Arcadians At Bay
I have said that Jimmy spent much of his time in contributing to various
leading waste-paper baskets, and that of an evening he was usually to
be found prone on my hearth-rug. When he entered my room he was ever
willing to tell us what he thought of editors, but his meerschaum with
the cherry-wood stem gradually drove all passion from his breast, and
instead of upbraiding more successful men than himself, he then lazily
fireplace was thick with these epistles, which seemed to give Jimmy
relief, though William John had to scrape and scrub at them next morning
with india-rubber. Jimmy's sarcasm--to which that wall-paper can probably
still speak--generally took this form:
_To G. Buckle, Esq., Columbia Road, Shoreditch_.
SIR:--I am requested by Mr. James Moggridge, editor of the _Times_,
to return you the inclosed seven manuscripts, and to express his regret
that there is at present no vacancy in the sub-editorial department of
the _Times_ such as Mr. Buckle kindly offers to fill.
Yours faithfully,
P. R. (for J. Moggridge, Ed. _Times_).
_To Mr. James Knowles, Brick Lane, Spitalfields_.
DEAR SIR:--I regret to have to return the inclosed paper, which is
not quite suitable for the _Nineteenth Century_. I find that articles
by unknown men, however good in themselves, attract little attention.
I inclose list of contributors for next month, including, as you will
observe, seven members of upper circles, and remain your obedient
servant,
J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. _Nineteenth Century_.
_To Mr. W Pollock, Mile-End Road, Stepney_.
SIR:--I have on two previous occasions begged you to cease sending daily
articles to the _Saturday_. Should this continue we shall be reluctantly
compelled to take proceedings against you. Why don't you try the _Sporting
Times?_ Yours faithfully,
J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. _Saturday Review._
_To Messrs. Sampson, Low & Co., Peabody Buildings, Islington._
DEAR SIRS:--The manuscript which you forwarded for our consideration
has received careful attention; but we do not think it would prove a
success, and it is therefore returned to you herewith. We do not care
to publish third-rate books. We remain yours obediently,
J. MOGGRIDGE & CO.
(late Sampson, Low & Co.).
_To H. Quilter, Esq., P.O. Bethnal Green._
SIR:--I have to return your paper on Universal Art. It is not without
merit; but I consider art such an important subject that I mean to deal
with it exclusively myself. With thanks for kindly appreciation of my
new venture, I am yours faithfully,
J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. _Universal Review._
_To John Morley, Esq., Smith Street, Blackwall._
SIR:--Yes, I distinctly remember meeting you on the occasion to which
you refer, and it is naturally gratifying to me to hear that you enjoy
my writing so much. Unfortunately, however, I am unable to accept your
generous offer to do Lord Beaconsfield for the English Men of Letters
series, as the volume has been already arranged for. Yours sincerely,
J. MOGGRIDGE,
Ed. English Men of Letters series.
_To F. C. Burnand, Esq., Peebles, N.B._
SIR:--The jokes which you forwarded to _Punch_ on Monday last are
so good that we used them three years ago. Yours faithfully,
J. MOGGRIDGE, Ed. _Punch_.
_To Mr. D'Oyley Carte, Cross Stone Buildings, Westminster Bridge Road._
DEAR SIR:--The comic opera by your friends Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan,
which you have submitted to me, as sole lessee and manager of the Savoy
Theatre, is now returned to you unread. The little piece, judged from
its title-page, is bright and pleasing, but I have arranged with two
other gentlemen to write my operas for the next twenty-one years.
Faithfully yours,
J. MOGGRIDGE,
Sole Lessee and Manager Savoy Theatre.
_To James Ruskin, Esq., Railway Station Hotel, Willisden._
SIR:--I warn you that I will not accept any more copies of your books.
I do not know the individual named Tennyson to whom you refer; but if
he is the scribbler who is perpetually sending me copies of his verses,
please tell him that I read no poetry except my own. Why can't you leave
me alone?
J. MOGGRIDGE, Poet Laureate.
These letters of Jimmy's remind me of our famous competition, which took
place on the night of the Jubilee celebrations. When all the rest of
London (including William John) was in the streets, the Arcadians met as
usual, and Scrymgeour, at my request, put on the shutters to keep out
the din. It so happened that Jimmy and Gilray were that night in wicked
moods, for Jimmy, who was so anxious to be a journalist, had just had
his seventeenth article returned from the _St. John's Gazette_, and
Gilray had been slated for his acting of a new part, in all the
leading papers. They were now disgracing the tobacco they smoked by
quarrelling about whether critics or editors were the more disreputable
class, when in walked Pettigrew, who had not visited us for months.
Pettigrew is as successful a journalist as Jimmy is unfortunate, and
the pallor of his face showed how many Jubilee articles he had written
during the past two months. Pettigrew offered each of us a Splendidad
(his wife's new brand), which we dropped into the fireplace. Then he
filled my little Remus with Arcadia, and sinking weariedly into a chair,
said:
My dear Jimmy, the curse of journalism is not that editors won't accept
our articles, but that they want too many from us.
This seemed such monstrous nonsense to Jimmy that he turned his back on
Pettigrew, and Gilray broke in with a diatribe against critics.
Critics, said Pettigrew, are to be pitied rather than reviled.
Then Gilray and Jimmy had a common foe. Whether it was Pettigrew's
appearance among us or the fireworks outside that made us unusually
talkative that night I cannot say, but we became quite brilliant, and
when Jimmy began to give us his dream about killing an editor, Gilray
said that he had a dream about criticising critics; and Pettigrew, not
to be outdone, said that he had a dream of what would become of him if
he had to write any more Jubilee articles. Then it was that Marriot
suggested a competition. Let each of the grumblers, he said, describe
his dream, and the man whose dream seems the most exhilarating will
get from the judges a Jubilee pound-tin of the Arcadia. The grumblers
agreed, but each wanted the others to dream first. At last Jimmy began
as follows:
More
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Man Know Thy-self
Know this and be assured quite well, All evil comes when man hath fell. Fell from pu... A Covnter-blaste To Tobacco
That the manifolde abuses of this vile custome of _Tobacco_ taking, may the better be espied, it is fit, that first you enter into consideration both of the first originall thereof, and likewise of the reasons of the first entry thereof into this ... A Face That Haunted Marriot
This is not a love affair, Marriot shouted, apologetically. He had sat the others out again, but when I saw his intention I escaped into my bedroom, and now refused to come out. Look here, he cried, changing his tone, if you don't come out I'l... Abuse And Praise Of Tobacco
This is my friend Abel, an honest fellow; He lets me have good tobacco. BEN JONSON, _The Alchemist._ The druggists and other tradesmen who sold tobacco in Elizabethan and Jacobean days had every provision for the convenience... Arcadians At Bay
I have said that Jimmy spent much of his time in contributing to various leading waste-paper baskets, and that of an evening he was usually to be found prone on my hearth-rug. When he entered my room he was ever willing to tell us what he thought ... Cavalier And Roundhead Smokers
A custom lothsome to the eye, hatefull to the Nose, harmefull to the braine, dangerous to the lungs, and in the blacke stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stigian smoke of the pit that is bottomelesse.--J... Early Victorian Days
Scent to match thy rich perfume Chemic art did ne'er presume Through her quaint alembic strain, None so sovereign to the brain. LAMB, _A Farewell to Tobacco._ The social attitude towards smoking in early Victorian d... English-grown Tobacco
Pettigrew asked me to come to his house one evening and test some tobacco that had been grown in his brother's Devonshire garden. I had so far had no opportunity of judging for myself whether this attempt to grow tobacco on English soil was to suc... Gilray
Gilray is an actor, whose life I may be said to have strangely influenced, for it was I who brought him and the Arcadia Mixture together. After that his coming to live on our stair was only a matter of rooms being vacant. We met first in the... Gilray's Dream
Conceive me (said Gilray, with glowing face) invited to write a criticism of the Critics' Dramatic Society for the _Standard_. I select the _Standard_, because that paper has treated me most cruelly. However, I loathe them all. My dream is the fol... Gilray's Flower-pot
I charge Gilray's unreasonableness to his ignoble passion for cigarettes; and the story of his flower-pot has therefore an obvious moral. The want of dignity he displayed about that flower-pot, on his return to London, would have made any one sorr... His Wife's Cigars
Though Pettigrew, who is a much more successful journalist than Jimmy, says pointedly of his wife that she encourages his smoking instead of putting an end to it, I happen to know that he has cupboard skeletons. Pettigrew has been married for y... House-boat Arcadia
Scrymgeour had a house-boat called, of course, the _Arcadia_, to which he was so ill-advised as to invite us all at once. He was at that time lying near Cookham, attempting to catch the advent of summer on a canvas, and we were all, unhappily, abl... How Heroes Smoke
On a tiger-skin from the ice-clad regions of the sunless north recline the heroes of Ouida, rose-scented cigars in their mouths; themselves gloriously indolent and disdainful, but perhaps huddled a little too closely together on account of the lim... Jimmy
With the exception of myself, Jimmy Moggridge was no doubt the most silent of the company that met so frequently in my rooms. Just as Marriot's eyebrows rose if the cane chair was not empty when he strode in, Jimmy held that he had a right to the ... Jimmy's Dream
I see before me (said Jimmy, savagely) a court, where I, James Moggridge, am arraigned on a charge of assaulting the editor of the _St. John's Gazette_ so as to cause death. Little interest is manifested in the case. On being arrested I had pleade... Later Victorian Days
When life was all a summer day, And I was under twenty, Three loves were scattered in my way-- And three at once are plenty. Three hearts, if offered with a grace, One thinks not of refusing. The task in this esp... Marriot
I have hinted that Marriot was our sentimental member. He was seldom sentimental until after midnight, and then only when he and I were alone. Why he should have chosen me as the pail into which to pour his troubles I cannot say. I let him talk... Matrimony And Smoking Compared
The circumstances in which I gave up smoking were these: I was a mere bachelor, drifting toward what I now see to be a tragic middle age. I had become so accustomed to smoke issuing from my mouth that I felt incomplete without it; indeed, the ti... My Brother Henry
Strictly speaking I never had a brother Henry, and yet I cannot say that Henry was an impostor. He came into existence in a curious way, and I can think of him now without malice as a child of smoke. The first I heard of Henry was at Pettigrew'... My First Cigar
It was not in my chambers, but three hundred miles further north, that I learned to smoke. I think I may say with confidence that a first cigar was never smoked in such circumstances before. At that time I was a school-boy, living with my bro... My Last Pipe
The night of my last smoke drew near without any demonstration on my part or on that of my friends. I noticed that none of them was now comfortable if left alone with me, and I knew, I cannot tell how, that though they had too much delicacy to ... My Pipes
In a select company of scoffers my brier was known as the Mermaid. The mouth-piece was a cigarette-holder, and months of unwearied practice were required before you found the angle at which the bowl did not drop off. This brings me to one of... My Smoking-table
Had it not been for a bootblack at Charing Cross I should probably never have bought the smoking-table. I had to pass that boy every morning. In vain did I scowl at him, or pass with my head to the side. He always pointed derisively (as I thoug... My Tobacco-pouch
I once knew a lady who said of her husband that he looked nice when sitting with a rug over him. My female relatives seemed to have the same opinion of my tobacco-pouch; for they never saw it, even in my own room, without putting a book or pamp... Not The Arcadia
Those who do not know the Arcadia may have a mixture that their uneducated palate loves, but they are always ready to try other mixtures. The Arcadian, however, will never help himself from an outsider's pouch. Nevertheless, there was one black... Page Six |
stimulus. Alcohol, ever true to its companion, steps in and supplies this artificial stimulus. It is a scientific fact that tobacco is responsible for more drunkards than alcohol. I know from my own experience, that smoking natura... Pettigrew's Dream
My dream (said Pettigrew) contrasts sadly with those of my young friends. They dream of revenge, but my dream is tragic. I see my editor writing my obituary notice. This is how it reads: Mr. Pettigrew, M.A., whose sad death is recorded in anothe... Preface
This is the first attempt to write the history of smoking in this country from the social point of view. There have been many books written about tobacco--F.W. Fairholt's History of Tobacco, 1859, and the Tobacco (1857) of Andrew Steinmetz, are st... Primus
Primus is my brother's eldest son, and he once spent his Easter holidays with me. I did not want him, nor was he anxious to come, but circumstances were too strong for us, and, to be just to Primus, he did his best to show me that I was not in his... Primus To His Uncle
Though we all pretended to be glad when Primus went, we spoke of him briefly at times, and I read his letters aloud at our evening meetings. Here is a series of them from my desk. Primus was now a year and a half older and his spelling had impr... Scrymgeour
Scrymgeour was an artist and a man of means, so proud of his profession that he gave all his pictures fancy prices, and so wealthy that he could have bought them. To him I went when I wanted money--though it must not be thought that I borrowed. In... Signs Of Revival
Some sigh for this and that My wishes don't go far; The world may wag at will, So I have my cigar. THOMAS HOOD. The revival of smoking among those who were most amenable to the dictates of fashion, and among whom c... Smoking By Women
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon; They love no smoke, except the smoke of Town. ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, _circa_ 1740. A story is told of Sir Walter Raleigh by John Aubrey which seems to imply that at first women... Smoking In Church
For thy sake, TOBACCO, I Would do anything but die. CHARLES LAMB, _A Farewell to Tobacco._ The use of tobacco in churches forms a curious if short chapter in the social history of smoking. The earliest reference to such a pr... Smoking In The Restoration Period
The Indian weed withered quite Green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay-- All flesh is hay: Thus think, then drink tobacco. GEORGE WITHER (1588-1667). The year 1660 that restored Charles II t... Smoking In The Twentieth Century
Sweet when the morn is grey; Sweet, when they've clear'd away Lunch; and at close of day Possibly sweetest. C.S. CALVERLEY. Tobacco is once more triumphant. The cycle of three hundred years is complete. Sin... Smoking Under King William Iii And Queen Anne
Hail! social pipe--thou foe of care, Companion of my elbow-chair; As forth thy curling fumes arise, They seem an evening sacrifice-- An offering to my Maker's praise, For all His benefits and grace. SIR SAMUEL ... Smoking Unfashionable: Early Georgian Days
Lord Fopling smokes not--for his teeth afraid; Sir Tawdry smokes not--for he wears brocade. ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, _circa_ 1740. With the reign of Queen Anne tobacco had entered on a period, destined to be of long duration, w... Smoking Unfashionable: Later Georgian Days
Says the Pipe to the Snuff-box, I can't understand What the ladies and gentlemen see in your face, That you are in fashion all over the land, And I am so much fallen into disgrace. WILLIAM COWPER. (From a letter...