CHAPTER V
THE USE AND ABUSE OF TOBACCO

Though differences of temperament may not allow everyone the mild indulgence of the pipe, all are interested in learning that in the leaves of the Indian’s weed dwells a friendly genius ready to protect us from the virulent attacks of the myriad host of invisible life which floats around us, in some cases infecting the air we breathe, the food we eat, and the water we drink. This assurance comes to us from the bacteriologist, whose experiments conducted under the microscope, demonstrate that contact with the smoke of tobacco destroys the vitality of microbes. Especially comforting is it to know this at the season of the year when the air lies heavily upon the land.

Here, then, we come upon ground interesting alike to the smoker and the non-smoker, for both will agree that it is infinitely better to let the weed spread its wings on the blast and breathe in the face of the foe than to go unprotected through unwholesome air laden, it may be, with noxious germs.

It is also gratifying to learn that our forefathers, in whose wisdom all right-minded people, of course, fondly believe, were not wholly wrong in their estimate of the manifold virtues of their beloved herb. With the largeness of faith which belongs equally to the infancy of research and the springtime of life, they believed with the implicit faith of childhood in its all-healing powers. And the learned in the secrets of Nature proclaimed to suffering humanity that out of the heart of the New World had come a remedy for all the ills that flesh is heir to. But if facts grew too strong for faith to grapple with, and overthrew their Dagon, this one consolation remains to testify to their just appreciation of the weed, namely, that it can, and does, destroy contagious germs.

Early in the seventeenth century, physicians at home and abroad had observed a connection between the use of tobacco and freedom from the dread pestilence which at times swept over the land. Doctors Gardiner and Lewis, Thorius and Diemerbroeck, Hoffman and Willis have left records of their experience of cases where tobacco proved to be efficacious, administered either in fume or liquor, lotions or unguents. No doubt their treatment was somewhat crude, and their concoctions (marvels of simplicity) were not always successful, and, needless to say, that modern therapeutics takes no account of their remedies. But their discovery that tobacco was destructive of insect life on animals as well as on vegetables, that it cleansed old wounds and sores and suffered them to heal ‘comfortably,’ surely redeems them from a multitude of sins committed in the name of tobacco.

Glancing back to the early records of its advent in Europe we come upon Liebault in 1570 discoursing pleasantly on the marvellous virtues of the herb, and learn of him that it owes its introduction into the fashionable world to Jean Nicot. He says, ‘Although it be not long since it hath been known in France, notwithstanding, deserveth palm and price, and among all other medicinable herbs it deserveth to stand in the front rank, by reason of its singular virtues, and, as it were, almost to be held in admiration, as hereafter you shall understand.… The herb is called Nicotiane, of the name of him that gave the first intelligence thereof into this realm—as many other plants have taken their name from certain Greeks and Romans, who, having been in strange countries for service of their commonweals, have brought into their countries many plants which were before unknown. Some have called it the Queen’s herb, because it was first sent to her, as hereafter shall be declared by the gentleman that was the first inventor of it, and since has by her been given to divers people for to sow, whereby it might be planted in the land. Others have named it the Grand Prior’s herb, for that he caused it to multiply in France, more than any other, and for the great reverence that he bears to his herb, because of the divine effects therein contained. Notwithstanding, it is better to name it Nicotiane, the name of him that sent it into France, first, to the end that he may have the honour thereof, according to his desert, for that he hath enriched our country with so singular an herb.’

Jean Nicot, Lord of Villemain, and Master of the Requests of the French King’s household, was sent as ambassador to the Portuguese Court in 1559, remaining there until 1561. On the occasion of his visiting the state prisons of Lisbon, the keeper, being a gentleman, as Liebault states, presented him with specimens of a strange herb, which had just arrived in Port from Florida, shipped by a Flemish merchant. Nicot’s curiosity was aroused and he took an early opportunity of purchasing from the merchant a quantity of the prepared leaves, and some seeds of the plant. Learning from him what use the Indians made of the weed, and their manner of smoking it, he began to experiment, first upon himself (as all good practitioners should do) and liking it, he caused some of the seeds to be sown in his garden, where to his great joy they grew and multiplied exceedingly. There can hardly be a doubt that Nicot had been told by the merchant that the Indians expressed a juice from the leaves with which they cured the wounds received in battle, and that he had made this known to his domestics. For Liebault says that the Lord Ambassador was one day advertised of a young man of kin to his page who had made assay of the herb, bruised and in liquor, upon an ulcer he had upon his cheek near unto the nose, coming of a Noli me tangere, which began to take root already at the gristle of the nose, wherewith he found himself marvellously eased. Whereupon Nicot caused the said young man to be brought before him, and after a minute inspection he ordered the sufferer to continue the treatment eight or ten days longer. Nicot now hurried off to the King of Portugal’s physician and informed him of the case, and together they watched the progress of the cure. By the end of ten days the physician was enabled to certify that the Noli me tangere was ‘utterly extinguished’ and the face ‘comfortably healed.’ Shortly afterwards Nicot’s cook almost cut off his thumb with a great chopping knife, and he too, flew to the new remedy for relief, and after five or six dressings was likewise comfortably healed. A captain presented his son to the Lord Ambassador and besought him to exert his healing art upon the boy, who was grievously afflicted with the King’s evil. And unto him was assay made of the liquor of the herb, and again its curative powers were asserted in the complete removal of the disease. Next came a gentleman from the fields, craving the Lord Ambassador to cure him of a wound in his leg, which for a space of two years had tortured him and rendered the limb useless. Nicot, filled with generous enthusiasm, readily acceded to his appeal, and lotions and unguents were prepared for him, with instructions how to apply them. In ten days’ time he again presented himself, and with overflowing gratitude declared that the ulcer had disappeared, and that he had now perfect use of his leg. Many other similar Noli me tangere cases and their comfortable cure are recorded by Liebault and Monardes. News of the potent influence of the weed, now commonly called the Ambassador’s herb, over bodily infirmity spread with amazing rapidity, and out of every nook and corner of the kingdom there flocked to the Ambassador sufferers of all sorts and conditions, praying to be healed of their Noli me tangere. Nicot’s garden was now a centre of attraction for fashionable loungers: his house had already become an infirmary; and great was the rejoicing when the maimed, the sick, and the wounded threw away their crutches, sound of body and full of faith. From the recital whereof it plainly appears that though names may change, poor humanity remains pretty much what it was in the beginning, and none wax so fat in fame or fortune as those who minister to its weaknesses.

But Nicot’s work as a healer of the sick with the Indian weed was not yet completed; there were patients at home demanding his immediate attention. Hearing that Lady Montague was dying at St. Germains of an ulcer ‘bred in the breast,’ which of course was none other than our old friend Noli me tangere in the form of cancer, and for which no remedy could ever be found, though the Countess of Russe had consulted on her friend’s behalf the most eminent physicians of the realm, Nicot, with commendable promptitude, despatched to the king a quantity of the weed, sending therewith precise instructions how to prepare and administer it. With this first instalment he wrote describing it as having a peculiarly pleasant taste, and oddly enough, he bestowed upon it his own name, saying, ‘Nicotiane est une espèce d’herbe de vertu admirable pour guérir toutes ulcères et autres tels accidents au corps humain.’ This letter is said to be still preserved in the Chateau Belem. To the Queen Mother he presented seeds of the plant which she caused to be sown in the royal gardens. This wondrous product of the new-found world, where all was strange and clothed in the garb of mystery, created a lively interest in France. But Europe had hardly yet emerged from the glamour of the Dark Ages, when every important event was governed by invisible agencies, and magic alone could explain the inexplicable. Catharine de Medici would secretly consult her magician before entering upon any of her numerous dark designs. Parenthetically it may be mentioned that George Buchanan, the Scotch philosopher and tutor to our James I., had so strong an aversion to Catharine de Medici that in one of his Latin epigrams, where he alludes to tobacco being called d’herbe Medici, he warns all who value their health to shun the herb, not that in itself it is hurtful, but being called by so vile a name it must needs become poisonous. A single instance may suffice to indicate the kind of interest the weed on its first introduction into France awakened in the French court. Gathered round the queen’s table are some of the brightest wits of the gay capital, discussing with eager curiosity the marvellous story told of the Indian’s herb in the despatch just received from Nicot. Listening to these things the Comte de Jarnac felt irresistibly impelled to do something significant of the occasion, and springing from his seat he hastened to the house of his dearest friend to repeat the story. His friend was ‘short-breathed,’ suffering indeed from a severe attack of asthma. Unfolding the packet containing his share of the precious herb, Jarnac directed an attendant to distil it; this done, he added to the liquor some euphrasy (eyebright). Then presenting the decoction to the patient, he explained to him with the eloquence born of a new faith that the spirit of the herb would enter into his own and would assuredly expel the demon of asthma. Thus urged and entreated, the sufferer swallowed the potation, and wonderful to relate, if we are to believe the zealous chronicler, the man who but a little while before was gasping for breath was now comfortably healed!

Clearly then tobacco owes its introduction into the highest ranks of European society to its credentials as a healer of the sick. Immediately after France had received her first instalment, along with Nicot’s laudatory account of its marvellous virtues, Italy obtained the herb direct from the hands of Cardinal Santa Croce on his return from his nunciature in Spain, and for years it bore in his honour the name of Erba Santa Croce. Castro Duranti celebrated the event in Latin verses, wherein he ascribes to the Indian’s herb the efficacy of a charm over every malady, and extols the cardinal for his service in bringing it, coupling his name with his distinguished ancestor, who brought to Rome a portion of the true cross. He assures the reader that their services rightly considered

Tidings of the pleasing delusion of tobacco’s wonderful curative properties reached these shores towards the close of the sixteenth century, when the pipe was already installed in almost every chimney-nook. Needless to say that lovers of the weed received the intelligence with warmth, and held to the new belief with a steadfastness nothing could shake. Some of England’s foremost poets and dramatists signalized their high appreciation of the exotic’s rare attributes in imperishable literature. Edmund Spenser, for example, was a great smoker, and as we have already seen, when he and Raleigh met in Ireland they would sit together by the hour over a soothing pipe, while holding delightful contests of responsive versifying. In the Faërie Queene is a sweet passage telling how Belphœbe hastened into the woods to gather herbs to heal the wounded Timais:

In a similar vein William Lyly, Queen Elizabeth’s court-poet, speaks of the weed in his play entitled The Woman in the Moone. Pandora, having wounded a lover with a spear, urges her attendant to gather

Ben Jonson, Thomas Dekker, and a host of other playwrights and pamphleteers found in the new indulgence a source of endless amusement, and belaboured ‘Tobacconists’ with rare sallies of wit and humour.

Authors learned in the materia medica of those days tell of wonderful cures wrought by this Sana Sancta Indorum. In a booklet bearing the rather droll title of Dyet’s Dry Dinner (1599) Henry Buttes informs the reader that ‘Tobacco cureth any grief, dolour, imposture, or obstruction proceeding of cold or wind, especially in the head or breast. The fume taken in a pipe is good against rumes, hoarseness, ache in the head, stomach, lungs, breast, etc., also in want of meat, drink, sleep, or rest.’ The dyspeptic and the sleepless are invited to banquet upon a dry dinner, and they will assuredly find in the pipe a never-failing remedy for their several ailments. The uplifted author feels himself impelled to give expression to his high appreciation of the new regimen in verse, and exclaims,

Proceeding with his description of a dry dinner and elaborating many mysterious complications of the human system and their complete removal by the use of tobacco, he says that he ‘names his book, Dyet’s Dry Dinner, not only Caminum Prandium, without wine, but Accipritinum, without all drink, except tobacco, which also is but dry drink.’ And as to the first introduction of tobacco into this kingdom, he informs us that it was ‘translated out of the Indies in the seed or root, native or sative in our own fruit-fullest soil. The Indian name for the plant is Peicelt, surnamed tobacco, by the Spaniards of the Ile Tabago. Yet we are not beholden to their tradition. Our English Ulisses, renowned Syr Walter Rawleigh, a man admirably excellent in navigation and Nature’s privy counsell, and infinitely read in the wide boke of the worlde, hath both farre fetcht it and deare bought it, the estimate of which I leave to other; yet this all know, since it came into request, there hath been Magnus Fumi Questus; and Fumi-Vendulus is the best Epithite for an Apothecary.’

How enraptured medical men were with the new herb, believing that at last they had discovered the panacea of their happiest dreams, may be learned from Dr. Gardiner’s Trial of Tobacco. On the title page of this rare quarto volume, published in London in 1610, the author describes in prolix detail the contents of his book, thus:—‘Wherein his (tobacco’s) worth is most worthily expressed: as in the name, nature, and qualitie of the same hearb—his speciall use in physick, with the right and true use of taking it, as well for the seasons and times, as also the complexions, dispositions, and constitutions of such bodies and persons as are fittest, and to whom it is most profitable to take it.’ He asks: ‘What is a more noble medicine, or readier at hand, than tobacco?’ And he informs the reader that although he is an old man he undertakes the task of compiling the book in order to supply a proper knowledge of the plant so much in use among Englishmen. For the cure of the asthmatical, and such persons as are of a consumptive tendency, he prescribed liberally of Foliorum Sana Sancta Indorum combined with other medicaments unknown to modern therapeutics, and which may be readily accredited with very effectual properties—effectual, one would think, in dispelling the extravagant belief of the learned leeches of those days in tobacco as a ‘soverane remedy.’ How people managed to take such concoctions as Dr. Gardiner prescribed and live is beyond conception: their Spartan-like endurance shines out conspicuously under a treatment which embraces ‘tobacco gruel,’ ‘tobacco wine,’ also, tobacco made up into a kind of soup, or syrup, with sufficient sugar. The patient is recommended to drink the decoction hot, as a medicine good against the plague.

A glimpse of the strange notions which entered the heads of our forefathers respecting the medicinal virtues of the Indian weed may be gained from a perusal of the curious collection of odds and ends of social and literary gossip, contained in the Harleian Miscellany. Under the head of Tobacco the writer says he once knew some persons who every day ate several ounces of the herb without experiencing any sensible effect; and from this he infers that, ‘Use and custom will tame and naturalize the most fierce and rugged poison, so that it will become civil and friendly to the body.’ In the hands of the chemist it is perfectly true that some of the most virulent poisons can be made subservient to the healing art, and yield to the physician some of the most helpful medicines known to pharmacy; but it would be unwise to the last degree for the uninitiated in the mysteries of the laboratory to experiment upon himself in the vain belief that use and custom will carry him safely through the ordeal. The writer goes on to say that, ‘Some anatomists tell us most terrible stories of sooty brains and black lungs, which have been seen in the dissection of dead bodies, which when living had been accustomed to tobacco. I know a curious woman in the North, that does very great feats in healing the sick by a preparation of tobacco. And our learned and most experienced countryman, Mr. Boyle (experimental philosophy) does highly recommend tobacco for pains, which are often epidemical in cities and camps.’ He appears, however, to have a wholesome dread of such experimenting, for he consoles himself now and then by remarking that ‘custom and conversation will make the fiercest creature familiar.’ Yet he seems quite unable to break away from the common belief, that, ‘the qualities, nature, and uses of tobacco may be very considerable in several cases and circumstances, although King James himself hath both writ and disputed very smartly against it.’ The reader is next informed that a French author in the Journal of Science (1681) has ‘writ a peculiar tract on tobacco, wherein he commends it for bringing on sleep;’ an idea probably derived from Dr. Thorius’ Hymnus Tabaci (1625) which passed through many editions in London, Paris, and Utrecht. In this elegant Latin poem Thorius playfully alludes to the drowsiness tobacco-smoking produced upon the gods:—

The purifying action of tobacco-smoke on unwholesome air was fully recognised in Pepys’ time, when during the Great Plague of 1665-6 the pipe was to be seen in almost every mouth. Pepys like others sought protection in the weed, and purchased roll-tobacco to ‘chaw.’ Alas, poor man, it took away his apprehension! In his immortal diary is a note under date, June 7th. 1665:

Clearly Pepys was not a ‘tobacconist,’ but surely he should have known better than to have ‘chawed’ the black twist.

Dr. Willis, physician in ordinary to Charles the Second, speaks highly of the valuable antiseptic properties of tobacco. In his work entitled, A Plain and Easy Method of Preserving (by God’s Blessing) Those That are Well From the Infection of the Plague (1666) he remarks upon the exemption from the pestilence of houses where tobacco was stored for manufacture or sale.

In another treatise on the subject Dr. Willis makes equally shrewd remarks on the use of tobacco among soldiers and sailors. He says, ‘Tobacco taken in the vulgar way at the mouth through a pipe has effects not only manifold but diverse,’ and he explains that its use, when it may be had, seems not only necessary but profitable for soldiers and mariners, for that it renders them both fearless of any danger, and patient of hunger, cold, and labour.’ Army experiences of recent years bear testimony to the beneficial use of tobacco in almost the same words.

The learned Dutch Physician, Dr. Diemerbroeck, of Utrecht, in his Tractatus de Peste (1635-6) lays stress on the good which he found to come of smoking tobacco. So fully was he persuaded of its powers to kill contagion that for his own sake he smoked almost continuously while attending upon his patients in the hospitals at Nimeguen during the prevalence of the great plague in Holland. He began the day with a pipe; after dinner he would take two or three more, and a like number after supper; and if at any time he felt himself affected by his surroundings he immediately had recourse to the weed, which he regarded as his comforter in affliction and preserver from the plague. Dr. Diemerbroeck would seem to have been a model officer of health. Armed with his chosen instrument he gallantly charged the enemy at all hours and in all places, striding along the aisles of death unscathed. His services were invaluable, and ought surely to have been utilised over a larger area than they were. As Smoking Sanitary Commissioner he might have visited, say, Cologne, where much to the advantage of the inhabitants, more particularly to visitors, he doubtless would have founded a Tabako-Collegium. Coleridge would then most likely have been spared his discomfiture and precipitate rout on his encountering there ‘seventy-two separate and well-defined stinks.’ The Farina Brothers doubtless loved their quaint city whose quainter smells have passed into a proverb, and were animated with sublime ideas of patriotism when they concocted their sweet-smelling waters which were to bring back to it wealth and renown. Their success has equalled their genius: all the world is grateful for Eau de Cologne.

We now approach the threshold of new and more enlightened views of the uses of tobacco. From the first inception of the idea of its possessing curative properties it passed through two distinct phases in the medical world. First it was received as a heaven-sent boon to suffering humanity, and was applied with a lavish hand for the cure of every malady. Then followed bitter experiences of pain and even death inflicted in cases where it had been fondly hoped relief would be obtained. We see medical practice struggling in a dim uncertain light towards fuller knowledge, yet baffled at every step. Reluctantly the doctor is driven to forsake his new love, and again we see him turning to the plants of his native soil for the realisation of the great dream of his life,—a panacea, which to him meant all that the philosopher’s stone could signify to the alchemist; and once more we hear of Solar Elixirs, and of occult medicaments prepared from herbs gathered in the glimpses of the moon; for it was argued that the ruling heavenly bodies from whose energy divine had sprung all life, must assuredly have provided remedies for the evils with which life is burdened. The reaction which followed upon the disappointment was so strong that tobacco became the shibboleth of the profession, whose leading spirits denounced as charlatans all who ventured to remain faithful to the creed of the tobacconist. This second stage reached its culmination half a century ago, when Mr. Lizars, and Mr. Solly, of St Thomas’s Hospital, inaugurated a crusade against tobacco, holding forth on the physical and mental misery, leading to insanity, which must inevitably follow its use in any form. One instance among many may suffice to indicate Mr. Solly’s method of terrifying smokers. He speaks of a young clergyman of his acquaintance who could only write his sermons under the stimulus of a pipe; he admits that his discourses were eloquent, even brilliant, and profitable to listen to. Then Mr. Solly, pointing an admonitory finger, utters the solemn warning—‘but the end of that man is not yet!’

Fortunately there is no longer need to consider whether the weed deserves the hard things said of it, or whether it is to be ranked among the chief blessings a beneficent Providence has conferred upon this nether world. These things are settling themselves in their proper places under the critical eyes of modern science, and the larger and more rational views derived from experiences in the field, the camp, and the hospital. Conspicuous among medical treatises of recent years, wherein the subject is dispassionately surveyed, may be mentioned that of Dr. John C. Murray, of Newcastle-on-Tyne. Remarking upon the observed curative effect of tobacco-smoking on the sick and wounded in the Franco-German war, he says that its healing virtues were so obvious to an army surgeon of his acquaintance that from being strongly opposed to the use of tobacco he became a convert, in so far that he actually purchased cigars and presented them to the wounded, in consequence of having observed that their smoking assisted recovery. ‘This experience,’ adds Dr. Murray, ‘is contrary to what has been enunciated as theory, or deduced from isolated examples taken from the hospitals. Practical observation from previously healthy men must, however, be allowed precedence of speculation when inferred from disease.’ This admission marks a decided advance towards harmonising the faults of speculative reasoning with the actual experience of every-day life.

Taking a general survey of army medical officers’ reports of work done in the hospital-camps, he finds evidence in abundance supporting the view that tobacco-smoking does in some indefinable way mitigate suffering and help to a speedy recovery. Not only were the good effects manifest in the comfort it afforded the men on the march, but chiefly in the camp and the hospital, where under its soothing influence the wounded were often snatched from death and the sick restored to health. An amusing incident of a wounded soldier’s love for his pipe is noted in a lady’s diary kept while occupied as a nurse in a British hospital. Private McCarthy while under chloroform had just had one of his toes amputated by the surgeon. The wound bled freely, and the surgeon, after binding it up, left strict injunctions that the man was not to put his foot down. It happened that the nurse was called away to another patient for a few minutes, but before leaving she reminded the patient of the doctor’s orders about remaining still. On her return, to her astonishment the man was nowhere to be seen. After some searching she discovered him by traces of blood on the floor, quietly seated in the yard smoking his pipe. To her admonition about disobeying orders, and concern for the injury he was likely to do himself, he paid no heed, and continued smoking in happy indifference. Better success attended her endeavour to bring him to a repentant frame of mind when she told him of how he had disfigured the floor with his blood. Then he rose and quietly returned to his bed, saying, ‘Indeed, ma’am, I could not help going to have a pipe, for sure, that was the nastiest stuff I ever got drunk on,’—alluding to the taste of the chloroform.

Besides being a social comfort to the soldier on the march and in camp, the wholesomeness of the weed has long been recognised in the Army. Lord Wolseley on the occasion of his rapid dash to Coomassie gave proof of his belief in its prophylactic properties when on landing at Cape Coast Castle he caused pipes and tobacco to be dealt out to the men. George Gilham, of the 2nd Battalion, Rifle Brigade, writing from the ranks tells of his experiences on the march, and says, ‘The climate about Cape Coast Castle is bad, and the stenches we came upon almost knocked us over. But the General had pipes and tobacco served out to us with orders to smoke for protection. I was then no smoker, but I soon managed to learn the art.’ And Corporal J. C. Ives, of the Buffs, bears pathetic testimony to the soldiers’ love of a pipe of tobacco during some hard service, fighting the Zulus. After describing a fierce encounter with the enemy he concludes with this lament: ‘The worst of all was we had no tobacco, the last having been already issued. We did not know we had so little in our possession when we sold some to the Kaffirs in charge of the track oxen. When we found all was gone we would have given double the value of it, but it was too late, and we were induced to try experiments with dry tea-leaves, grass, and coffee grounds. Some of the men found a herb which they smoked, but this had the effect of making their heads swell to such an extent that they had to be attended by the doctor.’ On another occasion when the 91st Highlanders came within sight, and greeting cheers had resounded on the still night air, he says, ‘When our friends arrived the first question from the Ekowe garrison was, “Have you any tobacco?” Oh, that smoke! The same night we were served out with a tot of rum, white biscuits and a small piece of tobacco, luxuries subscribed for by the inhabitants of Port Natal.’

With innumerable experiences such as these before them it is difficult to understand the action of the Home authorities in dealing with contraband tobacco seized by Custom-house officers. Some years ago a ton of tobacco and cigars was seized at Portsmouth, the whole of which was buried in order to get rid of it. A protest was made, and the reasonableness of distributing, instead of wasting, such seizures of tobacco among the men of the Army and Navy could not be gainsaid; and it was satisfactory to learn that the Revenue Department had been moved to issue directions to the proper officers to, in future, supply troop-ships with seized tobacco at the rate of one ounce per diem for each man. But this humane practice was soon discontinued; indeed, the arrangements for the disposal of seized tobacco present some curious features, and have varied considerably from time to time. The course pursued with such seizures, including that unreleased by consignees from the bonded warehouses at the London Docks, had been the very primitive one of burning it in an instrument known and recognised as the ‘Queen’s tobacco-pipe.’ Possibly some outdoor officer of Customs hit upon the device in order to shield himself from blame for thus wasting good stuff. It was a huge instrument of enormous ventrical capacity and would fume away hundreds of tons in a few hours. Then an afterthought of economy crept in, and suggested that the ashes might make good manure. They were accordingly sold to agriculturists for what they would fetch; a ton of the ashes it was found served as tillage for four acres of ground. But this monster pipe is now put out; it was arranged that future seizures of contraband tobacco, and also such as remained in Bond unclaimed on account of its having sustained damage in transit from the place of exportation, should be thrown upon the market for sale, a course which did not commend itself to the trade, nor to the palate of dainty smokers. In face of the difficulty another arrangement was made for its disposal; the criminal lunatics confined in certain Government asylums were thought of, and gratuitously provided with tobacco from this source. Large quantities were also supplied to certain public botanical gardens where tobacco is required for the destruction of insect life, and which would otherwise have to be purchased at the public expense. If after meeting these demands a sufficient quantity of tobacco was available, then troops ordered on foreign service were furnished with a supply for use on the voyage. Strange to say, even this small chance of obtaining a little comfort for the men who are to fight our battles in foreign lands under hardships which tax the strongest powers of endurance has ceased. Troop-ships at the best of times are none too comfortable, and anything that can be done towards making those on board contented would be a distinct gain to the Service. Both policy and humanity indicate a little generous treatment of the men upon whose prowess the existence of the Empire so largely depends. It is hard to believe that criminal lunatics can have a better claim to the indulgence than our soldiers.

Referring to the antiseptic properties of tobacco, Dr. Murray says that he is fully convinced from close observation, that though it does not produce ozone it is an excellent disinfectant; and he mentions instances of ladies who, while attending upon their relatives laid up with a fearful epidemic malady, recognised, as if by intuition, the advantage of smoking. On one occasion a lady came into the sick-room where he was seeing a confluent case of epidemic small-pox puffing a cigar, and upon his remarking it she pointed to the patient with a triumphant air more eloquent than words. Whereupon Dr. Murray with a touch of old-fashioned chivalry says, ‘I immediately bent to her as a Master.’ In the same gay vein he continues: ‘I have myself seen, and also been informed, that many ladies during the current epidemic have given pronounced evidence of their faith in the antiseptic virtues of tobacco by selecting the smoking compartments when travelling by rail, and not a few have even in severe cases while waiting upon their relatives trusted to tobacco as a safeguard. I am happy to add that so far they have rejoiced in an immunity from the most contagious disease with which the present age is acquainted.’

Drs. Klein, Tassinari, Werke and other distinguished bacteriologists have carried their investigations into this interesting field of research with marked success.

Dr. Klein, of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, says that ‘direct experiment proves that tobacco-smoke has a decided germicidal effect; it is not known, however, which is the active principle in the tobacco-smoke.’ He also remarks that the popular idea which has again sprung up of tobacco’s prophylactic powers, ‘is well supported by laboratory experiment.’ Dr. Tassinari, adopting the microscopical methods of Pasteur, illustrates his investigations into the subject and the results obtained by a series of charts. These results may be briefly summarised. He found that the smoke of tobacco in some cases entirely destroyed, in others retarded the development of, micro-organisms. For example, the bacilli of Asiatic cholera and pneumonia were in every instance destroyed by the smoke of tobacco irrespective of the kind or quality of the tobacco used. Anthrax bacilli and the bacilli of typhoid offered greater resistance, the latter indeed were but little affected by the smoke. He makes an odd remark about the surprising growths of germs found by the microscope adhering to the coating of the teeth, and says that as tobacco-smoke destroys them, it is a preventive of decay; should it darken the enamel, the ashes of the weed used as a dentifrice will make them whiter than before.

Similar investigations have been made in Spain and Germany. Werke saturated a cigar with a liquid fully impregnated with cholera bacilli and found that in twenty-four hours every germ was destroyed. He next placed bacilli upon dry tobacco leaves; in this case they were rendered harmless in half an hour. In other trials a contact with the leaf of three hours was required for their destruction. Strange to say, damp tobacco was the least effective; the germs struggled hard for existence, and held out for three days before yielding up their lives to the superior genius of the weed. A fifty per cent. solution of tobacco over-mastered them in twenty-four hours. But it is in burning tobacco, when its elements are liberated from their confinement, that the battle is most decisive. Werke says, that when he tested them with the smoke of tobacco every germ was rendered incapable of propagating disease in less than five minutes.

Though the medical man whom duty calls to densely-crowded, unwholesome districts fortifies himself against attack from the invisible foe with a Manila or Cuban leaf, he protests emphatically against the smoking habit which has recently cropped up among boys. The boy-smoker, besides being a nuisance, is rendering himself physically and mentally unfit for the duties of life.

CHAPTER VI
ON THE ANTIQUITY OF TOBACCO-SMOKING

Like Horace’s greybeard, we are all more or less prone to look lovingly towards the past, to regard the days of our forefathers as the good old times in which they played their part in life’s drama on a larger and nobler scale than we do, or are capable of doing. In this spirit of admiration for antiquity we see the beginnings of that hero-worship which with the Greeks gradually developed into their beautiful mythology. They, above all other people, delighted to extol the powers and achievements of their ancestors; they clothed them with the attributes of deity, and strove to emulate and honour them in all manly deeds; thus they exalted their own conceptions of life, and idealised the course of their national existence. And yet this innate tendency to magnify and extend into the dim, illimitable regions of antiquity whatever of human effort is deemed most worthy, is a source of difficulty to the conscientious student. Amid the wild growth of myth and marvel the antiquary or archæologist warily treads his way to surer ground, and out of scattered fragments of a by-gone age constructs anew an old order of existence, or opens a vista to the mind’s eye through which glimpses may be gained of the habits and inner life of our remote ancestors. Then it is we see the present linked with the past in one unbroken chain; our knowledge is enlarged, and we recognise the unity of our race. Needless then to say that it is in no narrow spirit of mere curiosity that the wise men of Europe have devoted much labour and learning to the task of discovering if the habit of tobacco-smoking, now so common all over the world, existed in Eastern countries before the discovery of America by Columbus.

It is justly claimed for the subject that it possesses interest for a much larger class than professed ethnologists; that it is invested with an absorbing fascination for every earnest student of the history and habits of mankind. For it is maintained that nothing but a deep-seated craving in the nature of human beings for narcotics and stimulants can explain the immediate, rapid, and over-mastering success with which the passion for tobacco spread over the world after its introduction into Europe by the Spaniards. That this should have been so, seems to point directly to the conclusion that before the discovery of the New World the tobacco-plant and the habit of smoking its leaves were unknown elsewhere. Let it be remembered, however, that we have to take into account the farther East, more particularly China, the Cathay of our forefathers, who had found every approach leading into the interior jealously guarded against intrusion from the barbarian of the outer world.

Scattered through the pages of ancient historians and naturalists are some curious allusions to a practice occasionally indulged in of inhaling the fumes of burning vegetable substances, either for pleasure’s sake or for medicinal purposes. A few of these may suffice to indicate the shifts men were put to in remote times in order to appease their longing for narcotics of one kind or another.

Herodotus says that the Messagetæ, or Scythians, possessed a tree bearing a strange fruit which, when they met together, they cast into the fire and inhaled its fumes till they became intoxicated, in much the same way as the Greeks did with wine. What this strange produce was we learn in book IV., cap. 78, where he relates the story of the Scythians making themselves drunk with hemp-seed. They crept with it under their blankets, and, throwing it on red-hot stones, inhaled the fumes arising therefrom. Simple narrations such as these fall in quite naturally with one’s ideas of primitive man adapting himself to his circumstances. The Father of History never indulges in flights of fancy or creations of the imagination; it is enough for him to render a straightforward account of such things as came under his own eyes, or of events as they had been related to him. But when we come to a modern writer who tells a smoking-story of far-back times, relating, indeed, to none other than the ‘mighty hunter before the Lord,’ (enjoying, we may assume, a quiet pipe after a day’s hard riding across country), then doubt begins to take possession of the mind, and we are inclined to let that tale go for what it is worth. Lieutenant Walpole is responsible for the story that, when he was at Mosul, there came into his hands a very old Arabic manuscript, in the opening chapter of which the ancient scribe declared that Nimrod used tobacco. Application of the higher criticism to this relic of antiquity would be quite out of place; why, indeed, should men seek to be wise above what is written? But let us look a little farther into what Mr. Walpole has to narrate of the people among whom he sojourned, respecting their indulgence in the social pleasure of the pipe. From his highly interesting work on The Ansayrii, or The Assassins (published in 1851) we gather that while at Mosul he was so impressed by the prevalence of the habit of smoking among all classes, that he made diligent inquiry of the learned of the land respecting its origin; for he felt convinced that nothing European, much less American, could possibly have crept into this remote district of the Old World, whose inhabitants were living as their fathers had lived for ages. ‘In the East,’ he writes, ‘it is rare to find a man or a woman who does not smoke. Enter a house, and a smoking-instrument is put into your hand as naturally as you are asked to sit down.’ Mr. Walpole had not long to wait before his new friends found means of satisfying his curiosity and of quickening the interest already awakened within him as to the antiquity of the habit. A venerable sage disclosed to his wondering eyes the manuscript aforesaid. It filled over a hundred closely-written pages, and was divided into eight chapters, in the first of which was related the story of Nimrod. The origin of the different opinions for and against tobacco are enlarged upon in its pages; this, by the way, seems to imply that the Koran had not settled the disputed point; but then these Hashishins, who had found tobacco a far more grateful comforter than their fiery hashish, were not good Moslems. Unfortunately for Mr. Walpole, the happy owner of the priceless document, this inestimable relic of antiquity, was a bibliomanist whom nothing could induce to part with it; but he tells the reader that it was being copied—a lengthy process. Youthful exuberance of spirit marks Mr. Walpole’s joy at the discovery. ‘Lovers of the weed,’ he exclaims, ‘may reasonably hope that the elucidation of the Assyrian history will show us Nimrod making kief over the chibouk, and Semiramis calling for her nargilleh. It would enhance the grace of Cleopatra could we imagine her reclining on a divan of eiderdown toying with Marc Antony as she plays with her jewelled narpeesh.’ His enthusiasm is kindled by glowing tales of Eastern life, stretching back to the remotest ages; he sees the folly of entertaining for a moment the thought that Asia could be indebted to America for the luxury of the pipe. ‘We can hardly suppose,’ he writes, ‘that in the comparatively short space of time since the continent of America was discovered by us, the habit could have spread through Europe to the very utmost corners of Asia; that the Burman would smoke his cigar as he does, and the wild man of the forest of Ceylon would make his hand into a bowl and smoke out of it. These people, perfect wild beasts, double up the hand, curving the palm, and thus form a species of pipe; a green leaf protects the hand; within this the weed is placed, and thus they smoke. This is certainly the youth of smoking. Adam may have practised this method, even in the days of his innocence.’

It is, perhaps, a pity Mr. Walpole did not feel satisfied with this display of youthful gaiety. Possibly he saw that something was still wanting; that his new-born idea of an Eastern origin for the weed he loved was too weak to stand without support. At that very moment some evil genius whispered in his ear the fun of sending the reader a wool-gathering to the British Museum. Then it dawned upon him that among the marvels of antiquity the excavations of Botta and Layard were laying bare to an astonished world was an Assyrian relic which would bear oracular testimony to the truth of the old Arabic manuscript found at Mosul, and that henceforth Nimrod must be regarded as the paladin of the pipe. So Mr. Walpole goes on to say: ‘If the curious reader will go to the British Museum he will there see an Assyrian cylinder, found at Mosul, and presented to the Institution by Mr. Badger, whereon is represented a king smoking from a round vessel, attached to which is a long reed.’ Hours have been spent in vain at the British Museum in making careful search for this interesting object. Doctor Wallis Budge, who presides over the Egyptian and Assyrian antiquities, knows nothing of a cylinder bearing an inscription of a king smoking a pipe. He has, however, a record to the effect that Mr. Badger, on February 8th, 1845, gave the Museum ‘the squeeze of an inscription, the impression of a seal, and a bronze object.’ Doctor Budge warily remarked: ‘I must remind you that in 1845 all sorts of nonsense was talked about Assyrian objects; but that two men [a second writer had been mentioned who had evidently copied, on faith, from Mr. Walpole] should state such a thing without verification is remarkable. I am sorry for your wasted time—and my own!’ Assyrian cylinders in the British Museum are numerous, and interest in them is heightened by written explanations in our own tongue placed by the side of each of the markings upon them, giving also the date or period to which the object belongs. The student is thus enabled to grasp with his senses lessons in history which, without this aid, would be vague and unreal. Yet, so grotesque are some of the figures, that little need for wonder if the eye of faith should discover what it seeks for.

The ascetic of the Greek Church, however, can eclipse this story of Nimrod and the Assyrian monarch who loved his pipe, with a tradition carefully preserved in its archives of Noah himself, tempted by the Evil One, having fallen under the intoxicating fumes of tobacco. The ingenuous scribe relates (though this may be apocryphal) that Noah, resting upon the summit of Mount Ararat after his toils on the swollen waters, happened to place his hand on a tobacco-pipe charged with the comforting herb, and Satan, envious of his happiness, urged the patriarch to prolong the indulgence until sleep fell upon his eyes. Where the soil is ready for the seed the merest figment takes root and flourishes abundantly.

Persons of a poetic temperament who find in speculative dreaming pleasure more satisfying than aught they can derive from the study of prosaic reality, usually turn their thoughts towards the East, to the land of mystery and gorgeous imagery, where man first awoke to a wondering contemplation of the phenomena of nature, asking himself what the earth and sky could be, and marking out in bold outline as he gazed into the star-lit firmament the signs by which we to-day recognise the zodiac. Entering these regions of hoary tradition, the marvel-loving wanderer from the West finds his path strewn with relics of our early progenitors; here he may revel in endless variety of legendary lore garnered from rich fields of poetic fancy. Does he wish to learn of the Moslem sage the origin of the weed whose balmy breath