Though some of the Zoolus indulge in smoking, all, without exception, are passionately fond of snuff, which is composed of dried “dacca” leaves mixed with burnt aloes, and powdered. No greater compliment can be offered than to share the contents of a snuff calabash with your neighbour. The snuff is shovelled into the palm of the hand, with a small ivory spoon, whence it is carefully sniffed up. Worse than a Goth would that barbarian be who would wantonly interrupt a social party thus engaged. The Delagoans of the eastern coast, consider the smoking of the “hubble-bubble” one of the greatest luxuries of life. A long hollow reed or cane, with the lower end immersed in a horn of water, and the upper end capped with a piece of earthenware, shaped like a thimble, is held in the hand. They cover the top, with the exception of a small aperture, through which, by a peculiar action of the mouth, they draw the smoke from the pipe above by the water below; they fill the mouth, and after having kept it some time there, eject it with violence from the ears and nostrils. “I have often,” says Mr. Owen, “known them giddy, and apparently half stifled from indulging in this fascinating luxury—it produces a violent whooping and coughing, accompanied by a profuse perspiration, and great temporary debility, and yet it is considered by the natives highly strengthening, and is always resorted to by them previously to undertaking a long journey, or commencing work in the field. To the hut of an old man who was thus indulging himself, I was attracted by the loudness of the cough it had occasioned, and as I entered I observed that his feeble frame had almost fallen a victim to the violent effects of the bang or dakka he was smoking. He had thrown himself back on some faggots, and it was not until I had been some time there that he appeared at all conscious of my presence; yet, as soon as the half inebriated wretch had obtained sufficient strength, he commenced his devotions to the pipe again, and by the time I quitted the hut was reduced to the same state as that in which I had found him.” “I have seen the opium-eaters of Constantinople,” writes the _Times’_ correspondent, “and the hashish-smokers of Constantine. I recollected having a taboosh in the bazaars of Smyrna from a young Moslem whose palsied hand and dotard head could not count the coins I offered him. I recollect the hashish-smokers of Constantine, who were to be seen and heard every afternoon at the bottom of the abyss which yawns under the Adultress Rock—lean, fleshless Arabs—smoking their little pipes of hemp-seed, chaunting and swaying their skeleton forms to and fro, shrieking to the wild echoes of the chasm, then sinking exhausted under the huge cactus—sights and sounds of saturnalia in purgatory.”