--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Whitney, C. Byron collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 25 number: 4 published: 1922-02 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'C. Byron Whitney, "Just a Cigaret," *Improvement Era* 25, no. 4 (February 1922): 281.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2504unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera2504unse start_page: 281 end_page: 281 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1922-02) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera2504unse publication_year: 1922 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1922, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Just a Cigaret Just a Cigaret I found him in a prison cell, A felon doomed to die; And he hung his head; Nor a word he said, As I simply asked him "Why?" At first the question seemed in vain, For when at last he spoke, His muscles twitched, And his fingers itched: "Wait, pal, till I've had a smoke." From the fuming fag he drew long and deep, Till his breath came a burning hiss, And the short tip fell To the floor of the cell. Then he pointed and muttered: "This!" "Don't laugh!" he cried, as I looked askance, "I'm tellin' you on d' square. No, I don't mean The nicotine, But the devil that's lurking there. "I was drunk the night I killed Jimmy Dunn: And the rest — well, I forget. But I never knew The taste of brew, Till I'd smoked a cigaret. "I shunned till then the low street gang; I never cared to roam, Till I craved my smokes, And the vulgar jokes, That seemed out of place at home. "Ah, yes, some say these are little things; But so are the mustard seeds; And it's what you start In a child's young heart That brings forth flowers or weeds. "I started wrong — that tells the tale; Nor fate, nor luck, nor yet Necessity made a crook of me, But just — a cigaret." C. Byron Whitney St. Louis, Mo.