“Isn’t It Worse for a Man, Father?”
It is two years since I left off the use of tobacco. I only chewed a little, but I did enjoy my cigar. I prided myself on my fine Havanas, and might have been seen almost any morning with a cigar in my mouth, walking down Broadway in a most comfortable manner. The way it happened that I left off is this: I had a little son about six years of age. He almost always hurried to be ready to walk down with me as far as his school. His bright face and extended hand were always welcome, and he bounded along beside me, chatting, as such dear little fellows only can. The city has in it many dirty, uncared-for boys, whose chief delight seems to be to pick up pieces of discarded cigars and broken pipes, and with their hands in their pockets, puff away in a very inelegant manner. One morning it seemed as if little Edgar and I met a great many of these juvenile smokers. I became very much disgusted, and pointed them out to little Edgar as awful warnings of youthful delinquency, talked quite largely, and said the city authorities ought to interfere and break it up. A little voice, soft and musical, came up to me as I gave an extra puff from my superb Havana. A bright little face was upturned, and the words, “Isn’t it worse for a man, father?” came to my ears. I looked down on the little fellow at my side, when his timid eye fell, and the color mounted on his boyish cheek, as if he feared he had said something bold and unfitting. “Do you think it is worse for a man, Edgar?” I asked. “Please, father, boys would not want to smoke and chew tobacco, if men didn’t do it.” Here was the answer. I threw away my cigar, and have never touched tobacco since in any form. And is it not worse for a man? Are we not fearfully responsible? Are not the daily examples of the rich, and the refined, and the good, telling all the time upon these vagabond children whom we blame, and would turn over to city authorities? Am not I, for one, in a measure responsible for the example I have been daily setting to these wretched outcasts, these lonely and forlorn boys whom I daily meet? The customary use of tobacco as a stimulant is an evil, in whatever form the habit may be acquired. It leads to drinking, and thus to other vices. Can I, as a Christian man, justify myself in the use of these, any more than in the use of ardent spirits? Is not my example of some moment? Parents, your children see such things. They think about them, and remember them; and if a little one with an earnest tone asks, “Is it not worse for a man, father?” will you not heed his voice? Many things has God “hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.”