Another cloudy day arose upon London when the great plague broke out, and on this occasion, the smoke of tobacco mingled with the gloom. In Reliquiæ Hearnianæ, it is stated that “none who kept tobacconist’s shops had the plague. It is certain that smoking was looked upon as a most excellent preservative, insomuch, that even children were obliged to smoke. And I remember”, continues the writer, “that I heard formerly Tom Rogers, who was yeoman beadle, say, that when he was that year when the plague raged, a schoolboy at Eton, all the boys of that school were obliged to smoke in the school every morning, and that he was never whipped so much in his life as he was one morning for not smoking.” We may imagine the experiences of some of these urchins at their first or second attempt, and in remembrance, it may be, of some similar experience of our own, see no cause for wonder at Tom Rogers not liking to elevate his yard of clay, and view the curls of smoke arise from the ashes of the smouldering weed. Another amateur who flourished after the great fire had burnt out all traces of the great plague, has left us the record of his “day of smoke,” and the cudgelling he received for doing that which Tom Rogers was whipped for not doing— “I shall never forget the day when I first smoked. It was a day of exultation and humiliation. It was a Sunday. My uncle was a great smoker. He dined with us that day; and after the meal, he pulled out his cigar case, took a cheroot, and smoked it. I always liked the fumes of tobacco, so I went near him and observed how he put the cheroot into his mouth, the way he inhaled the smoke, how he puffed it out again, and the other coquetries of a regular smoker. I envied my uncle, and was determined that I would smoke myself. Uncle fell asleep. Now, thought I, here’s an opportunity not to be lost. I quietly abstracted three cigars from the case which was lying on the table, and sneaked off. Being a lad of a generous disposition, I wished that my brothers and cousins should also partake of the benefits of a smoke, so I imparted the secret to them, at which they were highly pleased. When and where to smoke was the next consideration. It was arranged that when the old people had gone to church in the evening, we should smoke in the coach-house. We were six in number. I divided the three cigars into halves, and gave each a piece. Oh, how our hearts did palpitate with joy! Fire was stealthily brought from the cook-house, and we commenced to light our cigars. Such puffing I never did see. After each puff we would open our mouths quite wide, to let the smoke out. At the performance of the first puff we laughed heartily—the smoke coming out of our mouths was so funny. At the second puff we didn’t laugh so much, but began to spit; we thought the cigars were very bitter. After the third puff we looked steadfastly at each other—each thought the other looked pale. I could not give the word of command for another pull. I