in this discussion; for we
propose to settle it without taking off the gloves, as we intimated in
the opening paragraph. Your patience will be much needed for the sad
army of facts and figures which is to follow. Therefore it is but just
that you should speak now, after these long sentences.

Your George will never smoke? Excuse me. _When_ he will smoke depends
upon the precocity of his individual generation; and that increases in
a direct ratio with time itself, in this country. Thus, to state the
matter in an approximate inverse arithmetical progression, and dating
the birth of "young America" about the year 1825,--previously to which
reigned the dark ages of oldfogydom, so called,--we find as follows:
--From 1825 to 1835, young gentlemen learned to smoke when from 25 to 20
years of age; from 1835 to 1845, young _gents_, ditto, ditto, from 20 to
15 years; 1845 to 1855, from 15 to 10; 1855 to 1865, 10 to 5; 1865 to
1875, 5 to 0; and, if we continue, 1875 to 1885, zero to minus: but
really the question is becoming too nebulous. _Corollary_. In about ten
years, the youth of the United States will smoke contemporaneously with
the infant Burmese, who, we are credibly informed, begin the habit
_aet_. 3, or as soon as they have cut enough teeth to hold a cigar.

Therefore, we will say, Madam, at some indefinite period of his
childhood or youth,--for we would not be so impolite as to infer your
age by asking that of your son,--the _susdit_ George will come home
late from play some afternoon, languid, pale, and disinclined for tea.
He will indignantly repel the accusation of feeling ill, and there will
lurk about his person an indescribable odor of stale cinnamon, which
you will be at a loss to account for, but which his elder brother will
recognize as the natural result of smoking "cinnamon cigars," wherewith
certain wicked tobacconists of this city tempt curious youth. If you
follow him to his chamber, you will probably discover more damning
evidence of his guilt.

We will draw the curtain over the scene of the Spartan mother--we hope
you belong to that nearly extinct class--which is to follow. Let us
suppose all differences settled, the habit ostensibly given up, and your
darling, grown more honest or more artful,--the result is the same to
your blissful ignorance,--studiously pursuing his way until he enters
college. Some fine day you drive over to the neighboring university,
and, entering his room unannounced, you find