I remember the first one I smoked that night. I remember it distinctly, though I would much rather forget it. We had just finished dinner, and were sitting at the table in semi-darkness. It was a beautiful evening. The stars shone brilliantly in the unclouded firmament, and the cool breeze softly played and whispered among the palms. The men were happy and contented, and all was peace and harmony. Suddenly remembering those cigars, I went into my tent and took three out of the box. I put two of them in my pocket for the others, and proceeded to light my own before going outside again. The first puff knocked me backwards, but I strove gallantly to recover my scattered faculties, and, dashing the tears from my eyes, made another attempt. It was hard work, but I persevered, though I admit I perspired freely. After a little practice I found that if I took a cautious draw or two, sandwiching deep long draughts of fresh air between each, I could manage to get along. Then I went outside and sat down at the table where El Hakim and George were quietly and happily conversing. Presently George said, “Funny smell, isn’t it?” “Yes,” El Hakim replied. “I have noticed it for the last two or three minutes. I hope those men have not set fire to the grass.” “Have you noticed it?” said George to me. “No, I can’t say I have,” I answered. “What is it like?” “Great Scott! your nose must be out of order,” said George. “It reminds me of a brickfield. I wonder what it can be?” “Oh, you fellows must be dreaming,” said I. “I can’t smell anything extraordinary.” “Can’t you?” said El Hakim, turning in his chair to look at me. “Hullo! what are you smoking?” he added. “A cigar, of course, and a jolly good one too,” said I, puffing away vigorously as a proof of my enjoyment, which very nearly proved my undoing. “Have one?” El Hakim rose slowly to his feet, and gazed sorrowfully and reproachfully at me; then giving one or two distinctly audible sniffs, he walked slowly to the edge of the camp and gazed silently over the plains, followed a moment later by George, who made some almost unintelligible remark about “he could stand a good deal, but that——” and, shuddering visibly, he too vanished. I threw the remains of the cigar into the river, where it probably continued its nefarious career, doubtless doing a lot of harm. George, with a lofty disregard of my feelings, euphoniously christened them “stinkers,” and neither he nor El Hakim could ever be persuaded to smoke one.