"I am an imaginative person, and 'society' has treated me shamefully of late—its tangible delights are absent from me. Allow me, then, to console myself by the 'creations of smoke,' as Lord Lytton puts it. I am scouted by society because I am in love. I am told I look:
"As hyenas in love are supposed to look, or
A something between Abelard and old Blücher."
And, moreover, I am an ugly man, but there was only a fortnight's difference in gaining a woman's love between John Wilkes and the handsomest man in England, courage, Jehu! I like idleness, because it shows that one can afford it; so I am puffing idly—ah! the balmy fragrance of this mild Havana! 'Oh! the effect of that first note from the woman one loves!' says one; 'Oh! the kiss on the dimpled cheek, the sound of the silver voice!' says another; but what can compare to the dreamy exquisite luxury of a good cigar? But, heavens, what am I saying? I am in love, and Julia reads the "Figaro!" The paleness of Flaxman's illustrations spreads over me—please, reader, look upon the sentiment as sarcastic. I am in a fog of smoke, and am quaffing claret from the silvered pewter. There's plenty of it; and no soul can say:
"That in drinking from that beaker
I am sipping like a fly.'
How changed from the long, long days ago, when I was a connoisseur in Parparillo cigars, brown-paper cigarettes, and cane cheroots! Then I fondly adored Sir Walter Raleigh as my earthly idol, for giving me tobacco—when I had the halfpence to buy it—and delighted in the story, told by queer Oldys, of Sir Walter's servant extinguishing the Virginny smoke that issued from his master's lips, by drenching him with ale. Alas! my idol is shattered by Hawkins. The Spaniards say, 'The lie that lasts for half an hour is worth telling.' History has lied for longer, by a considerable period. Fond even as I was of my brown-papered cigarettes when baccy failed, I must confess I never reached the stage attained by Sir Christopher Haydon's chaplain, William Breedon, parson of Thornton, in Bucks, who was so given to
"October store and best Virginia,"
that when he had no tobacco (and too much drink) he used to cut the bell-ropes and smoke them!
"The Polyglot—three parts—my text;
Howbeit—likewise—now to my next."
"On Smoke.—It is a vulgar, ludicrous, and foolish custom to bite off the nose of a cigar. Don't be a Vandal—you are not a Sandwich Islander, about to chew your Kava. A cigar should be handled daintily; it is a fragile, graceful creature—don't mar its beauty. Tear off the twist, and the pleasure of smoking is at an end! The outer leaf becomes untwirled. Ere it is half finished, you have a ragged end between your lips—nasty, foul, and unsightly—through which the smoke comes in huge clouds to your mouth, instead of slender streams on the palate. 'How, then,' say you; 'prick it, or cut it, or what? Tear it not, cut it not; nor yet puncture it. Don't be frightened of the cigar—thrusting a half-inch alone into the mouth; but, when you begin, take a good half of it in the mouth; pull at it lustily for a few seconds, to open its pores; then draw it out, allowing but an inch to be held within the lips—believe me, you will enjoy it a hundred-fold more; and there are but few cigars that will not allow of their virtue being drawn though their leaves. Never bite the end off, and never use your cigar cruelly, by squeezing it, biting it, or re-lighting it. Cigar-holders, tubes, quills, and such like inventions, we despise. If you cannot bear the cigar in your mouth—aye, and enjoy it—you have no business with it: go back to your brown paper and cane!
"What is the best beverage to imbibe whilst inhaling the precious weed? Momentous question! Coffee, or claret, says Jehu. I do not believe in bitter, as an accompanying liquid to a cigar. The Corporation of Christ-church, years ago, smoked cigars, and drank with them that then famous concoction known as 'Ringwood Beer.' What was the result? The first toast at every civic banquet held for years in that borough was gravely given out, and bumpered with due solemnity, as follows:—