When I take a holiday, especially if I spend it in the open air, I
scarcely smoke at all; indeed, I find that bodily exercise requires no
stimulant of any kind whatever. If I read, I smoke little; but if I
produce, tobacco takes the form of a necessity, I believe--for I am
indolent by _nature_, and tobacco seems to me to be the best
machine for making work go with the grain that I can find. [Footnote:
The wisdom of occasionally using these various stimulants for
intellectual purposes is proved by a single consideration. Each of us
has a little cleverness and a great deal of sluggish stupidity. There
are certain occasions when we absolutely need the little cleverness
that we possess. The orator needs it when he speaks, the poet when he
Versifies, but neither cares how stupid he may become when the oration
is delivered and the lyric set down on paper. The stimulant serves to
bring out the talent when it is wanted, like the wind in the pipes of
an organ. "What will it matter if I am even a little duller
afterwards?" says the genius; "I can afford to be dull when I have
done." But the truth still remains that there are stimulants and
stimulants. Not the nectar of the gods themselves were worth the dash
of a wave upon the beach, and the pure cool air of the morning.--
Philip G. Hamerton, in _Intellectual Life_, p. 21.] I have a very
strong suspicion that if I did not smoke (which I find harmless) I
should have to conquer really dangerous temptations.
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