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's house, which is in a London suburb,
so conveniently situated that I can go there and back in one day. I was
testing some new Cabanas, I remember, when Pettigrew remarked that he
brother but Alexander, I felt that Pettigrew had mistaken the name.
Oh, no, Pettigrew said; he spoke of Alexander too. Even this did not
convince me, and I asked my host for his friend's name. Scudamour was
the name of the man, and he had met my brothers Alexander and Henry
years before in Paris. Then I remembered Scudamour, and I probably
frowned, for I myself was my own brother Henry. I distinctly recalled
Scudamour meeting Alexander and me in Paris, and calling me Henry,
though my name begins with a J. I explained the mistake to Pettigrew,
and here, for the time being, the matter rested. However, I had by no
means heard the last of Henry.
Several times afterward I heard from various persons that Scudamour
wanted to meet me because he knew my brother Henry. At last we did meet,
in Jimmy's chambers; and, almost as soon as he saw me, Scudamour asked
where Henry was now. This was precisely what I feared. I am a man who
always looks like a boy. There are few persons of my age in London who
retain their boyish appearance as long as I have done; indeed, this is
the curse of my life. Though I am approaching the age of thirty, I pass
for twenty; and I have observed old gentlemen frown at my precocity when
I said a good thing or helped myself to a second glass of wine. There
was, therefore, nothing surprising in Scudamour's remark, that, when he
had the pleasure of meeting Henry, Henry must have been about the age
that I had now reached. All would have been well had I explained the
real state of affairs to this annoying man; but, unfortunately for
myself, I loathe entering upon explanations to anybody about anything.
This it is to smoke the Arcadia. When I ring for a time-table and
William John brings coals instead, I accept the coals as a substitute.
Much, then, did I dread a discussion with Scudamour, his surprise when
he heard that I was Henry, and his comments on my youthful appearance.
Besides, I was smoking the best of all mixtures. There was no likelihood
of my meeting Scudamour again, so the easiest way to get rid of him
seemed to be to humor him. I therefore told him that Henry was in India,
married, and doing well. Remember me to Henry when you write to him,
was Scudamour's last remark to me that evening.
A few weeks later some one tapped me on the shoulder in Oxford Street.
It was Scudamour. Heard from Henry? he asked. I said I had heard by
the last mail. Anything particular in the letter? I felt it would not
do to say that there was nothing particular in a letter which had come
all the way from India, so I hinted that Henry was having trouble with
his wife. By this I meant that her health was bad; but he took it up in
another way, and I did not set him right. Ah, ah! he said, shaking his
head sagaciously; I'm sorry to hear that. Poor Henry! Poor old boy!
was all I could think of replying. How about the children? Scudamour
asked. Oh, the children, I said, with what I thought presence of mind,
are coming to England. To stay with Alexander? he asked. My answer
was that Alexander was expecting them by the middle of next month; and
eventually Scudamour went away muttering, Poor Henry! In a month or so
we met again. No word of Henry's getting leave of absence? asked
Scudamour. I replied shortly that Henry had gone to live in Bombay, and
would not be home for years. He saw that I was brusque, so what does he
do but draw me aside for a quiet explanation. I suppose, he said,
you are annoyed because I told Pettigrew that Henry's wife had run away
from him. The fact is, I did it for your good. You see, I happened to
make a remark to Pettigrew about your brother Henry, and he said that
there was no such person. Of course I laughed at that, and pointed out
not only that I had the pleasure of Henry's acquaintance, but that
you and I had talked about the old fellow every time we met. 'Well,'
Pettigrew said, 'this is a most remarkable thing; for he,' meaning
you, 'said to me in this very room, sitting in that very chair, that
Alexander was his only brother.' I saw that Pettigrew resented your
concealing the existence of your brother Henry from him, so I thought
the most friendly thing I could do was to tell him that your reticence
was doubtless due to the unhappy state of poor Henry's private affairs.
Naturally in the circumstances you did not want to talk about Henry. I
shook Scudamour by the hand, telling him that he had acted judiciously;
but if I could have stabbed him in the back at that moment I dare say
I would have done it.
I did not see Scudamour again for a long time, for I took care to keep
out of his way; but I heard first from him and then of him. One day he
wrote to me saying that his nephew was going to Bombay, and would I be
so good as to give the youth an introduction to my brother Henry? He
also asked me to dine with him and his nephew. I declined the dinner,
but I sent the nephew the required note of introduction to Henry.
The next I heard of Scudamour was from Pettigrew. By the way, said
Pettigrew, Scudamour is in Edinburgh at present. I trembled, for
Edinburgh is where Alexander lives. What has taken him there? I
asked, with assumed carelessness. Pettigrew believed it was business;
but, he added, Scudamour asked me to tell you that he meant to call
on Alexander, as he was anxious to see Henry's children. A few days
afterward I had a telegram from Alexander, who generally uses this means
of communication when he corresponds with me.
Do you know a man, Scudamour? Reply, was what Alexander said. I
thought of answering that we had met a man of that name when we were
in Paris; but after consideration, I replied boldly: Know no one of
name of Scudamour.
About two months ago I passed Scudamour in Regent Street, and he scowled
at me. This I could have borne if there had been no more of Henry; but I
knew that Scudamour was now telling everybody about Henry's wife.
By and by I got a letter from an old friend of Alexander's asking me
if there was any truth in a report that Alexander was going to Bombay.
Soon afterward Alexander wrote to me saying he had been told by several
persons that I was going to Bombay. In short, I saw that the time had
come for killing Henry. So I told Pettigrew that Henry had died of
fever, deeply regretted; and asked him to be sure to tell Scudamour,
who had always been interested in the deceased's welfare. Pettigrew
afterward told me that he had communicated the sad intelligence to
Scudamour. How did he take it? I asked. Well, Pettigrew said,
reluctantly, he told me that when he was up in Edinburgh he did not get
on well with Alexander. But he expressed great curiosity as to Henry's
children. Ah, I said, the children were both drowned in the Forth; a
sad affair--we can't bear to talk of it. I am not likely to see much of
Scudamour again, nor is Alexander. Scudamour now goes about saying that
Henry was the only one of us he really liked.
More
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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
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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
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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... The Arcadia Mixture
Darkness comes, and with it the porter to light our stair gas. He vanishes into his box. Already the inn is so quiet that the tap of a pipe on a window-sill startles all the sparrows in the quadrangle. The men on my stair emerged from their hol... The Arcadia Mixture Again
One day, some weeks after we left Scrymgeour's house-boat, I was alone in my rooms, very busy smoking, when William John entered with a telegram. It was from Scrymgeour, and said, You have got me into a dreadful mess. Come down here first train... The First Pipes Of Tobacco Smoked In England
Before the wine of sunny Rhine, or even Madam Clicquot's, Let all men praise, with loud hurras, this panacea of Nicot's. The debt confess, though none the less they love the grape and barley, Which Frenchmen owe to good Nicot, and En... The Ghost Of Christmas Eve
A few years ago, as some may remember, a startling ghost-paper appeared in the monthly organ of the Society for Haunting Houses. The writer guaranteed the truth of his statement, and even gave the name of the Yorkshire manor-house in which the ... The Grandest Scene In History
Though Scrymgeour only painted in watercolors, I think--I never looked at his pictures--he had one superb idea, which we often advised him to carry out. When he first mentioned it the room became comparatively animated, so much struck were we a... The Murder In The Inn
Sometimes I think it is all a dream, and that I did not really murder the waits. Perhaps they are living still. Yet the scene is very vivid before me, though the affair took place--if it ever did take place--so long ago that I cannot be expected t... The Perils Of Not Smoking
When the Arcadians heard that I had signed an agreement to give up smoking they were first incredulous, then sarcastic, then angry. Instead of coming, as usual, to my room, they went one night in a body to Pettigrew's, and there, as I afterward... The Romance Of A Pipe-cleaner
We continued to visit the _Arcadia_, though only one at a time now, and Gilray, who went most frequently, also remained longest. In other words, he was in love again, and this time she lived at Cookham. Marriot's love affairs I pushed from me w... Tobacco From A Moral Stand-point |
Go to our jails and penitentiaries and you will find their inmates, almost to a man, tobacco-eate... Tobacco Triumphant: Smoking Fashionable And Universal
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I would enjoin every shop to make use of a sign which bears some affinity to the wares in which it deals. ADDISON, _Spectator_, April 2, 1711. Shop-signs were one of the most conspicuous features of the streets of old London... Vanity All Is Vanity
TOBACCO ... What Could He Do?
This was another of Marriot's perplexities of the heart. He had been on the Continent, and I knew from his face, the moment he returned, that I would have a night of him. On the 4th of September, he began, playing agitatedly with my tobacco-... When My Wife Is Asleep And All The House Is Still
Perhaps the heading of this paper will deceive some readers into thinking that I smoke nowadays in camera. It is, I know, a common jest among smokers that such a promise as mine is seldom kept, and I allow that the Arcadians tempt me still. But...