In a few minutes a man of about fifty made his appearance; his face indicated the absence of vulgarity, though a few purply tints delicately hinted that he had assisted at many an orgie of the rosy offspring of Jupiter and Semele.  His dark vestments and white cravat induced me to set him down as a “professional gentleman”—­nor was I far wrong in my conjecture.  As I shall have, I trust, frequent occasion to speak of him, I will for the sake of convenience, designate him Mr. Bonus.

I briefly stated my reason for disturbing him—­that as he had honoured my muse by forming so intimate an acquaintance with her, I was anxious to trespass on his politeness to introduce me into that room which had now become a sort of “Blue-beard blue-chamber” to my thirsty curiosity.  Having handed him my card, he readily complied, and in another minute I was an inhabitant of an elysium of sociality and tobacco-smoke.

“Faugh!” cries Aunt Charlotte Amelia, whilst pretty little Cousin Emmeline turns up her round hazel eyes and ejaculates, “Tobacco-smoke! horrid!”

Ladies! you treat with scorn that which God hath given as a blessing!  It has never been your lot to thread the streets of mighty London, when the first springs of her untiring commerce are set in motion.  Long, dear aunt, before thy venerable nose peeps from beneath the quilted coverlid to scent an atmosphere made odorous by cosmetics—­long, dear Emmeline, ere those bright orbs that one day will fire the hearts of thousands are unclosed, the artizan has blessed his sleeping children, and closed the door upon his household gods.  The murky fog, the drizzling shower, welcome him back to toil.  Labour runs before him, and with ready hand unlocks the doors of dreary cellars or towering and chilly edifices; mind hath not yet promulgated or received the noble doctrine that toil is dignity; and you, yes, even you, dear, gentle hearts! would feel the artizan a slave, if some clever limner showed you the toiling wretch sooted or japanned.  Would you then rob him of one means of happiness?  No—­not even of his pipe!  Ladies, you tread on carpets or on marble floors—­I will tell you where my foot has been.  I have walked where the air was circumscribed—­where man was manacled by space, for no other crimes but those of poverty and misfortune.  I’ve seen the broken merchant seated round a hearth that had not one endearment—­they looked about for faces that were wont to smile upon them, and they saw but mirrors of their own sad lineaments—­some laughed in mockery of their sorrows, as though they thought that mirth would come for asking; others, grown brutal by being caged, made up in noise what they lacked in peace.  How comfortless they seemed!  The only solace that the eye could trace was the odious herb, tobacco!