. I called God to witness that I renounced tobacco, totally and forever; and, God be thanked, I can now say in truth, I renounce it totally and forever. The next morning I took my study. The conflict was terrible. Hell seemed to be let loose upon my soul. Delirium tremens was getting the complete mastery. I saw, or thought I saw, Satan enter my study, and present to my choice, “Cavendish,” “Ladies’ Twist,” “Honey Dew,” and all the infernal paraphernalia of a fashionable tobacco saloon. I heard, or thought I heard him say: “Come, Doctor, why do you spurn me? Try me again. You can think, you can write, if you try me again. At this point God gave me unwonted courage and resolution. I remembered Luther’s successful conflict when he hurled his inkstand at the Devil; and I cried aloud: “You black, slimy, nauseous fiend, begone—begone!” And the tobacco demon left my study, and left me forever—an epoch in my ministry. Reader, if you never used tobacco, but sit in judgment upon my statement, and count it visionary, allow me to tell you that you are as ignorant as a Hottentot of the whole matter. On the other hand, if you are a victim of the “weed,” and call us extravagant, we ask you to make the experiment—give it up as a FINALITY, once and forever. Otherwise, good friend, please hold your peace.
—Rev. G. Trask, in Independent.