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oJohnjjain Jr. 

Copyright, 1903 

&olon..;l . : -s>.i 
' Electrotyped and Printso b ! Slironda & Co. 

Boston. M.-c- - A 



On sea and land 

From corn silk to divine perfectos 

In the wood-shed and on promenade decks 

To many pipes over the mountains and around the 



TOBACCO and its uses have contributed 
to so many phases of human nature and the 
social life of centuries, that it is not strange 
indeed that it should inspire in each new 
generation of smokers and writers, much 
new thought in the form of prose and 
poetry and philosophy. 

No other plant has blossomed forth to 
such good offices. No other plant has 
stimulated the activities of the world in 
so many channels. True, it has been and 
is being prostituted by Commercial pirates 
and tricksters who would debase anything 
for the dull yellow god of gold. In spite 
of this, however, tobacco has had for its 



associates so many of the master-minds 
of the world who have spoken and written 
in its praises, that it is evident to any 
one that this " great plant," rightly used, 
is a power for physical, mental, and even 
moral well-being. 

So much of the literature of tobacco 
has been collected in book form, that the 
editor of this anthology would feel some 
misgivings in attempting to bring forth 
another volume on the subject were it not 
for the fact that the influence of tobacco 
and the growth of its cultivation have de- 
veloped new features and vital relations 
with our modern civilization. That this 
deserves consideration (not alone from the 
lover of tobacco and literature, but also 
from him who loves to watch the sidelight 
of the world's progress) I feel confident. 

While some of the interesting items dis- 
cussed in this little book have been touched 
upon and even considered seriously in the 



past, they have been scattered through so 
many publications, that it makes their 
accessibility in this volume welcome. In 
addition to this, many aspects and con- 
ditions curiously related to the above 
have since arisen as to render their embodi- 
ment by contemporaries in this book, if not 
original, at least fresh in treatment and 
in accord with the times. 

The other chapters, treating as they 
do of tobacco topics, of which little has 
been publicly known, but which have, 
nevertheless, a bearing upon the whole, 
it is felt will be found readable and in- 

The Poetry of Smoke, contained in this 
volume, has been selected with great care, 
and, so far as can be found, has not to 
any degree ever appeared between perma- 
nent covers before, and very little of it 
is now " in print " in any current work. 

That it deserves as high a place as the 



poetry in the companion volume to this, 
" Tobacco in Song and Story," is assured 
to its readers by the sentiment it possesses. 
and the fact that most of it is the product 
of the pens of graceful and recognized 
writers who would not sign anything un- 
less it was up to their standard. 



ONE hundred miles as the crow flies 
southwest from Havana, one hundred and 
thirty miles by the railroad, is Pinar del 
Rio (Pine of the River) in the province of 
Pinar del Rio, a city located in the to- 
bacco garden of the world. It is the heart 
of the famous Vuelta Aba jo (lower turn) 
district of Cuba. 

Little perhaps does the critical smoker 
realize, apart from the personal discom- 
fort and deprivation it would cause him, 



what a loss to the world of commerce it 
would be if the Vuelta Aba jo district 
were suddenly wiped off the map. 

To the matchless soil of this province 
are due its industrial wealth, its commer- 
cial value, and its world-wide fame. Other 
lands are as fertile* other climes as salu- 
tary, other landscapes as beautiful, but 
nowhere on the round earth is there a soil 
like unto that of the Vuelta Aba jo. To 
that fair district the Cuban turns with 
deep affection, and every lover of good 
tobacco with reverence and gratitude. 

Pinar del Rio, the extreme western prov- 
ince of Cuba, has been aptly compared to 
a high-heeled boot, which separates the 
Gulf of Mexico on the north from the 
Caribbean on the south. The winds which 
sweep across its hills and valleys have been 
tempered by the surrounding seas, and 
give the land a climate so mild and benefi- 


cent that earth and air seem to smile in 
perpetual delight. 

Although the dusky Carib grew the 
gentle herb in every province, and doubt- 
less knew that Pinar del Rio produced the 
best, his Castilian conqueror was not as 

So far as the records run, the Spanish 
Conquistadores were satisfied at first with 
tribute from the captive race in the shape 
of dried tobacco leaves. Not until 1580, 
when the Caribs had become half extinct, 
did they attempt the culture of the plant 
themselves. Two hundred years rolled by 
in which Havana, Matanzas, Santa Clara, 
and Santiago supplied tobacco to the 
Spanish world. Not until 1790 does the 
noble name of Vuelta Aba jo appear upon 
the records. Since then it has held un- 
challenged the first place among the to- 
bacco-growing districts of the globe. 

The province of Pinar del Rio is, roughly 



speaking, 170 miles long and 50 miles 
wide. The tobacco districts comprising 
the middle and middle-western sections of 
the province are about 80 miles long and 
30 wide. The heart of the Vuelta lies be- 
tween the small mountain range which 
fringes the northern shore of the province 
and the southern coast. The centre of 
the heart is the city of Pinar del Rio. 

The finest leaf is grown in the sections 
skirted by the Guaniguanico Mountains. 
There frequent rains down its slopes water 
the way to numberless streams, feeding 
and nourishing the earth. Here we find a 
soil of peculiar richness, containing a com- 
bination of mineral properties, which, 
with the stimulation of strong suns, are the 
chief contributors to the flavour of this 

The tobacco farms are generally lo- 
cated in the lowlands on both sides of the 
many rivers of the district, or in the val- 



leys, or are found between the low and 
rolling hills. 

The planting takes place usually in 
November and December. Very rarely it 
happens as late as January. In all cases, 
the land is in a high state of cultivation. 

The growing plant is given the most 
constant and careful attention. All weeds 
are removed, and every plant is examined 
daily for the purpose of removing all in- 
sects, which, if left undisturbed, would 
destroy every leaf on the farm. If the 
weather has been favourable, in December 
beautiful five-pointed pink flowers sur- 
mounting vivid green leaves begin to add 
colour to the land. But not for long, for 
these flowers are picked off soon after 
making their appearance. All the strength 
of the plant is thus thrown into the se- 
lected leaves, the female plant being the 
larger and better adapted for fine wrap- 



The leaf is bright green until the cut- 
ting season, which usually occurs in De- 
cember. The cutting is done at different 
periods, according as the leaves ripen. 

In gathering the crop, the stalk is cut 
into short lengths with two leaves on each. 
The leaves now are slightly withered, but 
not dry or brittle enough to break. They 
are hung on poles, each of which holds 
about 420 leaves of wrappers, and they 
are carried to the curing-house, where they 
remain about five weeks. They are then 
ready to be assorted and baled, a work 
requiring not only long experience, but 
also great skill. During the curing opera- 
tion, the leaves are often so dry that the 
lightest touch would convert them into 
powder. When in this condition the 
tobacco is never handled. But after a 
heavy rain, or a period of high hygrom- 
eter, the leaves absorb moisture from the 



atmosphere, and regain their softness and 

In assorting the tobacco, the leaves are 
divided into piles graded according to 
their commercial value. These piles are 
made up of first and second grade wrap- 
pers and fillers. The tobacco is then tied 
up into " hands." Four of these hands 
bunched together constitute a " carot," 
which is shaped like a fat bottle. It is 
held together by narrow strips of cactus 
fibre, vulgarly known as " majagua." A 
bark of a certain part of the palm-tree, 
which is of very tough fibre, is used as the 
first covering of a bale of tobacco, which 
contains eighty carets bulked down, and 
varies in weight from 80 to 125 pounds. 

The tobacco is then ready for shipment. 
From the farms it is carried on the backs 
of mules to the nearest seaport or railway 
station, from which it finally reaches the 
city of Havana. Over long and often dan- 


gerous roads, up and down steep and slip- 
pery mountainsides, across bridgeless 
streams, through dense and tangled for- 
ests, the transportation of tobacco through 
the Vuelta is one involving daring and 
pluck, which native familiarity and mule 
peculiarity treat as a matter of routine 
and duty. 

This in brief is the story of the Vuelta. 
While tobacco from other provinces of the 
island finds a ready market in every civi- 
lized land, the " smoke divine " comes 
from the Vuelta leaf alone. If imitation 
is the sincerest form of flattery, no other 
plant has ever received such unlimited 
and costly praise. Merchants, planters, 
moneyed corporations, and even govern- 
ments have tried, time and again, to grow 
the Vuelta leaf in other lands and climes. 
The seeds of Pinar del Rio have been sown 
in the Philippines, Sumatra, in India and 
Turkey, in Russia and Germany, in Al- 



giers and Cape Colony, in Mexico, Brazil, 
Florida, Connecticut, in Ohio and British 
Columbia, but the plants which sprang into 
being were changelings which bore little 
resemblance to the parent stock. 

Little wonder is it that a tobacco so ad- 
mired by Christendom, Islam, and the 
lands of Buddha should become so mo- 
mentous a mercantile fact. The real won- 
der is that such a little territory as the 
Vuelta Aba jo should have won and held 
its throne against all the lands of the earth. 
A greater wonder is it that the reputation 
enjoyed by the leaf should be based upon 
varying qualities and not a uniform 
growth. For as the stars differ among 
themselves in glory, so do the Vuelta leaves 
differ in excellence. At one extreme are 
the highest grade wrappers, which bring 
as much as $1,000 a bale, while at the 
other end is filler leaf, which ranges from 


$20 to $65. Between these is an endless 
series of varieties. 

The story of Havana and its tobacco 
industries is familiar to all who have read 
or travelled. Who has not heard of that 
beautiful city which faces the Florida 
channel, whose harbour is crowded with 
ships, whose houses and suburbs cover a 
score of picturesque hills, whose streets 
are crowded with gaily-dressed, blithe- 
hearted men and women, whose climate is 
perpetual summer, and whose people give 
to the world its most precious cigars and 
cigarettes? The city is Cuban politically; 
it is Spanish racially; it is American geo- 
graphically; it is a mixture of white and 
black races, with a dash of the blood of 
the red men who once inhabited the island. 
Its commerce is vast and various. But of 
that the world little heeds. In the popular 
mind, it is the City Beautiful, which sits 
beneath the shadow of the Morro Castle, 


smilingly exchanging, for the gold of the 
nations, the leaf divine. 

The industry is more than a trade; it 
is a chapter of history to him who can 
read between the h'nes. It is marked by 
a democratic spirit which tells of the time 
when employer and employed worked side 
by side at the same bench. The shop 
union is a relic of days when all the mem- 
bers of the family worked together, each 
for all and all for each. The reader who 
sits or stands descanting the news of the 
day from the morning paper, or who re- 
lates the master fancies of Cervantes, Cal- 
deron, or Lope de Vega to the listening 
workers in the cigar-room is eloquent tes- 
timony of the period when books and pa- 
pers were rare, and of the ambition of the 
Spanish race to move upward in the scale 
of being. The politeness and decorum 
which mark the shops are not habits of 
the trade, but customs older than Colum- 



bus. They almost speak for themselves. 
These are not children of the soil working 
for a pittance, these are young gentle- 
men who have left the old world to win a 
fortune in the new. 

Times have changed. As the Baron At- 
tinghausen said in " William Tell," " New 
things invade resistlessly, while old ones 
pass away." Industrial methods have 
changed, and already the great process of 
industrial consolidation has begun to af- 
fect the work and the workers. The dem- 
ocratic feeling is changing into trades- 
unionism, the good fellowship is becoming 
business indifference; the good-natured 
esprit de corps is there still, but it has lost 
much of its hopefulness and joy. 

It is pleasant to notice that the reader 
is retained in nearly all the factories, 
whether independent or consolidated. 
Morning and afternoon he makes his daily 
professional call. Morning and afternoon 


he regales his auditors, the workmen, for 
an hour and a half with selected readings, 
declamations, and anecdotes. He is an 
employee of the employees. He is paid 
by them and ruled by them. For it is they 
who by vote determine whether he shall 
furnish them with humour or tragedy, 
descriptive matter or rippling verse. 

A summary of the reader's work during 
an entire week gives a good insight into 
the mental calibre and status of the cigar- 
makers. It will contain a condensed ac- 
count of current events, taken from the 
daily and weekly press. A page or two of 
history, or works of travel which elucidate 
issues of the hour. A poem or two. A 
number of jests some broad and Rabbe- 
laisian, others refined and brilliant. A 
chapter, daily, from a standard work of 
fiction. A story of a great lawsuit, and, 
it may be, a review of the new play or 
light opera. 



It is a healthful custom. It not only 
does not interfere with the work, but it 
increases the efficiency and output of the 
worker. It ensures quiet and good man- 
ners among the auditors. It prevents 
bickering among those sitting close to- 
gether, and it develops an intellectual 
tone which endures throughout life. The 
village hand who enters a cigar factory 
as an apprentice becomes by degrees as 
well informed and intelligent a man as 
his city brother who has had the advan- 
tages of a fair education. Under these 
auspices, it is but natural that from the 
ranks of the workman should come em- 
ployers, brokers, merchants, and business 
men. In the course of the years many of 
them attain wealth and social position. 

A glance at the packing-boxes which 
leave the Havana factories discloses the 
many lands which are brought into rapport 
with Havana through the intangible me- 



dium of smoke. The commerce means 
more than the exchange of money. It 
involves the exchange of men, of goods, 
and of ideas. In the business quarter of 
Havana are shrewd merchants from every 
civilized land. In its storehouses are the 
products of every clime. In its libraries 
and book-stores are representatives of the 
great modern literatures. And every- 
where in daily use are the latest inventions 
of the four leading nations, America, Eng- 
land, Germany, and France. 

Without the Vuelta, Havana and Cuba 
would be famous. The product of its 
sugar-cane, the fruits and esculents of its 
fertile soil, the tobacco of Santa Clara 
and other provinces would give it high 
industrial rank in the roll of the nations. 
But with the Vuelta and its magical leaf, 
Cuba holds a unique position in the affec- 
tion and regard of mankind. 


How sweet to me is the breath of the sea, 
And the seaman's cheerful song! 

How soothing is sleep, on the mighty deep, 
When the ship glides calmly along! 

But sweeter to me, and more soothing far, 

Is the fragrant breath of my mild cigar! 

In the dim twilight of an autumn night, 

A walk in the country lane, 
When Nature fair wafts her censer there, 

Refreshes the soul again; 
But all my peace and delight 'twould mar 
To walk there minus a mild cigar ! 



I love to go thro' the frost and snow, 
When the air is crisp and clear, 

To the Serpentine, with a flask of wine, 
To skate with my Katie dear ; 

But tho' dear to me these pleasures are, 

The dearest still is the mild cigar ! 


A DUTCHMAN, sitting by the Zuyder Zee, 
Of man's creation solved the mystery, 
As, drinking deep and thinking ponder- 

He smoked Tobacco. 

Said he, " Man's first in order of creation, 
Happy, till woman comes to cause vexa- 

Then Jove is sorry, and for consolation, 
Gives him Tobacco. 


" For Jove himself, when Juno, unawares, 
Finds out his ' little games,' and storms 

and swears, 
And with his thunderbolts combs out his 


He lights his ' 'Baccy.' 

" So I, ' when lovely woman stoops to 


And jilts me for another am not jolly; 
But yet, ' a pill to purge my melancholy ' 
I find in ' 'Baccy.' 


" And when the tax-collector to my gates 
Comes, fax for cash, and rate me for my 

rates : 

In short, when any trouble agitates, 
I smoke Tobacco. 

" Therefore, with that sage seaman I 



Who ask'd, when granted fairy wishes 

1 'Bacco enough, some beer, and then,' 

said he, 

* Some more Tobacco.' ' 


I CARE not for your meerschaum pipe, 
Tho' carved with cunning hand; 

With amber tip for dainty lip, 
And bright with silver band. 

The modest, simple, homely clay, 

I prize above all others ; 
A common earth has given us birth, 

We own the bond of brothers. 

No pot-house yard of clay, or head 
Grotesque designed in putty, 



Can match the grace I fondly trace 
In thee, my darling cutty. 

I have guarded long thy tender form, 
Well hast thou done thy duty: 

Once virgin white, now black as night 
A dark but comely beauty. 

When thousand cares of city life 
Seem my poor brain consuming, 

With thee, my pet, I soon forget 
To fret while I am fuming. 

Or, prostrate 'neath a mountain fir, 
The bay below bright gleaming, 

Thy magic bowl calms my glad soul, 
Or, charmed, it floats, day-dreaming. 

Abroad, at home, in social ring, 
Where brother fumes commingle, 

May'st thou attend, my dearest friend, 
Or married I, or single. 


I REMEMBER, I remember, 

The pipe that first I drew; 

With red waxed end and snowy bowl, 

It perfect was, and new. 

It measured just three inches long, 

'Twas made of porous clay ; 

I found, when I began to smoke, 

It took my breath away. 

I remember, I remember, 
In fear I struck a light; 
And when I smoked a little time, 
I felt my cheeks grow white; 
My nervous system mutinied, 
My diaphragm uprose, 
And I was very, very ill 
In a way you may suppose. 

I remember, I remember, 
The very rod he got, 


When father, who discovered me, 
Made me exceeding hot. 
He scattered all my feathers then, 
While, face down, I reclined ; 
I sat upon a cold hearthstone, 
I was so warm behind. 

I remember, I remember, 

I viewed the rod with dread, 

And silent, sad, and supperless, 

I bundled off to bed. 

It was a childish punishment, 

And now 'tis little joy 

To know that, for the selfsame crime, 

I wallop my own boy. 

H. i 



THE first uncommon smoker I ever knew 
was not a great smoker, but he was a gen- 
ius. He had a studio in a building on 
Tremont Street, opposite the Granary 
Burying-ground, in Boston, in the early 
'70s. His name was Martin Milmore, and 
he was a sculptor. I used to often drift 
into his studio to see him model, and watch 
him gracefully smoke long all-tobacco 
Spanish cigarettes. I was a small boy 
in those days, and was in doubt as to 
whether I would become a sculptor or a 
hearse driver. It was such a fine thing 
to sit on a hearse, and drive up. Tremont 



Street to Boylston, through Boylston to 
Charles Street, to Cambridge, and over the 
bridge over the Charles to Mount Auburn 
on a sunny day! And all the hearse driv- 
ers were so happy and contented looking! 
But Mr. Milmore advised me to be a law- 
yer, and was about to get me a position 
in the office of Augustus Russ, the great 
Boston advocate, as an office boy, when I 
" lit out." I can see Mr. Milmore now, 
lighting his Spanish cigarettes, and grace- 
fully smoking them, as he thumbed a clay 
model. He looked wonderfully like Ed- 
win Booth; was, I should say, exactly 
Mr. Booth's height and weight, with the 
great Booth eyes, long, dark hair, Oriental 
complexion, and Booth modesty and lov- 
ableness. He has been dead these many 
years, but his work lives, on Boston Com- 
mon, in many Boston places, and the great 
granite Sphinx in Mount Auburn Ceme- 
tery is the work of his hands and such 


delicate hands as they were to chisel 
such a gigantic figure; but just the 
hands to manipulate a cigarette. 

A few years later, in April, 1875, I saw 
my first great smoker. It was on the one 
hundredth anniversary of the battle of 
Lexington. I, with a bunch of other boys, 
was on my way to Lexington, having risen 
and started early from Boston, to help 
carry the thing off properly. We had 
walked and run all the way, and were about 
a mile from the old Concord Bridge, where 
the first shot of the Revolution was fired, 
when along the dusty, sun-kissed road 
came a lot of open carriages, four gentle- 
men to a carriage. We waited for them, 
and in one landau, on the rear seat, sat a 
quiet, impassive, purposeful, masterful 
gentleman, with a big cigar in his mouth, 
smoking. It was our hero, President 
Grant, and our yells could be heard a mile 
as we raced beside his carriage. He looked 



us over, with an amused smile of sympa- 
thy, and that cigar between his steel- 
locked jaws, as if he would never let it 
go. Every time I saw General Grant that 
day, except during the solemn ceremonies, 
he was smoking. After that day, I did 
not see him for eight years. In 1883, I 
was a clerk in Mr. Russell Sage's office, 
and General Grant used to come in to see 
Mr. Sage almost every day, until the awful 
crash of May, 1884, when the house of 
Grant and Ward went down in ruins, with 
many another. General Grant never 
smoked in Mr. Sage's office, but he smoked 
continuously in his own, across the street, 
at the corner of Broadway and Wall Street. 
We got to be very friendly, and everybody 
in the office loved and admired him. He 
was one of the nicest men in the world. 
The eight greatest men I have ever known 
were the quietest and most likable and 
modest: Martin Milmore, General Grant, 


Russell Sage, Jay (jould, Edwin Booth, 
Nat C. Goodwin, Robert G. Ingersoll, and 
Francis Saltus. All smokers with two ex- 
ceptions Mr. Sage and Mr. Gould. 

Edwin Booth was a fierce smoker. His 
favourite was a pipe, not a cigar. He 
smoked in his dressing-room, between acts, 
in his own room, constantly, and I am not 
sure that he did not smoke in bed. He 
loved tobacco as another man might love 
food and drink. His system was full of 
nicotine, for he overdid it, and he would 
be alive to-day if he had been a moderate 
smoker, as would General Grant. 

Mr. Jay Gould I met nearly every work- 
ing day for ten years, but I never saw him 
use tobacco. 

Mr. Sage smoked half a cigar once, 
when a boy, and then let go. One day, 
around 1888, somebody sent Mr. Sage a 
box of cigars, with a beautiful label, and 


in letters of gold on a blue ground, " The 
Russell Sage Cigar." 

Mr. Sage thought it one of the best 
of jokes, and said: 

"John, you smoke, don't you?" (He 
had " caught " me in the act about five 
hundred times, by appearing at absolutely 
uncalled-for hours, in the office, for about 
nine years.) 

I answered in the affirmative, and he 

" Well, here's a present for you," and 
he handed me the box, then went up to the 
Western Union Building to attend a meet- 
ing of the directors, and I lit up. 

There was a broker that had cheated 
me out of a commission, in an office across 
Broadway, and to him I hurried with that 
box of cigars, after I had smoked one of 
them for a minute and a half. I presented 
the box to him. 



From that day, I have never seen that 

One morning, early in 1893, I was walk- 
ing up Tremont Street, in Boston, when* 
just opposite to the Boston Museum, I 
saw a gentleman approaching. We had 
the sidewalk to ourselves, as it was so 
early. He carried a grip. He was so tall, 
and such a grand-looking man, with such 
a divine face and great, dark, sympathetic 
eyes, with the fire of genius in them, that 
I looked, and looked, and looked, feeling 
sure that he must be Somebody. After I 
had passed, I turned to look again, and I 
found him looking my way. I started to 
go to him, and speak, but I lost my nerve, 
and he turned into Beacon Street, and was 
lost to view. Some months after, I stood 
in line at Trinity Church, in Boston, for 
an hour, in order to drop a flower on the 
coffin of Phillips Brooks, whom I had never 
heard preach, but whose sermons and good 



deeds had gone to my heart. He lay on his 
side, as if asleep, and he and the stranger 
of the early morning in Tremont Street 
were one. Bishop Brooks, I understand, 
used to smoke eighteen and twenty cigars 
a day. He had the Milmore-Booth nico- 
tine complexion and eyes. He overdid, 
too, poor man, and robbed the world of one 
of its most lovely souls by so doing. 

Colonel Ingersoll was a smoker who 
knew when to stop. He smoked just so 
many cigars a day, and beautiful brown 
ones they were, and they never hurt him. 
General Grant was a chain smoker; that 
is, one cigar lit another the day long when 
he was preserving the Union, and for years 

Mr. N. C. Goodwin, our best comediar 
smokes only cigarettes, with " N. C. G." 
printed on each cigarette. In the many 
years that I have known him, I have not 
seen him smoke a pipe or cigar. His 



cigarettes are made for him, and cost him 
about ten cents apiece. He smokes pretty 
constantly in his dressing-room, holding 
the cigarette in a beautiful all-amber 
holder, with a good rim at its mouth. The 
holder must be half a foot long. It is a 
pleasure to watch Mr. Goodwin smoke, as 
it is to see him act, for his methods are 
dainty and thorough, in smoking as well 
as acting. 

The fiercest smoker whom I have ever 
known was the late Francis Saltus, the 
marvellous linguist, musician, composer, 
writer, and traveller. He would smoke 
(surely) fifty cigarettes a day. You talk 
about fellows smoking in bed and between 
courses at a dinner? Well, Frank Saltus 
would smoke between mouthfuls. I have 
seen him smoke fifty cigarettes in a day, 
while turning off two or three hundred 
dialogues (" squibs," he called them) for 


the papers and magazines. He was a 
wonder, look at him how you will, and 
some day the world will know it. 

U tT U 

A COLONIAL volunteer officer, Captain 
Brown in times of peace, Butcher 
Brown ordered a sentry found smoking 
to consider himself a prisoner. " What ! " 
exclaimed the volunteer soldier, " not 
smoke on sentry? Then where on earth 
am I to smoke? " The dignified captain 
reiterated his first remark. Then did the 
sentry take his pipe from his mouth and 
confidentially tap his officer on the shoul- 
der. " Now, look here, Brown," said he, 
" don't go and make a fool of your- 
self. If you do, I'll go elsewhere for my 
meat ! " Dignity went to a thousand to 
three, and no takers. 


COME down, old friend, from off the 

Where loving fingers placed thee yester- 

Come down, and hold communion now with 


Thou art a friend who never did deceive. 
A friend who never fails in time of need, 

A friend who ever lends his potent might, 
When Care upon the weary mind would 


Or Melancholy's gloomy spell would 



Thy brown and polished bowl I'll fill with 

And then, with lips pressed close unto 

thine own 

No lover drinks a sweeter draught, I swear 
I'm happier than a king upon his 

throne ! 
For in the wreaths of smoke which from 

thee rise 
No perfume sweeter from the rarest 

No greater j oy this side of Paradise ! 

Thou sweet and mighty antidote of woes ! 

Ah, often have I come with care-worn 

And placed thee to my lips in fretful 

In thy companionship relief I'd find, 

Thy touch would calm the fever in my 


The wrinkled brow would smooth itself in 

The troubled breast forget its care and 

Yea, thou wilt give from Sorrow sweet 


Bring cherished dreams of happiness 

And ever in my home thou'lt be abiding, 
A cherished friend whose counsels never 


While I to thee my inmost thoughts con- 

Upon the seas of fancy oft will sail. 
And not until the last sweet puff has van- 
And naught but ashes lies within thy 


Then, not till then, are all my visions ban- 



Yet still sweet peace doth linger with 
my soul! 

in Gentleman's Magazine. 


SOME sombre evening, when I sit 

And feel in solitude at home, 
Perchance an ultra bilious fit 

Paints all the world an orange chrome. 
When Fear and Care and grim Despair 

Flock round me in a ghostly crowd, 
One charm dispels them all in air 

I blow my after-dinner cloud. 

'Tis melancholy to devour 

The gentle chop in loneliness. 

I look on six my prandial hour - 
With dread not easy to express. 


And yet, for every penance done, 
Due compensation seems allowed. 

My penance o'er, its price is won; 
I blow my after-dinner cloud. 

My clay is not a Henry Clay . 

I like it better, on the whole; 
And when I fill it, I can say 

I drown my sorrows in the bowl. 
For most I love my lowly pipe 

When weary, sad, and leaden-browed; 
At such a time behold me ripe 

To blow my after-dinner cloud. 

As gracefully the smoke ascends 

In columns from the weed beneath, 
My friendly wizard, Fancy, lends 

A vivid shape to every wreath. 
Strange memories of life or death, 

Up from the cradle to the shroud, 
Come forth as, with enchanter's breath, 

I blow my after-dinner cloud. 



What wonder if it stills my care 

To quit the present for the past ; 
And summon back the things that were, 

Which only thus in vapour last? 
What wonder if I envy not 

The rich, the giddy, and the proud, 
Contented in this quiet spot 

To blow my after-dinner cloud? 



THOTJ grateful leaf, soul-soothing friend, 
While to my brain thy fumes ascend, 
Do thou thy inspiration lend, 

That I may sing 
What splendid thinkings have been penned, 

Borne on thy wing. 
The noble Raleigh, who first bore 
The kindly opiate to our shore, 
Through thee loved dearly to explore 

The realms of thought; 


And on thy clouds with freedom soar, 
When chains his lot. 

Shakespeare thy powers would doubtless 


And many a cloud would skyward blow, 
Causing his teeming brain to glow 

With grand conceit; 
Whose " airy nothings " finely show 

A form complete. 

Milton oft felt thy soothing power 
Redeem the darkness of the hour, 
Making imagination shower 

A rain of light; 
Gifting him with a heavenly dower 

Of " second sight." 

Newton from thee drew thoughtful fire, 
When listening to the angels' choir, 
Chanting the wonders of their Sire, 

Hidden from man ; 



From lower cause divining higher, 
In God's great plan. 

Then who dare 'gainst thy virtues rail? 
May more and more thy power prevail! 
Unwise are those who dare assail 

Thee, friend in need. 
And doubly blest those who inhale 

Thee, fragrant weed. 

The greatest good may turn to ill, 
When right and wrong lie with the will ; 
Thou use may bless, abuse may kill ; 

Let manhood ripe, 
With prudent moderation, fill 

The soothing pipe. 




IT is not certain that Sir Walter Ral- 
eigh was the man who introduced tobacco 
to the English people, for King James 
says in his works (1616), page 215, that 
it was not brought in by a worthy, virtu- 
ous personage, but by two or three In- 
dians, arriving from America, who died 
shortly after. Cause and effect. But 
whoever it was, Sir Walter will always 
have the credit for it, for it will be as 
impossible to rob him of it, as it is, and 
ever will be, to deprive Shakespeare of 
his ever green laurels to place them on 
the head of Francis Bacon. 



Raleigh must have been the first man to 
>smoke in London; and Ben Jonson one of 
the first men, for his plays are full of 
smoking, entire scenes being devoted to 
it. Shakespeare never mentions tobacco 
or smoking. That seems to be one of the 
mysteries of that most mysterious of all 
the men that ever lived ; for what else 
escaped his falcon eye and magic pen in 
the England of his time? How was it 
possible for him to keep Trinidado, smok- 
ing and smokers out of his comedies, which 
were all written while his beard was young ? 
What chances he had of making Sir John 
Falstaff philosophically hold forth on the 
virtues of tobacco and pipe ! In " Twelfth 
Night," as it is played, Sir Toby Belch 
and Sir Andrew Aguecheek smoke long 
" churchwardens," and have a very funny 
scene, in which Sir Andrew tries, while 
drunk, to light his long pipe held by the 
drunken Sir Toby; but it is not in the 


written play, nor were " churchwardens " 
known in Shakespeare's time. Yet there 
was smoking, as well as drinking, at The 
Mermaid, The Devil and Apollo, The 
Boar's Head, and all the other London 
taverns which Shakespeare frequented; 
for you may be sure that, like Dickens, 
this great reporter knew every tavern, 
church, public house, and street in the 
town, for which he has done more than 
all its rulers put together; for Shake- 
speare is the real king of England the 
king of all her kings. 

It is quite easy to see that great group 
around the table in The Mermaid, smok- 
ing, drinking, and exchanging verbal coins 
of the realm: the truculent Jonson, send- 
ing clouds to the ceiling, or into an adver- 
sary's face; the reserved and aristocratic 
Raleigh, reflectively drawing the smoke 
that cheers, but not inebriates; the bitter 
Marston, the biting Cyril Tourneur, the 



excellent, but too serious, Ford, the learned 
Chapman, who finished (in more than one 
way) Kit Marlowe's lovely poem, " Hero 
and Leander," after Kit's death; Web- 
ster, Fletcher, Heywood, Middleton, Essex, 
Drake, Southampton, and the scores of 
others who dropped in nights to the ban- 
quets of humour and wars of wit; and 
Shakespeare, the quiet, unobtrusive mas- 
ter of them all, a little in the background, 
taking it all in; for Shakespeare (like 
Dickens) had no ambition to be a street, 
club, or tavern wit, or a master of argu- 
ment, except in his plays. He cared not 
what opinions a man held, so long as he 
held fast to the fact, you may be sure. 
His favourite volume was Man, and every 
one of its thousand and one leaves he had 
read until they were in rags. 
. Did Shakespeare smoke? History turns 
away without replying. But such an inves- 
tigator must have smoked; at least, tried 



the weed; and, for all we know to the 
contrary, he may have been an honest 
smoker, one whose pipe never went out 
until the bowl was full of ashes. In Shake- 
speare's time, men were Spartan smokers, 
for the tobacco was rank stuff in his day, 
yet the smoke was inhaled from pipes, and 
sent in volumes from the nostrils. That 
way would kill the smokers of the present 
day. That brings us to this logical con- 
clusion, that Shakespeare, who must have 
been the most delicately organized of mor- 
tals, could not have been a smoker, for 
the smoke of vile tobacco sent through his 
lungs and nostrils would have killed him. 
We must not be too hard on King James 
the First, for his " Counterblast " against 
tobacco, when we bear in mind its vileness. 
Napoleon tried to smoke once. Some- 
body gave him a box of Turkish cigar-* 
ettes, and it nearly did for him what 
Europe had been trying to do to him for 



years killed him. He is the only illus- 
trious man whom I have never met who 
gave up trying to learn to smoke after one 
trial. Mr. Russell Sage is the only man 
whom I have met who did the same thing. 
He told me that he once tackled a cigar, 
and that the cigar then tackled him. The 
rest is silence. 

Edward VII., England's king, is an- 
other gentleman whom I have never met 
who is a smoker of the first rank. His 
cigars have been made especially for him 
for many years, and are worth ninety 
cents apiece, or nine hundred dollars a 
thousand. As Prince of Wales, when he 
offered a cigar to one of his " set," it was 
etiquette to refuse it, and social suicide 
to accept it, though I think Mr. John L. 
Sullivan took one from his divine hand 
without losing caste. 

Another great man whom I have yet to 
meet is Carlyle, the London Diogenes. 



Carlyle was born in 1795, and died in 
1881, at the age of eighty-six. For about 
seventy of those eighty-six years Carlyle 
smoked, and made most of his contempora- 
ries smoke. The trouble with him was that 
he was too fond of smoking a rank pipe 
on an empty stomach. That gave him 
stomach pains, and his contemporaries par- 
ticular pains ; for puir auld Carlyle 
was as savage as a meat-house dog all 
the time. He cared for but two men in the 
world, Tennyson and Dickens. All the 
rest were puir, feckless, reckless, intem- 
perate bladders and gas-bags, and all be- 
cause Tom did not know how to clean his 
pipe, and keep it clean, and would smoke 
before breakfast. 

Alfred Tennyson did not know how to 
smoke, either; for he would smoke a long 
clay pipe once and then break it. A new 
pipe is a most unpleasant thing to draw, 
and sometimes when his pipe was not in 


tune with his muse, Tennyson was brusque. 
But it is easy to forgive a genius, espe- 
cially if he is beset with all sorts and con- 
ditions of men, as Tennyson was. It is 
said that Tennyson was often offensive to 
Americans. We cannot blame the English 
poet for refusing to receive a certain type 
of American who is persona non grata 
even in his own country. At any rate, 
Tennyson was not insensible to American 
beauty, for he treated Miss Mary Ander- 
son nicely, and even allowed her to fill his 
pipe for him. 

Bismarck was one of the greatest smok- 
ers that ever lived, and him I have never 
met. He would require a chapter, but it 
is impossible in the space allotted to me 
to speak of all the smokers whom I have 
yet to meet; still, Charles Lamb must be 
mentioned. At the " smokers " in his house 
I have often been, in spirit; particularly 
on one great night, when, over their pipes, 



Hazlitt, Coleridge, Lamb, and a few oth- 
ers discussed Shakespeare's genius, and a 
layman gave it out, after lingering for 
two hours, that, in his opinion, " That 
Shakespeare was a very clever man ! " 
Then Charles arose, with a lighted candle, 
and gravely examined that chap's bumps. 
Lamb was a great jo smoker. 

But the greatest smoker that I have yet 
to meet was Nero. He smoked a city. 




HERE on my back on the bank I lie, 
With a pipe in my mouth, and watch the 


And well do I know, beyond a joke, 
That nature, like me, delights to smoke. 
The little zephyrs down here in the grass 
Puff at the weeds as they swiftly pass ; 
While the breeze of the ether is not too 


Though almost too lazy to blow a cloud. 
Every bird has a pipe of its own, 
And each has its " bird's eye " views, 'tis 



The trees rejoice in a stem and bole, 
For the King of the Forest's like old King 


And the hedges as well the practice suits, 
For they all of them boast their briar 


Smoking, in short, is loved by all 
The works of nature both great and 

Down to the very small grub, to be 


You'll find he is given to rolling a leaf. 
So why shouldn't I, 
As here I lie 

On my back to the bank all those defy 
Who fain would the pleasant plant decry? 





PLANT of the world! Cosmopolite, 
Whose fragrance gives us pure delight 

And peace of mind! 

When friends desert, and fortune frowns 
On peasant head or kingly crowns, 

It joy can find. 

The universal flow'r, whose leaves expand, 
Whose branches spread o'er every land 

And every creed. 

In thee do all believe, and bless the Giver, 
And on the banks of life's dark river 

We sow thy seed. 

Deist, Christian, Turk, or Jew, 
Brahmin, Fakir, and Dervish, too, 

All thee adore. 

The soldier, sailor, king, or prince, 
Thou hast no trouble to convince 

Of thy great pow'r. 


Whate'er opinions they profess, 
Whate'er their tenets, numberless, 

Orthodox or heretic, 
Thy incense offer to the skies, 
Thy glorious fumes from all arise, 

For thou art Catholic. 

None doubt thee, for thy religion's good, 
For centuries thy fame hath stood, 

This is the test. 

It suits all men ; for, understand, 
Each thinks his own peculiar brand 

" The very best." 

The strongest will their voices raise, 
And lift on high their meed of praise 

To pungent Cavendish. 
The languid swell, who hates exertion, 
His off'ring tends to glorious Persian, 

Or dreamy Turkish. 


So we all smoke, all have our choice, 
Yet all, without dissentient voice, 

Thy fame proclaim, 
And laud thy virtues ev'rywhere, 
From land to land, from year to year, 

All sing the same. 

The glorious weed from sunny lands, 
In varied form and beauteous brands, 

To England's shore 
It wends its way, unconquered still, 
Bending the strongest, mightiest will, 

And will for evermore. 
W. H. W., in Cope's " Tobacco Plant." 


THE great Napoleon knew to conquer 


But there was one thing that he could 
not do; 



He could not smoke; he never saw the 


Clouds curl about his brow in airy rings ; 
The opiate power " divine tobacco " brings 
To rest both body and mind he never 

Friend of the weak, the strong man it 

Who all the pleasure missed that from it 

'Tis said he once a splendid pipe would 

A Sultan's gift. He could not learn to 


Then Constant for his master lighted it. 
Choked by a whiff, the Emperor loud did 

" It makes me sick, the abominable 


Only for fools and sluggards it is fit." 




A. M. 
A PIPE at nine IX. 

Is always fine. 

A puff at noon XII. 

Is none too soon. 

p. M. 

A " concha " at three III. 

The thing for me. 

Another at five V. 

On which to thrive. 

A " perf ecto " at seven VII. 

An aroma to heaven! 

A " breva " at nine IX. 

Is half divine. 

A "boquet" before slumber. .X. ? or XI. ? 
Makes just the right number. 



LOOKING backward over the ages and 
pages of history, the student and enthusi- 
ast is always surprised and delighted at 
the mine of matter on subjects dealing 
with the delights of the senses, the luxuries 
of the mind, and the comforts of the body. 

Painters and poets have pictured and 
sung of the beauty, sublimity, and nobility 
of nature in all her varying moods. Apart, 
from this, every fruit of the soil in the 
scheme of creation has been given its 
proper setting in song and story and writ- 
ten record. 

Among all the offerings of the earth, 
however, no leaf, plant, berry, bean, flower, 



or tree can compare with tobacco in 
amount, variety, and excellence of the lit- 
erature devoted to the growth, develop- 
ment, and use of this plant. No other 
product has so pronounced a place, so 
definite a claim upon the thoughts and 
feelings of the human race as tobacco. 
There is as every smoker knows a 
reflective fragrance, a certain sentiment 
in the use of this weed that cannot be 
applied to any other blessing of nature 
connected with our existence. Little won- 
der is it, then, that tobacco-smoking has 
to itself, of itself, and by itself inspired 
the pens and brushes, footsteps and fin- 
gers of some of the world's greatest writ- 
ers, artists, discoverers, and artisans. 

It is in its literature, however, that to- 
bacco can claim its greatest distinction. 
What real writer has not written of the 
delights of smoking? Those who have not 
were not smokers, or, if they were, they 



could never have known a " heart to 
heart " smoke. But let that pass. What 
of the poets and philosophers who have 
puffed the praises of the plant divine? 
Long life to their ashes past, present, 
and future. 

In looking over the literature of smok- 
ing, we can go back almost to the day of 
its introduction as a civilized article of 
consumption. Of course, tobacco had its 
ill wishers and enemies ; but of them we 
have no account to settle. They are all 
below the clouds, so to speak. 

Perhaps the first literary effusion, ac- 
cording to the Overland Monthly, wholly 
devoted to the " Nicotian weed " is Nash's 
" Lenten Snuffe," an octavo tract, of date 
anterior to A. D. 1600. It is dedicated to 
Humphrey King, a London tobacconist 
and poor pamphleteer. Nash was an in- 
veterate Bohemian, and, as might be ex- 
pected, was extravagant in his praise of 



what Spenser called " divine tobacco." 
This was followed by a larger and better 
work, in mock heroic verse, entitled the 
" Metamorphosis of Tobacco," and dedi- 
cated to Drayton. Although published 
anonymously, the authorship is credited 
to Sir John Beaumont. It has since been 
reprinted in England, but there are prob- 
ably no copies of this literary curiosity in 

" Looke to It for lie (I'll) Stabbe Ye " 
is the threatening title of a sixty-four- 
paged quarto published in London about 
A. D. 1604, and written by Samuel Row- 
lands. The merit and tone of the whole 
may be judged from the following quota- 
tion : 

" There is a humor us'd of late 

By every rascall swaggering mate 

To give the Stabbe: He stabbe (says he) 

Him that dares take the wall of me. 



If you to pledge his health denie 

Out comes his poinard there you lie. 

If his Tobacco you dispraise, 

He swears a stabbe shall end your daies." 

The author then continues to threaten all 
classes, dagger in hand. In another pam- 
phlet by the same writer, published a few 
years later, he assumes a more peaceful 
attitude. It is a satire called " A Whole 
Crew of Kind Gossips, All Met to be 
Merry," and in it he shows up the man- 
ners of the time by imaginary crimina- 
tions and recriminations between six hus- 
bands and their wives. " Good tobacco, 
sweet and strong," is spoken of as one of 
the allurements to public resorts. Perhaps 
the husbands did not dare or care to smoke 
in the home then, and that was the cause 
of the trouble. How times have changed; 
tobacco has come to its own in these regen- 
erate days. 



" Laugh and Lie Downe, or the World's 
Folly," is a quarto of 1605 A. D., London. 
This little book describes a fop of the day, 
and shows how indispensable the pipe had 
become to complete the outfit of a " man 
of fashion." 

" The next was a nimble-witted and 
glib-tongued fellow, who having in his 
youth spent his wits in the Arte of Love, 
was now become the jest of wit; but his 
looks were so demure, his words so in print, 
his graces so in order, and his conceits so 
in time, that he was yea iwis (I wis) 
so was he, such a gentleman for a jester 
that the Lady Folly could never be better 
fitted for her entertainment of strangers. 
The pick-tooth in the mouth, the flower in 
the eare, the kisse of the hand, the stoupe 
of the head, the leer of the eye, and what 
not that was unneedful, but he so perfecte 
at his fingers endes, that every she was my 
Faire Ladye, and scarce a Knight but was 



Noble Sir: the tobacco-pipe was at hand, 
when Trinidado 1 was not forgotten 
why all things so well agreed together that 
at this square table of people, or table of 
square people, this man made by rule, 
could not be spared for a great sommee." 

"The Gull's Home Book" (the "Green- 
horn's Hand Book") was a well-known 
pamphlet of A. D. 1609. It was a satire 
made up of advice as to proper city beha- 
viour. Of the table in the inn it says: 

" Before the meate comes smoaking to 
the board, our Gallant must draw out his 
tobacco-box, the ladle for the cold snuff 
into his nosthrill, the tongs and the prim- 
ing iron. All this artillery may be of gold 
or silver, if he can reach the price of it; 
it will be a reasonable, useful pawn at all 
times when the current of his money falles 

1 Trinidado was the name .given to a favourite 
brand of tobacco, and by "square people" was 
meant in those times simply "blockheads." 



out to runne low. And here you must ob- 
serve to know that what state tobacco is 
in town better than the merchants, and to 
discourse of the potecaries where it is to be 
sold as readily as the potecary himselfe." 

Here we see it suggested that the new 
luxury was an expensive one. Further 
proof of this is shown in a comedy called 
" The Sun's Darling," published about the 
same time as the above. A foppish gal- 
lant is characterized as " some alderman's 
son, one that blows away his patri- 
mony in feathers and tobacco." Accord- 
ing to Sir Edwin Sandys, England was 
yearly importing, in 1620, from Spain, 
120,000 in value of tobacco. There were 
three popular brands, Trinidado, Leaf, 
and Pudding tobacco. The first kind came 
in rolls or coils; the last was probably 
cut or chopped. Although the beaux of 
that day carried elegant snuff-boxes, which 
were often built of ivory and inlaid woods, 



it does not appear that the pipe was made 
of expensive materials. Bishop Bonner, 
who was much given to the pipe, however, 
and died in 1596 at the Golden Lion Inn, 
Fulham, while sitting in his chair smok- 
ing, was supposed to have been the owner 
of some valuable pipes. One of these 
pipes was found, after the place was pulled 
down, in the wainscot of the room in which 
the bishop died. It was an old pipe of 
quaint design done in brass. It must have 
been the bishop's. At any rate, it has been 
catalogued as the " Bishop's Own " in a 
local museum. A glance at the business 
methods of those times shows that they 
were no more virtuous then than now. 
From Ben Jonson's comedy of " The Al- 
chemyst," we infer that tobacconists soon 
learned to adulterate and flavour the weed 
with foreign substances. Captain Face, 
one of the characters in the play, furnishes 



the following testimonial to Drugger, the 
apothecary : 

" This is my friend Abel, an honest fellow. 
He lets me have good tobacco, he does not 
Sophisticate it with slack lees, or oil, 
Nor washes it with Muscadel or grannis, 
Nor buries it in gravel underground, 
Wrapp'd up in greasy leather or old clouts, 
But keeps it in fine lily-pots, that opened, 
Smells like conserves of roses." 

How like to-day. The good old times were 
full of fakirs, too. Of course Ben Jonson 
smoked. There are too many allusions to 
the weed in his works for him not to have 
been a smoker. Besides his portraits make 
him look like one a puff and a grunt, 
a growl, a side shaking with laughter, 
meditative smokes and goose quill. Can 
we not see him in all of these occupations? 

In 1618 there was produced a curious 



comedy by Holiday, called " Techno- 
gamia, or the Marriage of the Arts," in 
one of the acts of which is taken up this 
lively song, each verse concluding with a 
rousing chorus: 

" Tobacco's a Musician, 
And in a pipe delighteth; 
It descends in a close, 
Through the organs of the nose, 
With a relish that inviteth. 


This makes me sing, soho, soho, boyes, 

Ho boyes sound I loudly, 

Earth ne'er did breed 

Such a jovial weed, 

Whereof to boast so proudly. 

Tobacco is a Lawyer, 

His pipes do love long cases ; 

When our brain it enters 



Our feet do make indentures, 
While we seal with stamping paces. 


Tobacco is a Physician, 

Good both for sound and sickly ; 

'Tis a hot perfume 

That expels cold rheume, 

And makes it flow down quickly. 


Tobacco is a Traveller, 

Comes from the Indies hither; 

It passed sea and land 

Ere it came to my hand, 

And 'scaped the wind and weather. 


Tobacco is a Critticke 
That still old paper turneth; 


Whose labor and care 
Is smoke in the aire, 
That ascends from a rag when it burn- 


Tobacco is an ignis fatuus, 
A fat and fyrie vapoure 
That leads men about 
Till the fire be out, 
Consuming like a taper. 


Tobacco is a Whyffler 
That cries Huff Snuff ' with f urie, 
His pipes, his club and linke; 
He's the wiser that doth drink ; 
Thus armed I fear not f urie. 




This song was accompanied by a dance, 
which brought out by gestures the force 
of the puns in the second verse. Whyffler 
(" whiffler " in Shakespeare) was a herald 
who went in advance of stately proces- 
sions, with trumpets (pipes), clubs, and 
links (lanterns' fire), clearing the way 
with loud " furie." 

The phrase to " drinke " tobacco, which 
meant the same as to smoke tobacco, is 
used in a poem of 1620, generally cred- 
ited to George Wither. However, in 1631 
appeared a poem called the " Soule's Sol- 
ace, or Thirty and One Spiritual Em- 
blems," by Thomas Jenner, which has the 
same reading. In the original poem there 
is an illustration accompanying it of a 
bearded gentleman at a table smoking. 
The words of the poem are: 

" The Indian weed, withered quite, 
Green at noon, cut down at night, 



Shows thy decay all flesh is hay. 
Thus thinke, then drinke Tobacco. 

The pipe that is so lily-white 
Shows thee to be a mortal wight, 
And even such, gone with a touch. 
Thus thinke, then drinke Tobacco. 

And when the smoke ascends on high, 
Thinke thou beholdst the vanity 
Of worldly stuffe, gone with a puffe. 
Thus thinke, then drinke Tobacco. 

And when the Pipe grows foul within, 
Thinke on thy soul defiled with sin, 
And then the fire, it doth require. 
Thus thinke, then drinke Tobacco. 

The ashes that are left behind, 
May serve to put thee still in mind, 
That unto dust, return thou must, 
Thus thinke, then drinke Tobacco." 



There are, of course, other old poems on 
the subject, but among them all the one 
above is not only the best literary effort, 
but is also the best champion of the smok- 
er's cause, which had then, as it has now 
to some extent, its opponents. The poem, 
which has a fine human and serious strain 
in it, in reflecting as it does upon the sins 
and vanities of this life, must also have 
echoed the general opinion of smokers in 
associating thinking and smoking to- 
gether. As the same opinion has been 
held since then, and as most of our great- 
est writers have been smokers, who can 
deny the inspiration of the leaf? From 
the days of Queen Elizabeth, and for 
nearly one hundred years later, tobacco 
had its own struggles to establish itself 
in popular and permanent favour. But 
it conquered as it deserved to conquer. Its 
enemies in the early days called tobacco, 
in the words of Withers, " a thing of bar- 


barism and shame." Its friends repre- 
sented Vulcan resting by the forge, pipe 
in mouth, and envied by all the dwellers 
on Olympus. 

It is now over three hundred years since 
tobacco got into literature. Who can quote 
a single line from a literary opponent of 
the leaf? But Ben Jonson, Spenser, and 
Sir Walter Raleigh live. With the advent 
of Charles Lamb, tobacco and its literature 
has grown both in goodness and abundance. 
Granted that the use of tobacco affects the 
mind, who would not welcome back to earth, 
with their pipes, Ben Jonson, Spenser, 
Marlowe, Addison, Milton, Fielding, Lamb, 
Byron, Kingsley, Thackeray, Carlyle, 
Dickens, and all the other smokers whose 
works are fragrant with life and truth? 

tr tr tr 



ACCORDING to a " bloomin' Britisher," 
a Yankee's idea of a cool smoke is sitting 
on an iceberg smoking a long pipe, attired 
in a costume of paper collar, and one of 
Professor Swindle's patent corn plasters 
on his favourite toe. 



O, BOLL of snow, 

The moments go 

On wings of velvet smoke unending, 

When I have thee 

To comfort me, 

Companion of supreme befriending. 

With thee alight 

No fears affright 

No sorrows set my soul a-whirling ; 

Each vain regret, 

Sweet cigarette, 

Is lifted from me in thy purling. 




Against all harm 
Thou hast a charm 

For heart of peasant, king, or vagrant; 
There is a balm 
A cheerful calm 

Within thy cooling breath so fragrant. 
Within my dreams 
Thou art, meseems, 

Love's philter, drawn from poppy's chal- 

Which, cigarette, 
Makes me forget 
This cold old world and, with it Alice. 


Forgettest thou, 
In days ere now, 

When she and thee and I, a-dreaming, 
Lulled by thy spell, 
In Love's pow'r fell, 


Thy light the only star a-gleaming ? 

Dost thou forget 

How, sans regret, 

And, fickle as thy clouds which hover 

Within this room of loveless gloom, 

Her heart turned toward the richer lover? 


Ah, cigarette! 

Thou trusted pet! 

We'll not confess how, at her scorning 

(With Bab and Bess 

And Blanche and Jess) 

Our broken heart went into mourning. 

Nor shall we say 

How, in a way, 

Love, unrequited, fuming, fretting, 

Though seldom cured, 

Can be endured 

Through other girls and cigaretting. 





WHEN the Sea-god bold, 
In the days of old, 

Would reward his mermen brave, 
He'd fashion a pipe 
In his mighty gripe 

From the foam of a silver wave. 

'Twas a talisman sure 
'Gainst the spirits impure 

That in ocean's depth do cower; 
Nor the siren's song, 
Nor the whirlpool strong, 

Could prevail o'er the meerschaum's 
power ! 

Though the Sea-god's sway 
Has passed away 

The spell doth still remain; 
And the pipe's sweet breath 
Carries woe and death 

To the Spirits, Care and Pain. 



The ills of life, 
Its toil and strife, 

From memory fade away, 
As the sweet smoke rain 
On the dry, tired brain 

Works the charm of magic fay. 

Then honour the pipe! 
May its blessings ripe 

To weary hearts ne'er cease; 
May its power to soothe 
Make the rough path smooth 

The sad hours, hours of peace ! 

New York Tobacco Leaf. 

A Song 

As the blue smoke curls from my old black 

I dream of the days gone by 



Of the rare old days of my golden 


When the tide of hope ran high. 
I dream of a face that was fair to see, 

Of a voice that was sweet to hear, 
Of a hand that was warm in the grasp of 

Of a heart that to mine was dear. 

I dream of the time when the whisp'ring 


Brought legends of joy to me, 
When my soul was blind to the cares of 


And my spirit-pulse beat free; 
Of a time when the sound of a rippling 


Was the music that woke each day, 
When the gladsome smile of the mate of 

my heart 
Drove ev'ry shadow away. 


As the blue smoke curls from my old black 

I dream of a darker time, 
When that gentle spirit was called away 

To a better and higher clime; 
When the clouds were gathered from far 
and near 

To sadden my lonely days, 
And she who had been my angel mate 

Had vanish'd beyond my gaze. 

I dream of a time when we yet may meet 

In the world beyond the tomb, 
Where the clouds ne'er come, and the 

smiles ne'er fade, 

And the joy flowers always bloom; 
Of the time when that voice will speak 


When the love that sleeps will wake, 
When the grasp of our souls will be 

stronger far 
Than death hath power to break. 



So my old black pipe is a friend to me, 

And smooths the paths I tread, 
Recalling the joys of the former time, 

Reviving hopes that were dead. 
Yea, my old black pipe is a friend to 

Bridging the stream of life, 
Landing my soul in the world of rest, 

Free from earth's care and strife. 

As the blue smoke curls from my old black 


The burthen of grief grows light ; 
The morning of joy breaks bright and 


Dismissing the ghosts of night. 
Thus my soul looks out for the brighter 


The dew from my eyes I wipe, 
And I seem to mate with my love again 
As I smoke my old black pipe. 

j. D. 



SWEET enchantment of my solitude, 
Companion glowing-pipe-sublime delight ; 
To my dull'd soul thou bringst clearest 

To my sad heart a calm and happy 


Tobacco ! rapture of my mind, when I 
See, like the lightning, vanish in the air 
Thy smoke, I find an image striking rare 
Of my life's feebleness and brevity. 
With eloquence thou tellst unto me 
What I, alas ! alas ! must one day be 
I, animated ashes and I feel 
Confused, ashamed, that, running after 


I lose myself, like thee ; thou dost evoke 
Regrets when most thou dost thy charms 




NOTE. Graevius was one of the most 
distinguished scholars of the seventeenth 
century. He was born at Nainburg, in 
Saxony, on January 29, 1632. 

In 1661 he was appointed professor at 
Utrecht, where he died on the llth of 
January, 1703. His character was esti- 
mable as his erudition was astonishing. 
Two kings, who were rivals and enemies, 
Louis XV. and William III., joined 
in doing him honour, and three universi- 
ties, Leyden, Heidelberg, and Padua, made 
him, but in vain, the most flattering offers 
and invitations. By his wife, Edile de 
Camp, he had eighteen children, four only 
of whom survived him. His library, con- 
sisting of five thousand printed and a 
hundred manuscript volumes, is now incor- 
porated with the library of Heidelberg 
University. Long ago there was a trans- 
lation into German of his famous Sonnet 



on Tobacco, but so far as we know, our 
own is the first translation into English. 
COPE'S "Tobacco Plant" 


MAHOMET sat in Paradise, 

His hookah calmly smoking; 
And at his side a houri sat, 

Enchantingly provoking ; 
She cared not for the glowing weed, 

Her eyes much brighter twinkled; 
And from her twin rose-buds proceed 

A scent, like Rimmell's sprinkled. 

Still " all serene " his Highness smoked, 

Nor paid his tribute kisses, 
Tho' these form items No. 1 

Of every Turkman's blisses; 
Till sportively the houri snatch'd 

The prophet's rich narghile, 
For like " Miss Bailey," she declared, 

" He used her ungenteelly." 



The amber mouthpiece left the stem, 

Through seven heavens sinking; 
In course of time, it reach'd the earth, 

And set the savants thinking. 
The East is famous for wise men, 

And Persia had its quota; 
Who settled lusus naturae 

Quite right to an iota. 

In full divan, 'twas soon arranged 

'Twas owned by great Mahomet ; 
The amber was a talisman; 

What charms might not come from it ! 
And Persia's shah has now the gem 

So say our morning papers; 
Though some of those small " on dits " 

But typographic vapours. 

j. B. 

AT Yeni-Djani, after Rhamadan, 
The pacha in his palace lolls at ease; 


Latakieh fumes his sensual palate please. 
While round-limbed almees dance near his 

Slaves lure away ennui with flower and 

And as his gem-tipped chibouque glows, 

he sees, 

In dreamy trance, those marvellous mys- 
The prophet sings of in the Al-Koran! 

Pale, dusk-eyed girls, with sequin-studded 

Dart through the opal clouds like agile 


With sensuous curves his fancy to pro- 

Delicious houris, ravishing and fair, 
Who to his vague and drowsy mind ap- 



Like fragrant phantoms arabesqued in 



SCORN not the meerschaum. Housewives, 
you have croaked 

In ignorance of all its charms. Through 
this small reed 

Did Milton, now and then, consume the 

The poet Tennyson hath oft invoked 

The muse with glowing pipe, and Thack- 
eray joked 

And wrote and sang in nicotinian mood; 

Hawthorne with this hath cheered his soli- 

A thousand times this pipe hath Lowell 
smoked ; 

Reprinted by permission from Harper's Magazine. 


Full oft have Aldrich, Taylor, Stoddard, 


And many more whose verses float about, 
Puffed the Virginian or Havana leaf ; 
And when the poet's or the artist's branch 
Drops no sustaining fruit, how sweet to 

Consolatory whiffs alas ! too brief ! 



IT is not four hundred years since 
Christendom learned to use the gentle 
weed, and yet in that period the use of 
tobacco has passed from land to land, and 
been adopted by every race, civilized, semi- 
civilized, and savage. It has influenced the 
etiquette of every country, and been influ- 
enced by the etiquette in return. 

When Columbus discovered America, 
the Indians had developed an etiquette re- 
specting the leaf of the most complex 
sort. Of their system but little has been 
preserved, and yet that little is of deep 
interest. To the Indian, the primary use 
of tobacco was religious. He burnt it 



as an incense to the Almighty, just as the 
Western nations burned myrrh, benzoin, 
and frankincense. Smoking the great 
peace calumet, or pipe of peace, was in 
reality taking a solemn form of oath. A 
second purpose, partly religious, was the 
production of stupor or prophetic dreams 
on the part of a medicine-man or priest. 
Third, was the reward to heroic sagamore 
and sachem, which came from inhaling to- 
bacco smoke. No young man could use 
the pipe or cigar until he had proved his 
courage, while squaws were forbidden the 
pleasure until they had reached old age, 
and had been the mothers of warriors. 
Spain carried the fire of the cigar to South- 
ern Europe, while England, a generation 
later, transported to Northern Europe the 
Algonquin pipe. The Castilian was rich, 
refined, and courtly. He wove around the 
weed his own delightful manners, and made 
smoking an accomplishment of the nobil- 



ity. The Englishman of that time was 
bold, poor, and careless of the graces of 
life. In England smoking was the com- 
fort of the masses. In the Spanish eti- 
quette, which was developed in the course 
of the years, were many odd touches indic- 
ative of the Castilian character. You 
asked a smoker for " the favour of his 
fire," and not to give you a light, as in 
blunt English. When you received it, 
you bowed, used it, handed it back with 
a bow and an apology, and at the same 
time offered him a fresh cigar or cigarette, 
according to that with which he had fa- 
voured you. In offering a lighted cigar, 
you always presented the fire end, so that 
his hand should not be soiled by the mouth 
end, and in returning a cigar or cigarette, 
you offered the mouth end, so as to give 
him the least trouble in replacing it be- 
tween his lips. This rule in regard to giv- 



ing and returning a lighted cigar is now 
the practice of every civilized country. 

Smoking having been adopted by the 
upper classes in Spain, was employed by 
men and women alike. There was no prej- 
udice against the fair sex enjoying the 
weed. The countries which learned smok- 
ing from Spain adopted these views. 
There was and is no prejudice against 
women smoking in Portugal, France, Italy, 
Greece, Turkey, Africa, Asia, Mexico, 
Central and South America. 

In England the masses were the first to 
smoke, and the upper classes regarded the 
habit as vulgar and low. Not until 1820 
could a gentleman smoke without losing 
caste, and not until 1885, when the Prin- 
cess of Wales, now the Queen of England, 
served cigarettes at luncheons to her own 
sex, were women allowed to smoke without 
fear of social ostracism. The English 
prejudice was adopted by Canada, the 



United States, Scandinavia, Holland, 
North Germany, and Switzerland. 

In the Latin countries, for many gener- 
ations, it was considered discourteous to 
offer a friend or a guest a ready-made 
cigarette. Were you alone with your 
friend, you rolled the cigarette yourself, 
and offered it to him, or else handed him 
the picadura and papers for him to use 
himself. At your own house, your wife or 
daughters rolled the cigarettes, and served 
them along with a candle or taper, lamp 
or burning charcoal, with which they were 
lighted. Commerce and manufactures 
change manners, and the hand-made and 
machine-made cigarette have driven the 
good old custom to the wall. Yet in the 
Latin-American countries and in Spain, 
Southern France, and Italy the ancient 
custom survives in many old-fashioned 
families. In Moslem families, the wife, 
or one of the wives, rolls the Turkish leaf 



into cigarettes for the husband, while a 
slave girl does the same for the guest. In 
India the nautch girl and bazar girl, in 
China the flower-boat girl and sing-song 
girl, in Japan the geisha and tea musme 
perform the same function. 

While the Orient has learned smoking 
from the Occident, it has already paid back 
part of its debt in the practice of serving 
cigarettes with the sorbet at dinner-parties. 
This comes from Southern China, where 
state dinners are broken at intervals by 
recesses, during which the attendants hand 
around cigarettes and perfumed water- 
pipes to the guests. 

Around the plebeian pipe comparatively 
little etiquette has developed, at least, so 
far as the Occident is concerned. Among 
the natives of Yucatan and Central Amer- 
ica is the practice of using what are known 
as " loving-pipes " and " family-pipes." 
In these the stems are from four to seven 



feet long, and branch into two or three 
parts, each of which is supplied with a 
mouthpiece. The latter are about two feet 
apart. When they are used, the host and 
his guest, or the man and his wife, sit 
side by side. The bowl rests on the floor; 
the host holds the stem where it is single, 
and the two branches rest comfortably in 
the mouths of the two smokers. The same 
result is obtained with this pipe and solid 
branching stem as with the narghile and 
flexible stem of the Moslem world. In 
the latter, the double, treble, or multi- 
stemmed narghile is intended for a group 
of friends, or for a family circle. 

It is rare that an Englishman or an 
American keeps pipes for visitors. In Asia 
and Northern Africa the rule is the exact 
opposite. In Turkey and Egypt there are 
always extra narghiles; in India, extra 
hookahs; in China, extra hubble-bubbles, 
vater-pipes, and bamboo pipes. In the 




Occident, it is not a discourtesy for a host 
to light his own pipe and not offer one to 
a guest. In the Orient it would be either 
a terrible breach of manners or a direct 

At one time in Cuba many of the plan- 
tation owners had a jovial custom of roll- 
ing cigars from leaf grown on their own 
plantations, and giving these to their 
guests. Thomas Wilson, who travelled in 
Cuba in the beginning of the nineteenth 
century, speaks of the excellent cigars 
which the wealthy planters were wont to 
roll from the leaves of their own growing. 
" The smell," he writes, " is exceedingly 
delicious, but they are so strong that I 
can never smoke more than half a one 
without turning my stomach." 



OLD mined pipe, that all would cast aside, 
Nor give thy fate a single transient 

To me with tender memories thou art 


Recalling those brief days of happy pride 
When my sweet Lady wandered by my side 
Through life's strange ways, and always 

Came rapturous joys no wealth had ever 


And I each day by love was deified. 
For once, I mind it well, in playful vein, 
She filled thee with the fragrant honeyed 



And lit it for me with such witching grace 
I could not choose withhold the lovesome 

And now thou bringest to my sight her 

As then she thrilled me beneath my kiss's 


Bon Tabac. 


THE heathen god Pan 
Was a good-looking man, 
But unluckily cursed with the legs of a 


Which made Syrinx look down 
Upon Pan with a frown 
And on Syrinx, it was, he was fated to 

He was pining away 
Grew thinner each day 
But small consolation from Syrinx he got. 



And her sneers at his legs 
So embittered the dregs 
Of life's cup ; it was clear Pan was going 
to pot. 

One morning he grew 

So pressing, she flew 

To Minerva, or some one, to help her in 

And, obtaining her change, 

In a manner most strange, 
Rushed into the water and turned to a reed- 

On seeing which, Pan, 
Like a sensible man, 
Just cut her at once and invented the 


Which ever since then 
Is by all jilted men 

Held the best cure for love of which 
smoke is the type. 




IN lazy clouds toward the skies, 

From out my meerschaum curls the va- 
Blue as the depths of Celia's eyes, 

And dreamy as the folds that drape her. 
And, gazing on the same yeux bleus, 
Sad as the sighing of Melpomene 
Rings in mine ear the warning true 
" In fumo exit omne ! " 

Yes, sweet! the flowers that deck your 

And those that in your cheeks blush 

Their summer fled, meek heads will bow 

Beneath the sickle of the reaper. 
Still, though in smoke our gladness end, 
The sigh that clouds, the tear that 
checks it, 



Will each in turn in vapour blend 
" In f umo omne exit ! " 



WHENE'ER I'm out of sorts or sad, 
Oppress'd with care, and well-nigh mad, 
What comforts me, and makes me glad? 

Tobacco ! 

What builds such castles in the air, 

And paints my prospects bright and fair, 

And makes me negligent of care? 

Tobacco ! 

How is it that I'm so resigned, 

Whene'er my wife must speak her mind. 

And ne'er retaliate in kind? 

Tobacco ! 

What makes my holidays so sweet, 
And ev'ry " outing " such a treat 

That I would fain their joys repeat? 

Tobacco ! 

Whene'er my brain is dull and dark, 
And utterly beside the mark, 
What wakes the latent, slumb'ring spark? 

Tobacco ! 

What changes all my scowls to smiles, 
And many a tedious hour beguiles, 
And ne'er by any chance me riles? 

Tobacco ! 

Enlarger of our mortal ken, 
Familiar of the artist's den, 
Beloved by literary men 

Tobacco ! 

Far kinder than the kindest friend, 
Oh, teach us how your powers blend ! 
And from your heavenly throne descend, 

Tobacco ! 

E. H. s. 

THY quiet spirit lulls the lab'ring brain, 
Lures back to thought the flights of 

vacant mirth, 
Consoles the mourner, soothes the couch of 

And wreathes contentment round the 

humble hearth; 
While savage warriors, soften'd by thy 


Unbind the captive, hate had doom'd to 



WHEN I was young I shook with fright 

Whene'er I passed you by; 
E'en in my dreams at dead of night 

I saw your cruel eye. 


How scared I was to see, one day, 
A drunkard throw you down! 

I felt so certain you would slay 
Or chase him out of town. 

My mother said that after dark 
You scalped all naughty boys, 

And so I dared not have a lark 
At dusk, nor make a noise. 

I lost my fear the day I saw 

A painter's boy apply 
Vermilion paint upon your jaw 

And varnish to your eye. 

But now that I am twelve and more 

I use you every day 
As target for my putty-blower 
When after school I play. 



WHEN the gods, at their symposia, 
Supped on nectar and ambrosia, 

Surely something more was needed than 

they knew. 

'Tis quite true there was no lack o' 
Food and drink but no tobacco 
For the only " pipe " then known Pan 
softly blew. 

At the court where Odin lorded, 
Neither he knew nor yet Thor did 

Of the grateful fragrance of the balmy 


For a " pipe," to those Walhallans, 
Meant a many, many gallons 

Of their foaming and exhilarating mead. 

No! 'Twas left for mighty Gitche 
Manito to send so rich a 

Blessing down upon his children here 



Fill the calumet and hookah, 
And we'll send in wreaths of smoke a 
Savoury incense up to Gitche Manito! 
The Bohemian. 


WHERE are thy kinsmen, lonely brave, 

Who erst adorned the city's walks, 
And raised above the thronging pave 

A row of hickory tomahawks? 
Who stood in menacing array 

Along the border of the flags, 
And filled with swift, supreme dismay 

The owners of nocturnal jags! 

Lines to a Wooden Indian. 


I AM, and am not, 
A family jar. 



Fill the bowl, you jolly soul, 
And burn all sorrow to a coal. 

A weed you call me, but you'll own 
No rose was e'er more fully blown. 

Behold ! This vessel hath a moral got : 
Tobacco smokers all must go to pot. 

Your pipe's your friend ! 

A greater friend am I; 
For in itself that friend will lack 

What I supply. 

" Man's life is but a vapour ! " 

Believe me or not I most truly contain 
A soother of woe and an easer of pain! 

Great Jove Pandora's box with jars did 

This jar alone has power those jars to 



A jar, behold me! taste my store, 
Take all you want, but take no more. 
I'm " Solitaire," and Social's pal, 
I'm Baccyful, not Bacchinal; 
I'm Friendship's bond, I'm Freedom's 


I'm Welcome's emblem take a pipe! 
Still, should you choose my worth evoke. 
You'll own my faults all end in smoke. 

Although no artist, I can draw 

My pipe to ease my care; 
No architect, yet oft I build 

Grand " castles in the air ; " 
No author, yet I can compose 

My nerves, if aught should mar 
My happiness, by virtue of 

The plant within this jar. 

There are jars of jelly, jars of jam, 
Jars of potted beef and ham; 
But welcome most to me by far 
Is my dear old tobacco jar. 


There are pipes producing sounds divine. 
Pipes containing luscious wine ; 
But when I consolation need, 
I take the pipe that burns the weed. 

All ye who feel oppress'd amidst the strife, 
The ceaseless wear and strain of busy life ; 
All ye whose spirits sink beneath the 


Of dire misfortune, or of adverse fate, 
Search well within the jar, and you will 


The certain solace for a troubled mind. 
Use with discretion what is offer'd there, 
Inhale its fragrance, and forget its care. 
COPE'S " Tobacco Plant." 


'TWAS off the blue Canary Isles, 

A glorious summer day, 


I sat upon the quarter-deck, 
And whiffed my cares away; 

And as the volumed smoke arose, 
Like incense in the air, 

I breath'd a sigh to think, in sooth, 
It was my last cigar. 


It was my last cigar, 

It was my last cigar, 

I breath'd a sigh to think, in sooth, 

It was my last cigar. 

I leaned upon the quarter rail, 

And looked down in the sea, 
E'en there the purple wreath of smoke 

Was curling gracefully; 
Oh, what had I at such a time 

To do with wasting care? 
Alas! the trembling tear proclaimed 

It was my last cigar. 



I watched the ashes as it came 

Fast drawing to the end, 
I watched it as a friend would watch 

Beside a dying friend; 
But still the flame crept slowly on, 

It vanished into air, 
I threw it from me, spare the tale, 

It was my last cigar. 


I've seen the land of all I love 

Fade in the distance dim, 
I've watched above the blighted heart, 

Where once proud hope hath been; 
But I've never known a sorrow 

That could with that compare, 
When off the blue Canary Isles 

I smoked my last cigar. 




ACCORDING to Notes and Queries, the 
earliest notice of tobacco is contained in 
a work of Benzo, of Milan, printed in 
1578: "The natives bind the ripe leaves 
into bundles and hang them to dry. When 
they desire to use them, they entwine one 
leaf of the plant with one leaf of the corn 
grown in the country, so as to make of 
them one tube or pipe, lighting one end 
of which, they put the other in their mouth, 
and draw in the breath and air, and at last 
inhale so much of the smoke as to fill their 
mouths, throats, and heads, and patiently 



continue the process as long as the pleasure 
which they derive from it is not of the 
nature of a penance; and so intoxicate 
themselves with this smoke that their senses 
are in time almost out of the mind's con- 
trol. There are some who smoke so greed- 
ily and furiously as to fall lifeless to the 
ground, and lie there for the greater part 
of the day or night. Some, on the other 
hand, smoke more temperately, until they 
merely become giddy, and carry the process 
no further." 


MINISTER Wu's oration on General 
Grant Memorial Day contained a notable 
tribute to tobacco smoking which is well 
calculated to grieve the narcotics commit- 
tee of the Women's Christian Temperance 
Union. If the words are not before long 
used for an advertisement by cigar manu- 



facturers, those men will be lacking in 
business acumen. " What an important 
part the fragrant Havana plays in the 
world of affairs," said the philosophic Wu. 
" Imagine what a clear head it gave the 
great soldier in planning his campaigns, 
and in ordering his victories, and what a 
mental calm and equipoise it enabled him to 
maintain in the confusion and excitement 
of battle." The question arises how that 
long and illustrious line of great generals, 
from Alexander down to Napoleon, con- 
trived to win battles without " the fragrant 
Havana," as most of them were obliged 
to. But it may be ungracious to pick 
flaws in Mr. Wu's oration. He was pay- 
ing a tribute to Grant. Yet the other side 
will be sure to point out that the cancerous 
growth that led to General Grant's illness 
and death was laid to excessive smoking. 
Springfield Republican. 



PROBABLY few smokers of Egyptian 
cigarettes trouble themselves greatly where 
the tobacco they enjoy comes from, and 
if asked, would answer, " Egypt, of 
course." As a matter of fact, however, 
practically no tobacco is grown in Egypt, 
for the soil is too sandy; every bit of it 
comes from Turkey, though the manufac- 
ture of the best qualities of leaf tobacco 
into cigarettes, both for foreign and for 
Turkish consumption, is carried on almost 
exclusively in Egypt, and the paper is 
made in the same country. Of late years, 
the consumption of Turkish cigarettes in 
America has grown enormously, and mil- 
lions are now manufactured here where 
there were thousands a few years ago. 
The cheaper grades are mixed with native- 
grown tobacco; a better grade is made 
exclusively from one variety of Turkish 



leaf, but the best grades contain as many 
as nineteen different kinds of the finest 
selected Turkish tobaccos. 


TOBACCO grows something like a cab- 
bage, but I never saw one cooked, though 
I have heard men say that cigars given 
them on election day were mostly cabbage 
leaves. Tobacco stores are mostly kept 
by wooden injuns, who stand at the door 
and fool little boys by offering them a 
bunch of cigars, which is glued into the 
Injun's hands, and is made of wood also. 
I tried to smoke a cigar once and I felt 
like Epsom salts. 

Tobacco was invented by a man named 
Walter Raleigh. When people first saw 
him smoking they thought he was a steam- 
boat and was frightened. My sister 
Nancy is a girl. I don't know whether 



she likes tobacco or not. There is a young 
man named Larry who comes to see her. 
He was standing on the steps one night 
and he had a cigar in his mouth, and said 
he didn't know as she would like it, and she 
said : " Larry, the perfume is agreeable." 
But when my big brother Tom lighted his 
pipe Nancy said : " Get out of the house, 
you horrid creature; the smell of tobacco 
makes me sick." Snuff is Injun meal 
made out of tobacco. I took a little snuff 
once, then I sneezed. 


Two young men were carrying a parcel 
of smuggled tobacco to Vienna ; but when 
they drew near to the city, and caught 
sight of the custom-house, they began to 
be afraid. They were on the point of 
throwing away their parcel when one of 
them conceived a clever device, and said, 


" No, the tobacco must go into Vienna ; 
but you must do what I tell you. You 
must go on before me, carrying the to- 
bacco, and when we come to the custom- 
house you must rush rapidly into the city 
how loud soever I may shout to you." 

Due obedience was given to the com- 
mand. When the young men arrived at 
the custom-house, the officer on duty stood 
with folded arms before the door. The 
young man who was behind shouted, 
" Fritz, wait and let me also carry the 
tobacco; it is too heavy for you." 

Fritz made no reply, but went with 
swift steps on, while his companion came 
slowly behind. The officer thought that 
the young man wanted to make fun of him 
in a fashion with which he was too famil- 
iar. He abstained, therefore, from search- 
ing them, lest he should furnish them 
with fresh subject for ridicule. 



" AH, sir, it is no lie, but a blessed truth, 
as I can tell, who have ere now gone, in 
the strength of the weed, three days and 
nights without eating; and therefore, sir, 
the Indians always carry it with them on 
their war-parties. And no wonder! for 
when all things were made, none were bet- 
ter than this to be a lone man's com- 
panion, a bachelor's friend, a hungry 
man's food, a sad man's cordial, a wakeful 
man's sleep, and a chilly man's fire; while 
for stanching of wounds, purging of them, 
and settling of the stomach, there's no 
herb like it under the canopy of heaven ! " 
KINGSLEY'S " Westward Ho." 

rr u u 

ONE of Louis XVIII.'s secretaries of 
state was once with the king in the cabinet 
of the latter. Affairs of importance had 
to be debated and decided. So earnest in 
discourse grew the secretary that, without 


thinking of it, he laid his handkerchief 
and his snuff-box on the table. 

" You are emptying your pockets," said 
the king, with a smile. 

" Here," replied the secretary, " it is 
better that a minister should empty his 
pockets than fill them." 


To light the cigar " Attention ! " 

To hold it between the forefinger and the 
lips "I long to clasp thee in my arms." 

To hold the cigar with three fingers 
" I am thy slave." 

To hold the cigar with the thumb and 
the forefinger " This floor is not to let." 

To pass the cigar from one hand to 
another " Thou hast hit me there." 

To puff the cigar lightly "I am in 
a hurry." 



To shake the ashes from the cigar 
" All is over." 

To move the cigar with the finger 
" I'll think of it." 

To smoke the cigar with vengeance 
" Farewell for ever." 

To contemplate the column of smoke 
" Wilt thou ever cease to love me ? " 

To sweep away the smoke with the hand 

"I long for thee, but without any 
mother-in-law. " 

To bring the lighted end of cigar to 
the lips "What a sell!" 

To puff the smoke with force " Devil 
take the intruders ! " 

To puff the smoke through the nostrils 

" I confide in thee." 

To puff the smoke through both mouth 
and nostrils " Thy neighbour is fright- 
fully in my way." 

To puff the smoke forward > " Wilt 
thou give me a kiss? " 



To puff the smoke sideward " You 
have forgotten me for another." 

To puff the smoke through the ears 
" I believe what thou tellest me." 

To puff the smoke through the eyes 
" I will marry you." 

To swallow the smoke chokvngly "I 
am hooked." 

" Is smoking offensive or defensive? " 
inquired a brawny man, with a broad smile 
and a bad cigar, as he settled himself in 
the empty seat in the smoker, alongside of 
a thin, dyspeptic individual who was look- 
ing sadly out of the car window. 

" I should say it was both," was the 
weary reply. " Judging from the stench 
of that ' gutter - ' you have in your 
mouth, you ought to be able to offend and 
defend yourself against the whole world." 



SMOKING on shipboard is made impera- 
tive, for does not the captain " pipe all 
hands " on deck? 

rr t? rr 

ONE of the most interesting sights to 
be seen in the prominent cigar factories 
in Havana is the tobacco artists at work 
on the expensive cigars for the European 
markets. The number of men qualified to 
manipulate the tobacco put into these 
high-priced smokers is small, and most of 
them work only a few hours at a time. 
They earn big wages, and can afford to 
take things easy, for the demand for la- 
bour as skilled as theirs is always greater 
than the supply. The writer recently sat 
for an hour, watching one of these nico- 
tian artists working on a difficult shape 
for one of the European courts. After 
his long, tapering fingers had finished the 
work of putting the wrapper on the cigar, 



he held it up before him, and viewed it 
with as much admiration as a painter 
would a picture after he had put the last 
touch of the brush to the canvas. The 
cigars which this man was making cost 
wholesale $1,500 a thousand, packed in 
inlaid cabinets. 

DAD tells me my pipe will take all the 
fire of youth out of me. Nonsense; it 
puts fire in, for the old maxim says, 
" Where there is smoke there is fire." 

U tT U 

To smoke a fine cigar, after a real din- 
ner, with a good friend, is about as near 
" heaven on earth " as the average man 
will ever find south of the stars. 

u rr u 

THERE are two things a man seldom for- 
gets his first love and his first smoke. 



LEARN to smoke slow. The other grace 
is to keep your smoke from other people's 
faces. Punch. 

tj u rr 

AT the battle of Minden, where the 
French were signally defeated, the grena- 
diers of France were exposed to the fire of 
a battery, which made terrible havoc in 
their ranks. M. de Saint-Pern, who com- 
manded them, tried to make them as pa- 
tient as he knew them to be brave. He 
therefore made his horse go up and down 
in front of them at the very slowest pace, 
as if he were coolly training it. His 
snuff-box he held in his hand, and from 
time to time he took a pinch with the 
greatest deliberation. Seeing the grena- 
diers startled and alarmed by murderous 
crash on crash, he said to them : " What 
is the matter, my children? Do the can- 
non-balls disturb you? Doubtless they 
kill; but that is all." 




The Ideas of a Woman Who Has Been 
Sizing Up the Other Sex Unawares 

ACCORDING to a man's manner of smok- 
ing you shall know him, is the opinion of a 
keen observer of habits and characteristics. 

Let him gnaw at the end of his cigar 
and roll it between his lips, and you may 
depend he is cynical, likely to look always 
on the wrong side of human nature, and 
not to trust any one completely. 

The man who smokes with his cigar 
tilted upward has the traits that make for 
success, is brisk, aggressive, and likely to 
triumph over interference with his wishes. 

The smoker who guards his cigar jeal- 
ously, and will smoke it almost up to the 
point of charring his moustache or burn- 
ing his nose, is a tactician, scheming, self- 



seeking, and with an intense desire for 

The cigar tilted toward the chin de- 
notes the day-dreamer, the person who may 
have ideas and ambitions but seldom the 
practicality to carry them out. 

The cigar held steadily and horizontally 
indicates a callous, calculating nature, 
strong traits, but poor principles, the sort 
of man who could be brutal with indiffer- 
ence, should occasion arise. 

Men who let their cigar go out, and 
then try to relight it, also those who, after 
smoking for awhile, let the cigar go out 
and then throw it away, are likely to be 
irrational and without the capacity to put 
their powers to use. 

Men of quick, vivacious temper hardly 
touch the tip of their cigar with their 
teeth, and after taking two or three whiffs 
will remove it and hold it in their hand 
in absent-minded fashion. They are men 



who change their opinions and ambitions 
often, and require the spur of novelty or 
necessity to make them exert their best 

The man who, after lighting his cigar, 
holds it not only between teeth and lips, 
but with two, three, or four fingers of his 
left hand, is fastidious and possessed of 
much personal pride. Such a smoker will 
often remove the cigar and examine the 
lighted end to see if it is burning evenly 
and steadily. Such actions indicate care- 
fulness, sagacity, and a character worthy 
of confidence and esteem. 

The smoker who sends forth smoke from 
both corners of the mouth in two divergent 
puffs is crotchety and hard to get along 
with, though he may have good mental 

The spendthrift, sometimes the adven- 
turer, is declared by the act of biting off 
the end of a cigar. Lack of judgment, 



dislike to pay debts, and not overniceness 
of habits are declared by this practice. 

The pipe smoker who grips his pipe so 
firmly between his teeth that marks are 
left on the mouthpiece is mettlesome, of 
quick, nervous temper, and likes to be 
tenacious of his opinions one way or an- 

The pipe held so that it hangs some- 
what toward the chin indicates the listless, 
ambitionless person, who might stand up 
to such responsibilities as come to him, 
but would never seek them or strive for 
high place. 

The man who fills his pipe hastily, hap- 
hazard fashion, and emits irregular puffs 
of smoke is of incautious, generous im- 
pulses, the sort of man who is a good 
comrade and has powers of entertaining, 
but whose friendship is not likely to be 
lasting nor to warrant implicit confidence. 

The man who fills his pipe slowly and 


methodically and smokes mechanically and 
regularly is likely to be reserved, prudent, 
and a good, dependable friend, while not 
of showy exterior. 

Many smokers, no matter how many 
cigar-cases they have, carry their cigars 
in the upper left-hand waistcoat pocket. 
This habit indicates a love of self-indul- 
gence and disinclination to make the slight- 
est exertion other than absolutely neces- 

These observations, it should be remem- 
bered, are those of a woman who has been 
observing men who smoke. 

New York Sun. 


GIVE your last cigar away occasionally. 
It will make you feel better. 

Don't light a cigar in the presence of 



a respected friend or acquaintance, unless 
you give him one. This does not apply 
to employees, fellow boarders, or any one 
with whom you come in daily contact. 

Never refuse a light to any smoker. If 
you haven't a match to give him, let him 
borrow some of your fire, even if it spoils 
your cigar. 

Remember that all smokers are equal 
when smoking. 

Do keep a fresh pipe if he is a pipe 
smoker for your friend. 

Do the " nice thing " once in awhile. 
If you have more than one cigar, and no- 
tice a man looking sadly out of the smok- 
ing-car window, proffer him one of your 
smokes, with the understanding that there 
have been times when you were short on 
smokes and long on loneliness yourself. 

Give your friend your best cigar. You'll 
have lots of fine future smokes coming to 
you if you do. 



Remember you can display more broth- 
erly feeling in the way you proffer a cigar 
than in a world of nice words or small 

Remember that the hospitable smoker 
is one of nature's choicest creations. 

Never play a joke on a smoker. Don't 
give the meanest of them a loaded cigar. 
It's a brutal, dangerous, and stupid thing 
to do. 

Don't be a cigar or cigarette " sponge." 
It's a low down habit. You can lose your 
self-respect and the respect of your friends 
more in this way than any other. 

Don't be a strutting, nose-tilting smoker. 
It's tough. 

Never smoke in the presence of ladies, 
unless you know it is not offensive. If 
you don't know, ask them. If they object, 
don't smoke. In spite of Kipling, any 
good woman is far finer than any cigar 
ever dreamed of. 



" Life is too short for poor food, poor 
company, poor clothes," and poor smokes. 

Remember that silence and a good cigar 
are two of the finest things on earth. Even 
a hermit can be an angel under these cir- 
cumstances, and a man of the world a man 
of the other world. 

Puff your smoke heavenward, and pitch 
your thoughts toward the clouds. 

COFFEE without tobacco is like meat 
without salt. Persian Proverb. 

rr n u 

MANY an after-dinner party, although 
above suspicion, has been " under a cloud." 
A cloud of contentment, a brand of har- 
mony, and an aroma of good-fellowship 
always good to look upon. 



THE Dean of Carlisle has been denounc- 
ing tobacco smoking as pestiferous. Well, 
we prefer a cloudy atmosphere to a close 
one. Fun. 

U U U 

WITH many men, cigars supply the in- 
tellectual vacuum which others ingeni- 
ously (?) fill up with sighs, shrugs, slan- 
der, shuffling, silly schemes, vagaries, 
vicious thoughts, whistling, weeping, wail- 
ing, beering, and bawling. 


THAT I won't smoke enny more cigars, 
only at somebody else's expense. Reso- 
lution by Josh Billings. Josh represented 
a very numerous and respectable body of 

u u u 

The Memory of the Past The first 




SHE is a common wench, this well- 
beloved mistress o' mine. There is no 
roystering blade, no gallant courtier, no 
ragged tramp, no rollicking sailor boy, 
who is not welcome to her close embrace, 
her sweet, perfumed kiss, and the languor- 
ous, delicious content that follows a brief 
hour's dalliance with her charms. And 
yet I love her! 

Even as she is not nice in her choice 
of those to whom she gives her favours, 
so she is by no means fastidious as to the 
time or place of her assignations. Revel 
she will, it is true, in the daintiest boudoir, 
leaving the perfume of her presence on 
silken hangings, soft couches, and even in 
the costly rugs her lovers trample. Yet 
she speeds as joyously to the meanest hovel 
or den, where lurks some burly ruffian, 



who eagerly turns to her for solace after a 
day of toil or a night of crime. 

She is as ready to grant a stolen, hasty 
kiss to the tired, wet sentry on his guard, 
who perils a heavy punishment for the 
fleeting favour, as to linger on the lips 
of some puissant prince or potentate, it 
may be, of the Church itself. 

Wanton she is in her reckless, bound- 
less lust of conquest, not delicate of selec- 
tion, as even a Messalina might be, but 
robustious and all-devouring, as one of 
Smollett's trolls. 

And yet I love her passing well. 

How dearly I remember the hour of my 
seduction. Hardly more than a mere lad, 
I had yet maintained for years a Puritan's 
contempt for the riotous libertines who 
surrendered themselves to the strenuous 
sway of the Circean sorceress. Filled I 
had been with orthodox lies about the swin- 
ish transformations she wrought in her vic- 



tims, polluting their bodies, enervating 
their wills, and depraving their souls till 
they should be fit for all the nameless law- 
lessness from which I held myself so scorn- 
fully aloof. 

For it is unhappily true that even as 
her lovers love her, so do those hate her 
who have not tasted of her delights. And, 
as if in retribution for their folly, there 
comes upon these poor creatures a sort of 
madness, so that they rage and imagine 
vain things. Whereby it happens that 
they tell, and tell, one to another, grotesque 
fictions which they come to believe. And 
they utter these grievous fictions even to 
credulous youth, believing them only be- 
cause they will believe anything against 
my Lady Nicotine. Whereas, God knows 
no worse need be said than I say, who 
speak the truth barely, and who do truly 
love her. 

But I was not then as one who knoweth 



good from evil, for I had not yet tasted 
the forbidden joy. For me there was Puri- 
tan asceticism on the one hand the witch- 
ery of the world on the other. And I was 
still young. Witchery stood for sin. 
Pleasure, that had pleasure for its own 
sole excuse, was voluptuousness a snare 
and a wile and a device of the Evil One 
with two capital letters ; not the benevolent 
indulgence of an all-loving Father. 

And the jade tempted me and I fell. 

It was of a Sunday afternoon, a long 
summer day. Sick to desperation with 
heimweh; with nothing to read in the 
camp ; scruple-bound too fast and too 
hard to join in the pursuit of the only 
game to be found at that hour of the day 
draw-poker. I watched with empty 
and longing soul my comrades' calm con- 
tent as they puffed their pipes, and dream- 
ily traced the smoke wreaths lazily and 
gracefully floating upward. 



Despite the wearisome longings of 
heimweh, despite the perils and discom- 
forts of the lonely camp, the spell of the 
lotus-eaters was upon me. The old song 
rang with the subtle charm of unheard 
music to my inner ear: 

" Death is the end of life. Ah! Why 
should life all labour be? " 

Vague desire, tempered with dread, and 
struggling with growing might against 
the old Puritan principle of self-denial 
for self-denial's sake, kindled the flame 
that brought my Lady Nicotine to me, 
warm with her lascivious pleasing. The 
bashful, virgin lips on which she had not 
yet left the ineffaceable trace of her touch, 
were half-reluctantly, half -willingly parted. 
A few tremulous, hesitant gasps of doubt- 
ing, fearsome yielding and I was hers. 

Not for me was any sickening revul- 
sion; I had no qualms of pain, scarcely 
a pang of regret. I was the predestined 



slave of the common mistress of the multi- 

Since then, how she has comforted me! 
I have never wavered in my devotion 
though, alas, I share her favours with un- 
numbered rivals. What measureless joy 
might be mine, I dare not imagine, could 
I but selfishly keep her all my own. Gar- 
gantua's most enormous thrill of gigantic 
ecstasy would seem a throb of pain beside 
the rapture of such magnificent, illimitable 
egoism. It is too great for even a dream. 
'Twould be an eternal ecstasy. 

Save for this wild fantasy of desire, 
however, born of a fancy as hopeless as 
it is iridescent, I can have no fault to find 
with my Lady Nicotine. She has never 
failed me, never refused me, never disap- 
pointed me. She has soothed me in trouble, 
eased me in pain, even calmed my racked 
nerves when my heart was wrung with sor- 
row. She is an indulgent mistress, jealous 



of none, tender, and always sympathetic, 
even faithful in the sense that she is true 
to all her lovers. 

Does she not deserve my praise? 



AT present there are four districts in 
Turkey in which any one who so desires 
may enter into the business of meerschaum 
mining simply by paying the Ottoman 
government the sum demanded for a li- 
cense, namely, five piasters. These dis- 
tricts, as described by the Revue Scienti- 
fique, are Sari-Sou, Sepetdji, Geikli, and 
Menlon. The five thousand miners already 
engaged in this industry are Kurds and 
Persians, and all of them work according 
to the most primitive methods. The work 
is carried on night and day by means of 
petroleum lamps, the blocks of meerschaum 



being brought to the surface still imbedded 
in their matrix. On the weekly sale day 
the workmen meet and sell their goods to 
the " luledjis," or pipe manufacturers of 
Eskichehir. The blocks are then taken to 
the town and washed, after which they are 
cut into suitable pieces while the matter 
is still very soft. Sorting and classing is 
then proceeded with, and the "iuledjis" 
in their turn sell their purchases to the 
larger dealers, who export the meerschaum, 
carefully enveloped in cotton wadding. 
Meerschaum is composed of about 70 per 
cent, of carbonate of magnesia, 0.25 of 
silex, and 0.05 of aluminum. 


ELIHU ROOT thinks that a cigar after 
breakfast is the smoke of the day, and 
there are many smokers who will agree with 
him. He is reported as saying : " My 



breakfast is a very simple meal, and con- 
sists of a cup of coffee or chocolate and a 
roll. When I have finished it, I light my 
cigar. I find that it assists me in my work. 
It does not aid me in the creation of ideas 
so much, nor in reading or actual writing; 
but when I want to prepare my plans for 
the day, when I want to arrange and put 
in shape* the work I have before me, I 
find that smoking is a valuable assistant. 
I never smoke a large cigar in the morn- 
ing, and usually do not prolong the smoke 
beyond the time it takes me to arrange my 
day's programme. Altogether I should 
say that I smoke five cigars a day. I have 
smoked steadily for the past thirty years, 
and during the first ten years I smoked a 
pipe. It has been my experience that 
smoking relieved me at any time when I 
felt overworked. Consequently, if I find 
at any time of day that my brain is get- 
ting tired, and that my ideas are getting 


muddled, I stop and light a cigar. I don't 
think that smoking has a sedative effect 
upon me, but it composes my thoughts and 
soothes me to some extent." 


WHEN the Bishop of Manchester lived 
in Melbourne, Victoria, his open-air study 
and smoking den was in his garden, under 
the shade of a giant blue-gum-tree. A 
lady visitor having once suggested that 
tobacco was of Satanic origin, Bishop 
Moorhouse replied : " Pardon me, madam. 
I smoke, and I am a better Christian for 
doing so. Do you read my letters in the 
papers ? " The lady answered that she 
did, with pleasure. " Do you ever see 
anything discourteous or unkind in them ? " 
" Certainly not ; I often remark how well 
you keep your temper." " Well, madam, 
the first drafts of these letters contained 



the most cutting things I could think of. 
Then I would go and sit on the butt of that 
old gum-tree, light my pipe and have a 
quiet smoke. After that I would return 
to the house and strike out every line that 
might give pain to others. So you see 
smoking makes me a better Christian." 

U U tJ 
The Smoker's Paradise Puffin Island. 

WHEN your favourite cigar does not 
taste good, do not put it away for ever. 
You may not be in condition. Give it 
another trial. If its light burns low re- 
peatedly, bury its ashes among the mem- 
ories of dead friendships, and try an- 
other brand. 




THE New Orleans Times-Democrat gives 
the following interesting interview on the 
above subject: "I don't like to upset a 
cherished tradition," said a doctor who is 
himself a devotee of the weed, " but the 
talk one hears of nicotine saturating the 
system of smokers is mostly rot. Nicotine 
is a deadly poison. One drop of it will 
make a good-sized mastiff turn up his toes, 
if injected subcutaneously, and it would 
take precious little of it to kill a man. 
The truth is that very little is absorbed, 
even by the most confirmed smokers. Now 
and then you read of men who die from 
excessive tobacco using, and are found on 
autopsy to be literally reeking with nico- 
tine. All rubbish. Nothing of the kind 
ever happened. 

" Again, it's a favourite experiment to 
blow smoke through a handkerchief, and 



the stain that is produced is popularly 
supposed to be made by nicotine. It is 
really oil of tobacco, which is a horse of 
quite a different colour. No, the chief 
harm done by smoking is the stimulus 
which it gives to the heart. This is par- 
ticularly true where ' inhaling ' is prac- 
tised. Each time the smoke is inhaled it 
acts as a slight spur to the heart, and, 
needless to say, there is sure to be a reac- 
tion. If the smoker is in good general 
health, he will probably never feel it; bu 
if he isn't, there will be periods of pr 
found depression, and, not knowing the 
cause, he is apt to try to brace up on a 
drink, which makes matters just that much 
worse. If he has organic heart trouble 
valvular weakness, I mean it's quite 
possible that he will tumble over some day 
and put his angel plumage on. Those are 
the cold facts about smoking none oth- 
ers are genuine." 


To a young man who stood smoking a 
cigar the other day there approached the 
elderly and impertinent reformer of im- 
memorial legend. 

" How many cigars do you smoke a 
day ? " asked the meddler. 

" Three," answered the youth, as pa- 
tiently as he could. 

" How much do you pay for them? " 

" Ten cents," confessed the young man. 

" Don't you know, sir," continued the 
sage, " that if you would save that money, 
by the time you are as old as I am you 
could own that big building over the 

" Do you own it? " inquired the smoker. 

" No." 

" Well, I do," said the young man. 

U tJ U 

IT'S an ill weed that nobody can smoke. 



HE had asked for a certain brand of 
cigars and was reaching in his pocket for 
a coin, when something near the window 
attracted his attention and caused him to 
look around. When he faced the cigar 
counter again, he saw the cigar girl do an 
awful thing. She had his cigar on her 
tongue and was pasting back the loose 
wrapper. When she saw him, she blushed 
and tried to stammer an apology. 

" I prefer my cigars unlicked, if you 
please," said the young man, in icy tones. 

She looked up and answered humbly 
and sweetly : " But I don't lick cigars for 
every one. Have you thought of it in 
that way?" 

Evidently he hadn't, for he insisted on 
taking the repaired cigar, and went away 
with a smile of satisfaction. Kansas 
City Star. 




" MY father," said General Frederick 
D. Grant, " tried to smoke while at West 
Point, but only because it was against the 
regulations ; and then he didn't succeed 
very well at it. He really got the habit 
from smoking light cigars and cigarettes 
during the Mexican war, but it wasn't a 
fixed habit. When he left the army and 
lived in the country, he smoked a pipe 
not incessantly. I don't think that he was 
very fond of tobacco then, and really 
there was always a popular misconception 
of the amount of his smoking. 

" But he went on as a light smoker, a 
casual smoker, until the day of the fall of 
Fort Donelson. Then, the gunboats hav- 
ing been worsted somewhat and Admiral 
Foote having been wounded, he sent 
ashore for my father to come and see him. 
Father went aboard, and the admiral, as 



is customary, had his cigars passed. My 
father took one and was smoking it when 
he went ashore. There he was met by a 
staff officer, who told him that there was 
a sortie and the right wing had been 
struck and smashed in. Then my father 
started for the scenes of operations. He 
let his cigar go out, naturally, but held it 
between his fingers. 

" He rode hither and yonder, giving or- 
ders and directions, still with the cigar 
stump in his hand. The result of his ex- 
ertions was that Donelson fell after he 
sent his message of ' unconditional sur- 
render ' and ' I propose to move imme- 
diately upon your works.' The message 
was sent all over the country that Grant 
was smoking throughout the battle, when 
he only carried this stump from Foote's 
flag-ship. But the cigars began to come in 
from all over the Union. He had eleven 
thousand cigars on hand in a very short 



time. He gave away all he could, but he 
was so surrounded with cigars that he got 
to smoking them regularly. But he never 
smoked as much as he seemed to smoke. 
He would light a cigar after breakfast 
and let it go out, then light it again, and 
then let it go out and light it ; so that the 
one cigar would last until lunch-time." 
McClure's Magazine. 


ME. CAEMICHAEL, British Vice-Consul 
at Leghorn, devotes an interesting section 
of the report on his district for the past 
year to an account of the briar-root in- 
dustry. The wood, he says, from which 
briar pipes are made is not the root of the 
briar rose, but the root of the large heath 
known in botany as the Erica arborea. 



Our " briar " is but a corruption of the 
French bruyere broom, or heath. The 
briar-root industry has had a somewhat 
curious history. First begun in the Pyr- 
enees some fifty years ago, it travelled 
along the French Riviera and the Ligu- 
rian coast, taking Corsica by the way, to 
the Tuscan Maremma, and it has now 
reached Calabria in the south, which is at 
present its most flourishing centre. Nat- 
urally, when a district has been exhausted 
of all its roots, the industry must come 
to an end there, and the opinion has been 
expressed that the Italian branch of it can- 
not last much more than another ten years. 

Leghorn has always been the centre of 
the export of Tuscan briar-root since the 
Maremma industry came into existence, 
but, as the South Italian briar is of su- 
perior quality, a large quantity of the 
Calabrian root is also imported into Leg- 
horn for selection and subsequent export. 



The total export from Leghorn is esti- 
mated at 50,000 cwt. per year, valued at 
about 28,000. Fully half the export is 
Calabrian root. All the root that arrives 
in Leghorn has already been cut on the 
spot into the shape in which it is exported 
to the pipe-manufacturing centres, which 
are principally, as regards Italian briar, 
St. Cloud, in France, Nuremberg, in Ba- 
varia, and various towns in Rhenish Prus- 
sia and Thuringia. The roots, which are 
sometimes of a circumference of two feet 
or more, are cut into blocks and then 

If there is any defect in the root which 
has not been discovered before the boiling 
process, the blocks will split sooner or 
later. Briar-root blocks are cut into about 
twenty-five different sizes and three prin- 
cipal shapes. The shapes are " Marseil- 
laise," "releve," and "Belgian." The 
first two are the more usual shapes; from 



the first are cut the ordinary briar pipes, 
which have bowl and stem at right angles ; 
" releve " blocks are cut into a shape for 
hanging pipes, and " Belgian " blocks, for 
which there is but small demand, are 
shaped to fashion into pipes which have 
bowl and stem at an obtuse angle. The 
minimum size of " Marseillaise " blocks is 
about three inches long, two inches thick, 
and one and a half inches broad. 

The Calabrian blocks, selected at Leg- 
horn and exported thence, seem to be in 
favour with the trade, as they remain so 
long on the dealer's hands that they would 
be almost certain to split before export if 
they were defective. A Leghorn dealer 
who does his own cutting in Calabria has 
first to send the roots by wagon to his 
workshops, where they are boiled and cut, 
thence again by wagon to the seacoast, 
where they are placed in lighters for ship- 
ment to Leghorn. At Leghorn they are 



once more transferred to lighters and 
placed in carts for transport to the ware- 
houses, where they are unpacked for selec- 
tion. They are then repacked in bales 
and carted to the goods station for convey- 
ance abroad. Hence a considerable amount 
of time must elapse before they leave the 
hands of a merchant who does his own cut- 
ting in Calabria. A considerable number 
of blocks are sent to the United States, but, 
apparently, none whatever to the United 


" IT is my belief," said an old resident 
of New York, " that the Chinese were the 
first to smoke cigarettes in this part of 
the country. I remember the first China- 
men who came to New York, some fifty 
odd years ago. They were the curiosities 
of the day, and with other small boys I 



followed them about the streets in open- 
mouthed wonder. They wore the long 
flowing robes which have characterized 
the garments of the race for three thou- 
sand years, and the shining silk, queer 
felt shoes, and long, dangling queues were 
marvellous to the American beholders. 
They carried fans in their hands, and 
whenever the sun shone too strongly they 
slapped them open, as they do on the 
comic-opera stage, and shielded their 
faces, but never used them to create cooler 
air while in the street. But it was the 
cigarette innovation that struck us with 
most awe. None of the Chinamen was 
engaged in the laundry business as now, 
and the sale of tobacco the strong Chi- 
nese variety, which resembles our Loui- 
siana Perique and cigarettes seemed to 
form their sole occupation. They kept 
little stands on the street corners, and 



there they would stand and roll cigarettes 
all day long, and smoke and puff them 
and blow the smoke through their nos- 
trils, and make rings and go through all 
the tricks of the fancy smoker until they 
had gotten the more daring to purchase 
their wares. After that it became a fad, 
and the dandy of the day was the one 
who could sport his eye-glass, rattan cane, 
pointed shoes, and Chinese cigarette to ef- 
fect the greatest show. I won't say that 
it did not make a great many of the gen- 
tlemen of fashion very sick. They could 
smoke cigars, but the cigarette habit was 
a novelty then, and the veteran of to-day 
who consumes half a dozen packages in 
twenty-four hours would laugh at the 
amount of coughing and expectorating 
and uneasiness caused by the consump- 
tion of one of the slender articles brought 
over by our heathen friends." 



EVERY evening the 5.10 o'clock train to 
Chestnut Hill from the Reading terminal 
carries a young lawyer to his suburban 
home. He always takes a seat in the 
smoking-car, and, pulling a cigar from 
his waistcoat pocket, carefully cuts off 
the end and places it in his mouth. Then 
he sits and reads his paper. Sometimes 
the man sharing the seat with him will 
offer a match or a light from his own 
cigar, but it is invariably declined. 
" When are you going to light that ci- 
gar? " asked one of his fellow suburbanites 
the other evening. " I don't know ; pos- 
sibly never," was the reply. " You see. 
I have heart trouble, and the doctor for- 
bids me to smoke. It's been over five years 
now since I've had a lighted cigar in my 
mouth. But I love the odour of a cigar, 
and that's why I always ride in the smok- 



ing-car and indulge in a dry smoke myself. 
I always like to have a cigar in my mouth, 
and I use up a good many of them that 
way. I used to smoke from twenty to 
twenty-five cigars a day." Philadelphia 


THE war in South Africa has taught 
many things of greater and of less im- 
portance. Perhaps nothing that it has 
demonstrated has been more marked than 
the important part which tobacco plays 
in the soldier's existence. Whether this 
is to be reckoned as a great fact or a small 
one, there can be no doubt about the truth 
of it. Yet the Duke of Wellington's ar- 
mies had no tobacco worth speaking of. 
If they did not forbid its use, at any rate 
the Iron Duke's officers were directed to 
advise their men strongly against it. 



What a curious contrast with the cam- 
paigning in South Africa, where marches 
and privations as long and as stern as any 
suffered by our great-grandfathers were 
borne by the volunteers and soldiers of 
to-day, with a grumble only when their 
" smokes " failed them. 

We have it from many who took part 
in the forced marches leading to Paarde- 
berg, to Bloemfontein, to Pretoria, and 
beyond, that when rations were but two 
or three biscuits a day, the only real phys- 
ical content of each twenty-four hours 
came with the pipe smoked by the smoul- 
dering embers of a camp-fire. This pipe 
eased the way to sleep that might other- 
wise have lingered, delayed by the sheer 
bodily fatigue and mental restlessness 
caused by prolonged and monotonous ex- 
ertion. It is difficult, then, to believe that 
tobacco is anything but a real help to 
men who are suffering long labours and 



receiving little food, and probably the 
way in which it helps is by quieting cere- 
bration for no one doubts its sedative 
qualities and thus allowing more easily 
sleep, which is so all-important when semi- 
starvation has to be endured. 

The cases of acute mental derangement 
in the course of campaigns such as the 
present are many. There have indeed been 
many in South Africa. It would be most 
profitable and interesting could medical 
officers have taken special note of the ca- 
pacity for sleep previously evidenced by 
those who broke down and also of their 
indulgence or non-indulgence in tobacco. 
We are inclined to believe that, used with 
due moderation, tobacco is of value second 
only to food itself when long privations 
and exertions are to be endured. 

Two features are to be noted with re- 
gard to the smoking practised in active 
service. It is almost entirely in the open 



air and it is largely on an empty stomach. 
The former is always an advantage; the 
latter we generally reckon a most unfa- 
vourable condition. Shall we see in the 
near future patients with tobacco ambly- 
opia or smoker's heart, acquired while the 
trusting friend of tobacco thought that 
he was enjoying unharmed the well-earned 
solace of a hard day's march? We believe 
not, and that the open air will have saved 
what might have been the untoward re- 
sults of smoking when unfed. London 

HE is a poor moke who can't smoke. 

THE older the pipe the sweeter the per- 
fume. Like old friends who have been 
tried by fire and never " smoked out " 
stronger, more fragrant, more mellow. 



" NOBODY comes whose talk is half as 
good to me as silence. I fly out of the way 
of everybody, and would much rather 
smoke a pipe of wholesome tobacco than 
talk to any one in London just now. Nay, 
their talk is often rather an offence to 
me, and I murmur to myself, why open 
one's lips for such a purpose." Poor Car- 
lyle! tobacco was about the only thing in 
which he took comfort. 



WHEN we see womankind taking to- 
bacco in the privacy of its own chamber, 
with its feet on the fender, and " none to 
supervise ; " more particularly when we 
see it solacing itself with a pipe, then, but 
not till then, shall we be forced to admit 



" the sex " to the privilege of full equality 
with us a state of things which mascu- 
line prejudice still considers must be the 
highest circumstance of earthly bliss. 

It is but a poor, shallow devotion to to- 
bacco that is content with anything but a 
pipe. The cigarette is well enough in its 
way ; it may suffice " between the acts," 
or during similar brief escapes from a 
smokeless world, or for offering to our 
friends and neighbours as the best modern 
substitute for the elaborate civility of the 
snuff-box, but it rises not to the dignity 
of serious smoking. The cigar, too, with 
all its charms, leaves something to be de- 
sired. It is too ostentatious, too obviously 
a " luxury " to be really delightful. It 
satisfies not; for somehow, far away, is 
the Ideal cigar, not to be purchased by or- 
dinary mortals, and yet, according to the 
connoisseur, the only cigar worth smok- 
ing. It has, too, an overwhelming sug- 



gestion of respectability, of sparing no ex- 
pense and always travelling first-class, of 
faring sumptuously every day, of wearing 
a very good hat all the week through, 
and a still better one on Sunday. It 
should be reserved for special occasions; 
for ordinary, every-day consumption there 
is nothing that can approach the familiar 

There are pipes and pipes. Archaic 

persons are still to be found who declare 
for the churchwarden. There is, it is true, 
something fascinating in its 

" Lip of wax and eye of fire, 
And its snowy taper waist 
With my fingers gently braced ! " 

something also marvellously impressive in 
its proper manipulation by one who is 
a master of the art, but this is within 
the reach of few. It needs its proper sur- 



roundings a blazing fire, a sanded floor, 
a group of comfortable and, if possible, 
capacious gentleman with a strong tend- 
ency to silence and punch; none of which 
are prominent characteristics of modern 
society. The present-day smoker of the 
churchwarden is something of a poseur, 
as a rule; he is very young; eccentricities 
in pipes are the privilege of the young, 
being designed to impress those who are 
still younger. And then, when it has been 
successfully coloured, the labour of months 
is apt to be destroyed by the implacable 
housemaid. The old-fashioned smoker was 
less susceptible to the sorrow of such a 
calamity as this ; he was content to call, 
like Sir Roger de Coverley, for a " clean 
pipe," and apparently cared not for the 
vanities of colouring. His pipe was but 
the fortuitous companion of an evening, 
wedded to him by no enduring ties, " called 
for " at his coffee-house as though it was 


merely a toothpick, to be used but once and 
then cast away. But now we desire a more 
permanent alliance, and so the day of the 
churchwarden is past, and even its humbler 
relation, the short clay, having the family 
failing of brittleness, is disappearing. 

There are devotees of the meerschaum; 
but it is not every one who will undertake 
such a responsibility. Its humours and its 
delicacy become oppressive; it is not to 
be touched with the hand or smoked out- 
of-doors, nor too near the fire; nor to be 
knocked out, or otherwise roughly treated ; 
nor smoked too fast or too slow. And 
then, with all our care, we find some happy- 
go-lucky individual, apparently the espe- 
cial favourite of the Goddess of the Weed, 
who does all these forbidden things, and 
still gets his pipe to a state of perfection 
which the more painstaking person attains 
but in his dreams. There is something 
distinctly irrational in a meerschaum pipe; 



we may wax it, plug it, humour it in every 
possible way, and yet it will not go right ; 
and then, when we set at defiance all the 
canons that the collected wisdom of meer- 
schaum smokers has formed, it will assume 
such colour and brilliancy as to be the 
marvel of all beholders. One is tempted 
to doubt whether the law of casualty ap- 
plies to meerschaum. They have their 
charms ; they may gratify the aesthetic 
sense with eagles' claws and negroes' heads 
and skulls and other delightful and fan- 
tastic figures; and when brought to per- 
fection may inspire legitimate pride; but 
they demand too much of sacrifice and 
tender treatment. Doubtless they are good 
masters, but they are bad servants; it is 
not every one who will submit to their 

In the modest briar there is less poten- 
tiality of splendour ; but still it has graces 
enough to win for itself the adherence of 



the great bulk of those who profess the 
cult of the pipe. There are some, indeed, 
who have no eyes for its idiosyncrasies, 
and, being severely utilitarian, think all 
pipes alike. But the connoisseur in briars 
is a nice and subtle critic. The selection 
of a new pipe he considers a serious mat- 
ter. He will tolerate nothing but his fa- 
vourite grain ; he can foresee the possibil- 
ities of colour and potash; is not deceived 
by meretricious pluggings and varnishing; 
and his pipes gleam and glitter in the 
firelight like newly shelled horse-chestnuts. 
It is a thankless thing to present him with 
a pipe ; indeed, the presentation of smok- 
ing implements generally is a perilous 
practice for the unwary, and one which 
only feminine ignorance will, as a rule, 
attempt. The pipe of that class described 
as " suitable for presents " is a frightful 
trap for the well-intentioned; in silver 
fittings and plush-lined cases it is indeed 



resplendent, but it will move the initiate 
in the cult almost to tears. It is disfigured 
by all sorts of horrible improvements ; has, 
as a rule, patent sanitary arrangements 
of the most complex and unnecessary na- 
ture; things which the seasoned smoker 
cannot tolerate. The choice of a pipe is 
a thing to be left to the expert; and for 
him to delegate the office is the highest 
mark of confidence he can bestow. Lon- 
don Globe. 

SENTIMENTALISTS have frequently be- 
wailed the passing of the noble redman. 
They say that he is disappearing with the 
other denizens of the once free and track- 
less plains. Civilization is wiping them 
all out. The buffalo has vanished before 
the furbelow, and where the wild antelope 
once roamed, the tame cantaloupe now 
thrives. In a few years hence there will 


be no more aborigines except on football 
teams and in Wild West shows. It is very 

But, strange to say, nobody has seemed 
to notice that the wooden Indian is also 
becoming extinct. Time was when wooden 
Indians were as plentiful as pledges be- 
fore a primary. In those halcyon days 
a tobacco store without a painted warrior 
extending a bundle of cigars in one hand 
and brandishing a hatchet in the other was 
as incomplete as " Hamlet " minus the 
Melancholy Dane. At present New Or- 
leans might be scoured from end to end 
without discovering enough wooden Indi- 
ans to make the head set at a ghost dance. 
As a matter of fact there is only one gen- 
uine, old-time wooden Indian left in the 
entire city. He is the last of the Mohi- 
cans. There are a few others, but they are 
fake Indians made of terra cotta. They 
are not the real stuff. 



This singular discovery was made in a 
singular manner. Ever since Tammany 
Hall, in New York city, acquired national 
prominence, Indian names and titles have 
been popular among local Democratic or- 
ganizations. New Orleans, for example, 
has its Choctaw Club, and elsewhere such 
tribal appellations as Wyandotte, Chero- 
kee, Arapahoe, Navahoe, and even Black- 
foot have distinguished the societies of 
the faithful. Among the many Southern 
clubs which have followed this picturesque 
and pleasant custom is that of Donaldson- 
ville, La. It calls itself " The Mohawk." 

When the name was determined upon, 
not long ago, the officers of the organiza- 
tion were seized with a happy inspiration, 
namely, to secure a large and robust 
wooden Indian and station him as a sen- 
try in the vestibule. Such an effigy, as 
they very sensibly argued, would not only 
form a neat and appropriate emblem of the 



order of Donaldsonville Mohawks, but 
would lend dignity and impressiveness to 
the outer portals and scare away any boozy 
wanderer who might seek to penetrate the 
inner secrets. It would be easy, they felt 
assured, to remove the bunch of cigars 
from the chieftain's right hand and sub- 
stitute a ballot-box or a copy of the club's 

Nobody dreamed that there would be 
the slightest difficulty in securing a suit- 
able Indian in a city the size of New Or- 
leans, and a commission to that effect was 
promptly forwarded to a trusted friend 
who stands high in the counsels of the local 

" Purchase for us immediately," it ran 
in substance, " one full-grown wooden In- 
dian of good moral character, and send per 
earliest freight, accompanied by draft and 
bill of lading. P. S. Do not send us 
any cast-iron or crockery Indians. Cut 



a splinter off of him before closing trade 
and see that he is sure enough wood." 

The gentleman who undertook this in- 
teresting and delicate mission had a vague 
idea that he could encounter a wooden 
Indian on almost any corner in the busi- 
ness district. What, therefore, was his 
amazement to learn that wooden Indians 
had long since disappeared from the haunts 
of commerce. 

" You might as well look for a plesiosau- 
rus in Lake Pontchartrain," said a scien- 
tific friend. " The wooden Indian has be- 
come entirely extinct." 

However, after a long and patient 
search, one lone survivor was discovered. 
He was found guarding the entrance of 
a tobacco store on Camp Street, and it 
needed no second glance to determine that 
he was a relic from the remote and legend- 
ary past. In spite of fresh war paint and 
varnish, he carried abundant evidences of 



antiquity. His Roman nose was fractured 
from some forgotten fall, his legs were 
scarred by the pocket-knives of vandals 
innumerable, his left arm was evidently a 
restoration, and from scalp-lock to moc- 
casin his weather-beaten frame bore heavy 
traces of the touch of time. 

His origin is enveloped in mystery, but 
according to tradition he has stood at his 
present post for more than forty years. 
Historical personages are said to have re- 
clined against his breast when overcome 
by fatigue on their way home from lodge ; 
there are even stories but let that pass. 
Suffice it to say he is a landmark a red- 
man with a record. 

Nor has he figured before the public 
solely in the character of a curbstone sen- 
try. On more than one occasion he has 
been borrowed to lend realism to a sidewalk 
setting on the stage. His last appearance 
in that capacity was when he enacted the 



role of a cigar sign in the comedy of 
" McFadden's Flats " at the Tulane Thea- 
tre. It was thought by many that he was 
the best actor in the cast. 

But to resume the thread of the story: 
Overjoyed at the discovery of so unmis- 
takable an antique, the representative of 
the Donaldsonville Mohawks lost no time 
in interviewing the present proprietors. 
His proposition was received coldly, al- 
most with indignation. Part with the only 
adult wooden Indian in New Orleans ! Rob 
the city of a statue older and uglier than 
Henry Clay! Oddsblood! Perish the 
thought ! The offer was turned down, also 

But the Donaldsonville Mohawks were 
not so easily thwarted. When advised of 
the situation, their yearning for a wooden 
Indian was, if anything, redoubled. The 
braves and sachems laid their heads to- 



gether and wrote their agent to make 
another and more tempting bid. This has 
been done, and whether the second prop- 
osition will fare better than the first re- 
mains to be seen. The figure is alluring, 
but, if accepted, New Orleans will be with- 
out a wooden Indian to its name. That 
is to say, without a full-grown wooden 
Indian. There are others, as already 
stated, but they are either pigmies in stat- 
ure or counterfeits in material. Moreover, 
the art of making wooden Indians is lost. 
So far as can be learned, there is nobody 
at present in the business. It has passed 
into desuetude with the carving of figure- 
heads for ships. 

The only other old-time wooden effigy 
of heroic size now in New Orleans is the 
ancient admiral who has squinted through 
a sextant at upper Canal Street ever since 
the year of grace 1856. He was made in 



London, and belongs to the tribe beloved 
of Captain Cuttle. New Orleans Demti- 



SECT. DEC I* 1978 


GT Bain, John 

3020 Tobacco leaves