To-day the smoking of tobacco in Japan is universal; so completely has the practice entered into the daily habits of Japanese life that high and low, rich and poor—and of both sexes—have come to look upon the introduction of the tabako-bon—containing all their curious smoking apparatus—on the occasion of the arrival of a visitor, as a social function which could not be neglected without giving offence. Even in the poorest man’s house the tobacco tray, with its fire-pot and ash-pot, is an essential part of the furniture. Visit the humblest abode and there will be placed before you all the tiny equipment for a smoke; but their weed is almost tasteless; certainly, it can do nobody any harm. Formerly the tiny cup of tea was always the prelude to social gossip; now, however, for some reason or other the pipe takes precedence of the cup. Surely a wise choice, for in the pipe he had found a soother of the ruffled frame, calming the unruly member which the tea-cup sets free to dilate with eloquence on the virtues—or their opposite—of the dear absent ones; helping the fair devotee to unbosom herself of old confidences too heavy to be longer borne, and to form new and undying friendships—till the next tea meeting. Assuredly, wherever Eve’s daughters congregate there will the tea-pot—the genius of quickened sensibilities—be the favourite fetish.

Let us take a peep at a reception, an ‘At Home,’ where a dark-eyed daughter of Japan reposes luxuriantly on a carpet of many colours. By her side is an arm-rest, and a gorgeous screen adorned with wondrous figures in prismatic hues protects her from obtrusive view. Two English ladies are her visitors; they are ushered through a long corridor, covered with thick matting of a fine texture, into the reception hall. Passing into a large well-proportioned room, they are agreeably surprised with the simplicity and tasteful character of the furniture, which consists of a row of small lacquer tables and chairs, placed at intervals of a few yards; by the side of each chair is a large bronze urn of ornamental design, filled with symmetrically shaped pieces of glowing charcoal. Raising the eyes to the walls they see that these are covered with a heavy yet delicate paper artistically painted with birds and flowers; and the wainscoting, panels and window-frames, are of a highly polished black lacquer. Over all there seems to hang a drowsy luxurious atmosphere, quite in keeping with the old-world ease and courtly manners of their truly polite hostess. Meanwhile female servants have noiselessly placed before them the tabako-bon, upon which rests a gold-dotted lacquered case, delicately made of leather-paper; it is about eighteen inches long, and twelve broad, and stands the height of three fingers. On the removal of the lid the first things which strike the eye are three chased little tobacco-pipes, each enclosed in a silk lined case, which in form so nearly resembles the calausilia that it is called the kiseru-gai—pipe snail. The bowl of the pipe is a fairy-like thing of the size and shape of an acorn-cup, and is of finely wrought silver; the stem, about six inches long, is of thin lacquered bamboo, and the mouthpiece is of brightly polished metal. The pouch holding the tobacco is also of stamped leather, and is finely decorated with lacquer and silver work. But the tobacco is something wonderful; though an exotic of the genus nicotina-tobacum of America, it has cast off its native characteristics and become a light-coloured delicate weed, which lissome fingers have cut into flossy shreds as fine as gossamer and as soft as cocoon silk. As the usages of polite society in Japan require that the visitors should smoke while chatting, the hostess taking a few shreds of the weed between her fingers and rolling them up into pellets to fit the tiny bowls urges her guests to join in the grateful pastime. One of the ladies, however, declines the proffered pipe, saying, ‘Arigato, tabako-o nomimasen,’ (thank you, I don’t drink tobacco) at which the hostess with wondering eyes asks if she is under a vow! She thinks that ladies everywhere smoke; that to do so is a binding rule of the unwritten law of social intercourse. But on the other guest accepting a pipe, saying, ‘tabako-o nomimas,’ (I drink tobacco) the charming hostess nods and laughs, and with her own delicate fingers tries her best to light the pipe with an English match, and only after repeated attempts can she accomplish the difficult feat. While thus occupied a sprightly, intelligent, little gentleman enters, and is introduced as the husband of the hostess. He is brimful of Western ideas, and readily joins his wife in ceaseless questions concerning England and the English; more particularly he seeks information about the habits, manners and government of the country; for he is most anxious to learn whether what he has just heard in the city is really true, namely: that in England no gentleman is allowed to smoke in the presence of a lady without first obtaining her permission. He cannot credit it, but he explains that the question is greatly perturbing men’s minds in Japan. It is feared that if this Western custom should spread and take root amongst them, men’s authority over women would be gone; certainly their pre-eminence would be seriously imperilled. The visitors try to reassure him. They tell him that as a rule gentlemen do pay this deference to ladies out of considerations of delicacy, as behoves men towards women, as well as from a chivalric regard for ladies generally. But this was a line of argument he seemed unable to follow; he was dominated with the idea that the custom if adopted in Japan would be the thin end of the wedge which ultimately would sever men from their proper control over their wives and women-folk generally. With a countenance expressive of perplexity and dismay he foretold of endless domestic storms issuing from the fuming pipe. It was not without amusement that the English ladies witnessed this curious reflex of a Western spectre which a few idle people have raised for their diversion, and it required some effort to suppress their feelings. They did their best, however, to smother the emotion; but the spectacle presented to their imagination of wives boxing their husbands’ ears for daring to smoke in their presence without leave, and all the varied scenes of the battle of the pipes fought over the domestic hearth, was too much for them. Warming to the subject the bellicose little gentleman exclaimed, ‘The enemy outside our gates we can grapple with and overthrow, but a Western idea, and a fickle one like this, who can seize and vanquish? I have myself but recently suffered through this innovation, but it shall be the last time.’ And he so far forgot his native politeness as to declare that he would smoke when and where he pleased, and if the ladies did not like it they might leave the room. He added, ‘I do so in virtue of my right as a man. The assumed right of the women in Europe to determine whether a man may smoke or not is an unwarrantable licence, and is all put on in order to bring men under their authority in other and more important affairs; in any case, it subtracts from the power of men, and there can surely be no reason in this, as it involves limitations to their authority which must inevitably provoke confusion and conflict. I can find no reason for making distinctions—for smoking before men and not before women when it is not a thing forbidden by law or morals.’ The ladies endeavoured to soothe the ruffled feelings of their irate host; they assured him that nothing is farther from the thoughts of intelligent gentlewomen than the folly of trying to subvert the order of nature; that the deference paid to ladies in such matters by their kinsmen is the outcome of good breeding, and it is always appreciated in that sense. ‘There are a few women, perhaps, who having much time and little to do make it their hobby to cry out for the unattainable, and whom the gods may some day punish by giving them what they crave for; but these women are of no account in the general estimate of the sum of Western domestic life; their voices are loud, but their judgment is weak. On the other hand, there are in Europe ladies of the highest rank who, out of pure love of doing good, devote the best part of their lives and fortunes to the noble purpose of relieving the needs of the destitute, and raising the lowly and suffering into better estate. Little room then for wonder that Englishmen are proud to do them honour.’ Though appeased in some measure, he was not wholly convinced that danger was not somewhere lurking in their alluring argument. Let it be noted, however, that young Japan is outgrowing such apprehensions; he is no longer restive under the restraints imposed upon his primitive habits, and his conception of the relationship of the sexes is in accord with European ideas. Western ideas, indeed, are his ideas; and, he shows how fully he recognises the superiority of European civilization, by equipping himself with all the most destructive engines of warfare.

Like the workmen of the busy cities, the Japanese peasant carries with him wherever he goes his pipe and tobacco-pouch slung to his obi, a bright-coloured girdle, made usually of a peculiar kind of silk interwoven with flowers. They hang behind, suspended from a silken cord fastened to the obi by means of a netzuke—a sort of carved button made of cornelian or agate. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, their peculiar smoking apparatus does not lend itself readily to indulgence while at work or when walking. To enjoy the solace of the weed, the smoker must squat on the ground and array his smoking utensils in order; but this little drawback seldom hinders him. When the desire for the pipe comes upon him it must be appeased; and is it not written in the learned Ensauki that the pipe ‘affords an excuse for resting now and then from work, as if to take breath?’ Certainly, the intelligent Japanese never suffers an opportunity to pass unimproved by rest and reflection over the vapour of his beloved pipe as it ascends on high, mingling with the pure breath of heaven; while possibly the lingering ashes suggest to his contemplative mind the mutability of all things earthly—for who can price for another the thing which his soul valueth?

Passing along the unbeaten tracks of Japan the wayfarer from the West occasionally comes upon picturesque scenes of peasant life of a character which combines primitive simplicity of manners with something of the art and refinement of what we are accustomed to associate with advanced civilization, but which with them springs from a gentle, susceptible nature, always kindly, but quick to resent affront. Turning into a roadside inn he may meet with a party of well-to-do peasants on their homeward way from the market of a neighbouring town, and observe with quiet amazement the public exhibition they make over the bath; they are very fond of bathing, but in their manner of using the tub they have views peculiar to themselves. Fish and rice are in large demand, and of these, with a plentiful supply of vegetables, they make a hearty meal. After dinner tiny cups of tea are served to each guest by dark-eyed damsels whose appearance recalls to memory the nursery pictures of our childhood representing our first parents in the garden of Eden. When the candles are brought in smoking and story-telling follow till bed-time. Then, spreading blankets on the floor, and with a block of wood hollowed to fit the head for a pillow, they are soon on their way to the land of Nod, announcing their arrival in a fine symphony of cracked bassoons.

As everybody smokes in Japan the rate of consumption per head of the population is considerably greater than with us. And shops for the sale of tobacco and all its accessories are to be seen in every street in the big towns, and in every village which has shops at all; even along the country roads there are stands where all these things can be had for the merest trifle. On the sign the tobacconist exhibits to denote his vocation is painted a leaf of the plant, and by the side there are two hieroglyphics which are understood to intimate that he keeps only the best tobacco, procured from the famous kokubu in the Osumi district. The name bears a significance similar to that of Virginia with us. But the taste of the weed grown in this favoured district is not such as commends itself to English smokers; it is too sweet, and on this account is but little exported to Europe. It is used here for mixing with other kinds of a more pungent character: French tobacco would be all the better for the admixture. But to do this in France, where the cultivation, manufacture and sale of tobacco is a Government monopoly, would perhaps interfere with the public revenue.

The Japanese method of raising crops of tobacco, of curing and manufacture, is in all essentials similar to that of other countries where tobacco-culture is a staple industry. The seed-beds of the young plants are protected against too great cooling from radiation on spring nights by straw roofs about a metre high. Towards the end of April, in the warmer districts, the shoots are strong enough to be transplanted into the open fields, where they are placed in rows usually along the sides of crops of barley which by this time has passed its bloom. In cooler districts this operation is delayed until June. But, as tobacco-culture is widely spread throughout the islands, the seasons for planting and reaping necessarily differ according to the varying temperatures of this plutonic region of sulphurous springs and earthquakes. Besides the pleasure of smoking, the Japanese, like ourselves, have found many uses for tobacco. For destroying insects on plants, nothing is so effectual as dosing them with a liberal decoction of the juice. Like all other orientals the Japanese have to wage perpetual warfare with those plagues of the flesh that invade every house. In order to check their ravages, he places leaves of the plant in crevices where they usually hide in ambush against the hour for making their nocturnal attack. Mosquitoes, too, are numerous, hungry, and of good size, but in the magic breath of the weed he has found a potent spell which soon overcomes the enemy and lays him low. All he finds it needful to do, is simply to seat himself on his mat in his toy-like house and enjoy the double pleasure of knowing that he is vanquishing the foe while puffing his wee pipe and twirling up pellets to fit the thimble-like bowl. He has discovered, too, that Saint Nicotine is a dispenser of other inestimable blessings. As a healer of many maladies—cutaneous affections, some forms of eye disease, and other like disturbers of a tranquil life—he believes in her implicitly, and lotions made of the juice extracted from the leaves of the plant are in almost daily use among the poorer classes.

Young Japan having entered with a light heart and buoyant into the stream of European life no longer cares for the old ways of his fathers, and finds his chosen smoke in the new paper cigarette fashioned in the Western world. Of these he partakes so liberally that many millions are imported every year, the total value of which, according to the Consular Report, comes to about £40,000. To such proportions has the tobacco industry grown that in Osaka (the Manchester of Japan) no fewer than forty factories provide remunerative employment for thousands of work-people—chiefly women and girls. In 1895 Japan exported close upon three million pounds weight of tobacco, the estimated value of which was £23,466. Under the influence of an overmastering passion to mould their institutions on the model of those of Europe, the Government have thought well to lay hands upon the tobacco industry; henceforward it is to be a Government monopoly. Referring to the Japanese Budget of 1897-8, Sir Ernest Satow, in the Diplomatic and Consular Report on Trade and Finance for the fiscal year 1897-8, discusses the question. The Bill was passed in the session of 1896, and the monopoly is to come into force at the beginning of 1898. The principle of the scheme is, that tobacco grown in Japan shall be delivered in the leaf to the Government at a fixed rate. The Government will then sell it to the manufacturers at rates which will ensure substantial relief to the depleted exchequer, to the extent, possibly, after all expenses of collection, etc. are met, of about half a million sterling. The annual yield of the tobacco fields of Japan is estimated at 90,000,000 lbs., its market value of £90,000, and the gross revenue therefrom at £1,000,000. Here Sir Ernest Satow’s incisive criticism comes into play. He shows that to realize this sum a tax of over 100 per cent. must be levied, and that this would bring up the price to the consumer to double what it is now. He points out that tobacco leaf can be imported into Japan at 10c. per lb., add to this the import duty, namely 35 per cent., and the result will be that the Government will try to sell its tobacco at 21⅑c. and this, too, in face of the fact that imported tobacco can be sold for 13.5c. per lb. There is a further important consideration telling against the Government scheme, namely: that as the tobacco intended for exportation does not come under the monopoly the producer can send his unmanufactured leaf out of the country, have it prepared for use and brought in again ready for the retail dealer, and still compete successfully with the Government. Sir Ernest adds that, ‘Were the simple system adopted, in operation in England, of warehousing, it is estimated that with the same tax a revenue of at least £1,000,000 could be obtained.’ The monopoly scheme was severely criticised in the Senate, and it was thought that it would be amended, but up to the date of Sir Ernest’s report nothing had been done in this direction.

The marvellous transformation which has taken place in Japan within the last thirty-five years has hardly left a vestige behind of the old order of things which so charmed the eyes of the stranger from the West. Even in the remote villages the peasantry, as if ashamed to be themselves, are entering upon new paths and disguising their primitive habits of social life under the garb of Western modes and manners. The graceful native costume is supplanted by the distortions of dress which the caprice of art sends forth from Paris as if to render humanity ridiculous. It is not a pleasing sight to look upon Japanese ladies enduring torture in their efforts to accommodate themselves to Western fashion and finery. And the men, skewered up in sombre broad-cloth, lose the ease and dignity which by nature’s gift is theirs. Would it not be well, while gathering the fruits of old European culture, for this Eastern people to preserve their native habits, works and ways, all those things which are the natural product of their race and climate? Of course, in commerce, the observance of the eternal verities, as Carlyle would say, forms the basis of all healthy and lasting good.

There is, however, one cheerful sign in the present-day habits of this most interesting people: through all the toils and vicissitudes of their new and exalted path in life they resolutely keep the pipe aglow, mindful of the wise words of the Ensauki that in the vapour of the fragrant weed is a storehouse of reflection where the fumes of anger are suffered to disperse.

CHAPTER VIII.
STRAY LEAVES FROM THE INDIAN WEED.

How dearly the late Poet Laureate, Tennyson, treasured his briar-root; how with his ‘silent friend’ he would seek seclusion, drawing unfailing solace from an inexhaustible tobacco jar, belongs to the social history of our times. In the fulness of their hearts, lovers of the weed have declared that in it they have found ‘the only thing in life that fumes without fretting.’ If to this excellence be added the further one of assuaging the fretful, we shall have the whole philosophy of smoking in a nutshell. Because of these rare virtues paterfamilias will now and then forego the social distinction of occupying the paternal chair that he may enjoy the comforts of a quiet pipe away from all the blessed cherubs of domesticity. For these, the idolised bachelor, weary of loving attentions (the ungrateful being!) will watch his opportunity for flight, and slipping away unseen, will make off to his favourite hiding-place. Briskly entering his den he surveys with twinkling eye his own undisputed domain, with pipe-rack and weeds, benches and books, rifle and rod, all in undisturbed (dis)order. Tenderly he handles his favourite calumet, bestows the pabulum of peace, and awaits the sweet solace which will soon dispel the worries and passions born of strife in life’s warfare.

Many an over-wrought brain has thus received the balm that stays the rash hand or the fevered spirit from hurrying to a reckless end. Surely no one need wonder at the smoker’s devotion to his pipe, nor be so uncharitable as to class his troubles and trials and their happy deliverance with the mere fancies of a lazy man in search of excuse for an idle habit. Let us not be hard on the smoker. Do we not all know men who would fain indulge in a social whiff now and then with their friends were it not for the warnings of an inward monitor who will not be trifled with? The man who had conquered Europe was himself conquered by a pipe of tobacco. An oriental pipe of wonderful beauty and inventive skill was presented to Napoleon by a Persian ambassador. Though he was an immoderate snuff-taker he had never smoked, but he would try this pipe. It was duly charged with tobacco and lighted, says Constant, but His Majesty, instead of drawing up the smoke in the usual way, merely opened and shut his mouth with mechanical regularity. Losing patience, he exclaimed, ‘Devils! There is no result!’ It was remarked that he had made the attempt badly, and he was shown how to smoke properly. But the Emperor simply reverted to his automatic performance; the pipe went out, and Constant was desired to relight it. This done, he again instructed his master in the proper method of smoking. Determined not to be balked again, the Emperor resolutely drew up the smoke, and, swallowing it, it came out by his nostrils and blinded him. As soon as he recovered breath he cried out, ‘Away with it! Oh, the hog! Oh, my stomach! My stomach turns!’ This was Napoleon’s first and last experience of smoking. Then let those whom St Nicotine favours thankfully own her benign sway and be comforted. The placid oriental, when his wives rave, or affliction smites him, will stroke his beard—if he have one—and thank Allah for the good gift

An old Persian legend, brought to light by Lieutenant Walpole, tells the story of a virtuous youth distraught at the loss of a loving wife. A holy man looks tenderly upon the disconsolate one, and tells him of a balm for his affliction. ‘Go to thy wife’s tomb, son of sorrow,’ says the anchorite, ‘and there thou wilt find a weed. Pluck it, place it in a reed, and put fire to it, then inhale the smoke thereof. This will be to thee wife and mother, father and brother, and, above all, will be a wise counsellor, and teach thy soul wisdom and thy spirit joy.’ The Homeric strain of this Eastern sage breathes of implicit faith in his native Shiraz tobacco. For doubtless he, a dweller in

had often experienced its influence on a wounded heart. Indeed, the history and associations of the plant, from its wild Indian home to the remotest East, are full of romance of more than ordinary interest. For, like most things transatlantic, whether products of the soil or of the brain, it rapidly became universal, spreading literally like wild-fire wherever man was to be found. Everywhere it was esteemed a close comfort, a priceless possession, and to its rare qualities were ascribed almost miraculous powers. The persistency with which men have stuck to the weed, after once experiencing its soothing effects, ranks among the most remarkable examples history affords of the rapid development of a new taste and the formation of a new habit; a habit that, after the lapse of three centuries and more, grows stronger day by day, keeping full pace with the increase of population, until now it is too deeply rooted ever to be extirpated, even by taxation, however weighty. Viewed in its political aspect, the career of the Indian weed presents a striking illustration of popular opinion ultimately triumphing over prejudice and power.

Here let us take a cursory glance back to the heroic age when the marvellous weed which has almost revolutionised men’s habits all over the world, and created a new industry giving employment to millions of human beings, was first imported into these islands.

A halo of romance surrounds those jubilant days; but, in the eyes of Englishmen generally, Sir Walter Raleigh stands out prominently as the hero to whom the honour is due of giving his countrymen their first instalment of tobacco. England had just awakened to the reality of a new world of wonders and boundless wealth lying unexplored in the far West; a land where everything touched turned to gold. The far-famed discoveries and conquests of the Spaniards, their fabled El Dorado, drew forth the daring and enterprising from every corner of Europe. Stirred by an overpowering desire to see the marvels, and share in the treasures of the terra incognita which was in all men’s mouths, our hardy sea captains, Hawkins, Drake, Raleigh, and a host more of England’s sturdy sons, sailed the Spanish main, bent upon achieving fame or fortune, yet caring little what lot befell them if only renown were won for their idolised Queen Bess. They encountered the mild Indian, and explored a portion of his glorious land, teeming with a rich luxuriance of vegetation such as their eyes had never before beheld. But what of El Dorado, the famed city of gold and precious stones, hemmed in by golden mountains, whose splendour and immense treasure beckoned them onward? Alas! the gorgeous phantasm of the New World, like the glories of the setting sun, melted away before their advancing steps. And yet many a poor, dispirited wayfarer in the pursuit of the alluring ignis fatuus found comfort and consolation in the humble weed which the natives supplied to him and taught him how to use. In testimony whereof, listen to honest Jack Brimblecombe in Westward Ho! ‘Heaven forgive me! but when I get the leaf between my teeth, I feel tempted to sit as still as a chimney and smoke to my dying day.’ And faithful old Yeo pours forth his pent-up gratitude for the comfort he derives from the Indians’ herb in a stream of consolation for the lonely and afflicted, assuring us that when all things were made none was made better than this. And here he enumerates the blessing breathed upon the weary and worn traveller in those far-off lands by the herb, like unto which there is not another under the canopy of heaven.

In the summer of 1584, Raleigh, his imagination aglow with brilliant colonisation schemes which should eclipse those of Spain, sent out an expedition to explore the coast of the new continent. On July 13, the party, under Captains Amadas and Barlowe, took possession of the territory which Raleigh subsequently named Virginia, in honour of the Queen. In the following year a second expedition was despatched, conveying one hundred and seven souls, whom, with Master Ralph Lane at their head as the governor of the new colony, Raleigh had inspired with his own ardent hopes and plans for the founding of a new settlement that should, in course of time, rival the Spanish conquests. The adventure, however, was not attended with the success anticipated. The party remained in the new territory from August 17, 1585, to June 18, 1586, when Sir Francis Drake, with his fleet, returning along the coast from his victorious raid in the West Indies, called at their port, and, learning their discontent, brought them back to England. They took care, however, not to return empty-handed; a large quantity of tobacco, which the natives had prepared for them, was stowed on board the vessels, with a variety of instruments for preparing and using it. It can well be imagined that Master Lane would take pride in exhibiting himself to London’s gazing multitude smothered in Indian clouds. The learned Camden speaks of Lane as the original English smoker. It is remarkable that there should have been so much uncertainty, even in Eliza-Jacobean times, as to the date when tobacco was first received in this country and the person by whom it was first introduced. The painstaking annalist, Stow, says that tobacco came into England about the twentieth year of Queen Elizabeth (1577). But Aubrey, speaking of Sir Walter Raleigh, says that ‘he was the first that brought tobacco into England and into fashion (1686). In our part of North Wilts—e.g. Malmesbury Hundred—it came first into fashion by Sir Walter Long. They had first silver pipes. The ordinary sort made use of a walnut shell and a straw. I have heard my grandfather, Lyle, say that one pipe was handed from man to man round the table. Sir Walter Raleigh, standing in a stand at Sir Ro. Poyntz parke at Acton, took a pipe of tobacco, which made the ladies quitte it till he had donne.’ The author of a gossipy Tour in Wales (Pennant), in 1810, speaking about the great houses and their associations, says that Captain Price, of Plasyollin, with Captains Myddelton and Koet, on their return from the Azores in 1591, ‘were the first who had smoked or (as they called it) drank tobacco publicly in London, and that the Londoners flocked from all parts to see them. Pipes were not then invented, so they used the twisted leaves, or segars. The invention is usually ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh. It may be so, but he was too good a courtier to smoke in public, especially in the reign of James.’ Again, in the 1659 translation of Dr. Everard’s Panacea (Antwerp, 1587), it is remarked that ‘Captain Richard Grenfield and Sir Francis Drake were the first planters of it here (England), and not Sir Walter Raleigh, which is the common error; so difficult is it to fix popular discoveries.’ These few selections show us how easily origins are lost sight of.

It seems ungracious to pluck a plume from one so eminently distinguished for important services rendered to his Queen and country as Sir Walter Raleigh; yet nothing in history is more certain than that the common belief crediting him with the first introduction of tobacco into this country is a myth. History, whilst awarding him the palm for potatoes, points to Sir John Hawkins as the first to bring to his countrymen the peaceful pleasures of the pipe. Certainly, the weight of probabilities are in his favour. Taylor, the Water Poet, says: ‘Tobacco was first brought into England in 1565, by Sir John Hawkins.’ And Edmund Howes, in his continuation of Stow’s Annals says: ‘Tobacco was first brought and made known by Sir John Hawkins about the year 1565, but not used by Englishmen for many years after, though at this day it is commonly used by most men and many women.’ These accounts correspond with Hawkins’s second voyage, viz., October 18, 1564, returning September 20, 1565. Confirmatory evidence comes from John Sparkes, the younger, who, in his account of this voyage, says that Hawkins, ranging along the ‘coast of Florida for fresh water, in July 1565, came upon the French settlement there under Landoniere, where the natives, when they travel, have a kind of herbe dryed, which with a cane and an earthen cup in the end, with fire and the dryed herbe put together, they do suck through the cane the smoke thereof, which smoke satisfieth their hunger, and therewith they live four or five days without meat or drink, and this all the Frenchmen used for the purpose.’ Hearing these wonderful stories told of the Indian’s herbe, nothing could be more natural than that Hawkins should make trial of it for himself, and, liking it, secure specimens of the plant for cultivation and use at home. To see and hear and get all he could, was the sole end and aim of his ploughing the Spanish main. Bearing in mind that he got back to England in September 1565, we see that the statements of Taylor, the Water Poet, and Howes, the annalist, that tobacco was brought by Sir John Hawkins in 1565, are consistent and reliable. Collateral evidence on the point is to be found in L’Obel’s work on Botany,[6] written in 1570, wherein he says: ‘Within these few years the West Indian tobacco-plant has become an inmate of England.’ This of itself is conclusive against the Raleigh theory. But let us look a little further into the matter. In 1570, Raleigh was a youth of eighteen, and had just gone to France to fight in the Huguenot cause. Again, in the State Archives, there is still extant an edict issued by Queen Elizabeth against the use and abuse of tobacco, dated 1584—the year Raleigh’s first expedition sailed to the New World.

It is amusing to find Queen Elizabeth fulminating against the pipe she afterwards so willingly countenanced in the mouth of her favourite knight. But then Sir Walter was in every way a splendid man, the typical gallant and hero in England’s heroic age. Tall, dark, handsome, a noble brow, commanding voice and mien, he drew to his side willing hands ready to do his behest, be it what it might. A gay courtier, his dress was of the richest, and priceless gems sparkled on every finger. And so it came about that his proud Queen would quietly sit by his side, would playfully call him Walter, and listen to his tales of daring deeds and sufferings endured all for Good Queen Bess. And had he not won for her a new land full of rich promise, which, for her sake, was named Virginia? And thus they would talk on, Sir Walter smoking his finely-wrought silver pipe in peace, forgetful of the fair, if frail, Maid of Honour, Bessy Throgmorton, listening, maybe, behind the arras. Alas! poor mortal man. The untoward affair at last broke upon Elizabeth like a thunderstorm in a serene sky, and our gallant hero became an outcast from the favour of his Queen.[7]

Among the many anecdotes told of Raleigh’s practices with his pipe may be mentioned that of his outwitting the Queen in a wager she laid with the gallant knight respecting the weight of the smoke which exhaled from a pipeful of tobacco. ‘I can assure your Majesty,’ said Raleigh, ‘that I have so well experienced the nature of it that I can exactly tell even the weight of the smoke in any quantity I consume.’ ‘I doubt it much, Sir Walter,’ replied Elizabeth, thinking only how impossible it must be to catch the smoke and put it in a balance, ‘and will wager you twenty angels that you do not solve my doubt.’ Whereupon Raleigh drew forth a quantity of the weed, placed it in finely adjusted scales, and having ascertained its weight, commenced to smoke it, carefully preserving the ashes. These at the finish he weighed with great exactness. Then would it dawn upon her Majesty how the wager was to end. ‘Your Majesty,’ said Raleigh, ‘cannot deny that the difference hath evaporated in smoke.’ ‘Truly, I cannot,’ was her reply. Then, turning to those around her, who were eying with amusement this curious play on the pipe, she continued, ‘Many labourers in the fire have I heard of (alluding to alchemists) who turned their gold into smoke, but Sir Walter is the first who has turned smoke into gold.’

But the Indian weed had a hard fight to hold its ground in Europe and Asia in face of the most resolute opposition from potentates, statesmen, and priests. In England

signalised himself and his reign by profound learning and ponderous invective hurled against the innocent plant, amongst whose alluring leaves there lurked the ‘lively image and pattern of hell.’ His Counterblaste to tobacco[9] is of itself an historic monument to his genius, which posterity does well to preserve that there may be something in hand to attest the just appreciation of his ‘loving subjects’ in early recognising in him a Solomon! Though, to be sure, some will have it that the irreverent Henri Quatre was the first to see the fitness of the designation, Solomon, for the son of Mary, Queen of Scots. And yet his astute minister, the Duc de Sully, professed to have discovered in the flickering illuminations of this northern light ‘the wisest fool in Christendom.’ Historians who think it incumbent upon them to explain every human phenomenon or prodigy, have perplexed themselves with vain endeavours to unravel this curious compound of Machiavellian craft, fussy self-conceit and imbecility. Looking to his preternatural insight into the uncanny domain of the Black Arts, his mental conflicts with the de’il, witches and warlocks, and long nebbit things, the problem his character presents might perhaps form a fitting study for the modern school of psychology.

With the beginning of the seventeenth century commenced a literary warfare over the virtues and vices of St Nicotine, which lasted intermittently down to the present day. Mr. Solly, of St. Thomas’s Hospital, in the middle of last century strove valiantly in the columns of the Lancet to get up a crusade against smoking. All the leading members of the medical profession took part in the affray; irrefragable statistics were piled up one upon the other as ramparts from behind which Mr. Solly proclaimed that there was death in the pipe; and the rapid degeneracy of the human race, to him everywhere apparent, was to be regarded as the inevitable consequence of indulgence in the pernicious weed. Had Mr. Solly referred to the text-book left by the royal founder of his faith, he would have learned the right use and value of trenchant utterance, and as a physiologist, would have gained knowledge never imparted in St. Thomas’s Hospital.

The royal Counterblaste proclaims that ‘smoke becomes a kitchen far better than a dining-chamber; and yet it makes a kitchen oftentimes in the inward parts of men, soyling and infecting with an unctuous and oyly kind of soote, as hath been found in some great tobacco takers, that after death were opened.’ ‘Have you not reason then to be ashamed and to forbear this filthie noveltie, so basely grounded, so foolishly received, and so grossly mistaken in the right use thereof? In your abuse thereof sinning against God, harming yourselves both in person and in goods, and raking also thereby the marks and notes of vanitie upon you; by the custom thereof making yourselves to be wondered at by all forraine civil nations, and all strangers that come among you, to be scorned and contemned.’ King James clinches his argument with a logical acumen there is no resisting. ‘Why,’ he asks, ‘since we imitate the beastly and slavish Indians in taking tobacco, do we not imitate them in walking naked? as they do’—an extraordinary idea to occur to one accustomed to wear dagger-proof quilted dress—‘preferring glass beads and feathers to gold and precious stones? as they do; yea, why do we not deny God and adore the devil? as they do.’ Then comes his famous climax: ‘A custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the orgain (brain), dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.’ If, after this display of royal indignation, stiff-necked ones still cast fond looks at the ‘emblem of hell,’ let them turn their attention to the King’s words of wisdom stored up in a Collection of Witty Apothegms. Things that before were obscure to mental vision are here illuminated with a new radiance; it is made clear to us that ‘tobacco was the lively image and pattern of hell, for that it had, by illusion, in it all the parts and vices of the world whereby hell may be gained—to wit, first: It is a smoke; so are the vanities of this world. Secondly: It delighteth them that take it; so do the pleasures of the world delight the men of the world. Thirdly: It maketh men drunken and light in the head; so do the vanities of the world, men are drunken wherewith. Fourthly: He that taketh tobacco saith he cannot leave it, it doth bewitch him!… And, further, besides all this, it is like hell in the very substance of it, for it is a stinking, loathsome thing, and so is hell.’ But James had his moments of gaiety; he could jest over the arch enemy, and it would be most unfair to his memory to pass by any playful attempt at jocularity that for an instant flickered over his dreary brain. In the treasury of wisdom already mentioned, we are told that his Majesty once remarked that ‘if he were to invite the devil to dinner he should have three dishes: 1. A pig; 2. A pole of ling and mustard; and (3) a pipe of tobacco for digesture.’

There is a passage in the Counterblaste which seems to point directly to Raleigh; it runs as follows: ‘Now the corrupt baseness of the use of this tobacco doeth very well agree with the foolish and groundless first entry thereof into this kingdom. It is not so long since the first entry of this abuse amongst us here, as this present age can very well remember both the first author and the form of the first introduction of it amongst us. It was neither brought in by king, great conqueror, nor learned doctor of physick. With the report of a great discovery for a conquest, some two or three savage men were brought in, together with this savage custom. But the pity is, the poor, wild, barbarous men died; but that vile, barbarous custom is yet alive, yea, in fresh vigour, so as it seems a miracle to me how a custom springing from so vile a ground, and brought in by a father so generally hated, should be welcomed on so slender a warrant.’ The mention of ‘two or three savage men’ clearly indicates the return of Raleigh’s first expedition in 1584, when Captain Amadas and Barlowe brought with them two American Indians, whose appearance in the streets was regarded as one of the sights of London. James’s inveterate enmity towards Raleigh would seem to have originated at their first encounter at Burghly, in Lincolnshire, when the King faltered out: ‘On my soul, mon, I hae heard but rawley o’ thee,’ a clumsy attempt at a pun. Doubtless Raleigh’s noble bearing and rich attire would touch James’s inordinate self-importance, which seems to have at all times blinded him to a proper sense of decency, according to Sir Anthony Weldon’s simple, graphic presentation of him. On the King boasting that, had the English crown not been offered to him, his Scotch army would have taken it for him, Raleigh, indignant, made the injudicious remark: ‘Would God that had been put to the test.’ ‘Why?’ asked James. Raleigh recovering himself replied, ‘Your Majesty would then have known your friends from your foes.’ Aubrey says that James never forgave this speech. One by one, Raleigh was stripped of all his offices; and before the end of the first year of James’s reign (November 4, 1603) he was lodged in the Tower on a false charge of treason, and after fifteen years’ imprisonment was judicially murdered by order of the King. Speaking of this event, Sir Anthony Weldom remarks, ‘How this kingdom was gulled in the supposed treason of Sir Walter Rawley and others who suffered as traytors, whereas to this day it could never be knowne that there ever was such treason, but a mere trick of State to remove some blotches out of the way.’ When Raleigh’s fate drew nigh, ‘he took a pipe of tobacco a little before he went to the scaffolde,’ says Aubrey, ‘which some female persons were scandalised at; but I think ’twas well and properly donne to settle his spirits.’

Speaking of this noble victim of James I., Sir Walter Besant, in his handsome volume on Westminster, says, ‘Raleigh was brought to Old Palauce Yard to die. The day chosen for his execution was Lord Mayor’s Day, so that the crowd should be drawn to the pageant rather than to his execution.’ The body lies buried in the chancel of St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, where, near by, a tablet informs the visitor that