box to give him would be perhaps a box on the ear.

If he were obliged to buy his own snuff, it would give him no sensation.
The strongest would not make him sneeze, or wring from the sensibility of
his eyes the smallest tribute to its pungency. He would turn up his nose
at it, or, at the best, use it as sand-dust to receipt his washerwoman's
bills with.

These feelings aside, the man who carries no snuff-box is a good member of
society; that is to say, quite as good a one as the man who does carry a
snuff-box. He is in general a good friend (as long as he has the _entrée_
of your box), a good parent, a good tenant, a good customer, a good voter,
a good eater, a good talker, and especially a good judge of snuff. He
knows by one touch, by one sniff, by one _coup d'oeil_, the good from the
bad, the old from the new, the fragrant from the filthy, the colour which
is natural from the colour which is coloured. If any one should want to
lay in a stock of snuff, let him take the man who carries no snuff with
him: his _ipse dixit_ may be relied upon with every certainty. He will
choose it as if he were buying it for himself, and in return will never
forget to look upon it as a property he is entitled to fully as much as
you who have paid for it; for, in fact, would you be in possession of the
snuff if he had not chosen it for you?

As for his complaint, it is like hydrophilia; no remedy has as yet been
invented for it; and we can with comfortable consciences predict that, as
long as snuff is taken, and men continue to carry it about with them in
snuff-boxes, they are sure to be subject to the importunities of the man
who carries no snuff box.

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