But wherever steam and tide may carry him, Tommy cherishes in his heart
his own private badge of honour: his friend the engineer has put him in
a book! And there, in one of the noblest and most honest novels of our
day, you will find him--a casual of the sea!




THE LAST PIPE

The last smoker I recollect among those of the old school was a
clergyman. He had seen the best society, and was a man of the most
polished behaviour. This did not hinder him from taking his pipe
every evening before he went to bed. He sat in his armchair, his
back gently bending, his knees a little apart, his eyes placidly
inclined toward the fire. The end of his recreation was announced by
the tapping of the bowl of his pipe upon the hob, for the purpose of
emptying it of its ashes. Ashes to ashes; head to bed.

--LEIGH HUNT.


The sensible man smokes (say) sixteen pipefuls a day, and all differ in
value and satisfaction. In smoking there is, thank heaven, no law of
diminishing returns. I may puff all day long until I nigresce with the
fumes and soot, but the joy loses no savour by repetition. It is true
that there is a peculiar blithe rich taste in the first morning puffs,
inhaled after breakfast. (Let me posit here the ideal conditions for a
morning pipe as I know them.) After your bath, breakfast must be spread