You have a right to accost any one smoking in the street, however much may be his superiority or inferiority to yourself, and to ask a light for your cigar; even negroes hatless and shirtless, thus address well-dickied gentlemen, and _vice versa_. Refuse to take a cigar with a Cuban, and you refuse his friendship. The negroes cannot work at all without their quota of cigars; "and looking out of the windows of a room in that magnificent hotel '_El Telegrafo_,' the writer remembers to have caught a glimpse more than once of the negro women at work in the laundry, every one of whom held a long cigar in her mouth, and puffed incessantly as the clothes were manipulated upon the washboards." In Havana, as throughout Cuba, there is a cigar etiquette, to infringe any of the rules of which is construed as an insult. It is, for instance considered a breach of etiquette when you are asked for a light to hand your cigar without first knocking off the ashes. A greater breach, however, is to pass the cigar handed for you to obtain a light from, to a third party for a similar purpose; the rule is to hand back the cigar with as graceful a wave as you can command, and then if necessary, pass your own cigar to the third party. [Illustration: A moonlight reverie in Havana.] The insult direct in cigar etiquette is for the party to whom you apply for a light, to pass on and leave you with the remains of his cigar, or to intimate to you, by word or action, that he has no further use for it, and that you can throw it away. In Cuba, where cigars are plentiful, the usual custom is, when you ask for a light, even if the party be a stranger, to pull out your case and offer him a cigar, by way of recognizing the civility in stopping to accommodate you. The Spaniards are naturally a polite people, and the stranger stepping into the Louvre and other public places of resort in Havana, is struck at once with the marked contrast in this respect to familiar gatherings elsewhere. In no place is a cigar more enjoyable than in Havana. Seated upon the roof of one of the large hotels in that city in a bright moonlight night, within hearing of the dreamy roll on the beach: the regular throb of the sea, lulling one into quietness; the sigh of the summer breeze a lullaby to the senses; while a high-flavored prime cigar, as it wastes and floats away in air, is the fairy wand which opens the enchanted gates of Reverie and Imagination.