‘I love thee!’ exclaimed Captain Marryat, in the impassioned strain of a Troubadour for the lady of his heart, ‘I love thee! whether thou appearest in the form of a cigar, or diest away in sweet perfumes enshrined in a meerschaum bowl. I love thee with more than a woman’s love; thou art a companion to me in solitude; I can talk and reason with thee, avoiding loud, obstreperous argument. Thou art a friend to me when in trouble, for thou advisest in silence, and consolest with thy calm influence over the perturbed spirit. I know not how thy power has been bestowed upon thee; yet, if to harmonize the feelings, to allow the thoughts to spring without control, rising, like the white vapour from the cottage hearth on a morning that is sunny and serene; if to impart that sober sadness over the spirit which inclines us to forgive our enemies; that calm philosophy which reconciles us to the ingratitude and knavery of the world; that heavenly contemplation whispering to us, as we look around, that all is good—if these be merits, they are thine, most potent weed.’ ‘A truce to superfine sentiment. Tobacco is all very well as a check to over-vehemence in men, just as a snaffle-bit is to a rampant horse; applied to the wrong person, it will turn a sluggard into a seventh sleeper. But it has a higher significance, such as you in your speculative dreaming may never have thought of. Herr Carlyle, the friend of the Fatherland, has told you his story of the use and abuse of tobacco in Germany, now I will tell you mine, just as the incident occurred in the old Bund of the times that are past.