He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs or refuseth
himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from
heaven. “What, softer than woman?” whispers the young reader. Young
reader, woman teases as well as consoles. Woman makes half the
sorrows which she boasts the privilege to soothe. Woman consoles us,
it is true, while we are young and handsome: when we are old and
ugly, woman snubs and scolds us. On the whole, then, woman in this
scale, the weed in that. Jupiter, hang out thy balance, and weigh
them both; and if thou give the preference to woman all I can say
is, the next time Juno raffles thee—O Jupiter! try the weed.
BULWER’S “What will he do with it?”
]