Not the least agreeable feature about the creature was that it was hideously lifelike.  It appeared to have been carved in amber, but some coloring matter must have been introduced, for inside the amber the creature was of a peculiarly ghastly green.  The more I examined the pipe the more amazed I was at Tress’s generosity.  He and I are rival collectors.  I am not going to say, in so many words, that his collection of pipes contains nothing but rubbish, because, as a matter of fact, he has two or three rather decent specimens.  But to compare his collection to mine would be absurd.  Tress is conscious of this, and he resents it.  He resents it to such an extent that he has been known, at least on one occasion, to declare that one single pipe of his—­I believe he alluded to the Brummagem relic preposterously attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh—­was worth the whole of my collection put together.  Although I have forgiven this, as I hope I always shall forgive remarks made when envious passions get the better of our nobler nature, even of a Joseph Tress, it is not to be supposed that I have forgotten it.  He was, therefore, not at all the sort of person from whom I expected to receive a present.  And such a present!  I do not believe that he himself had a finer pipe in his collection.  And to have given it to me!  I had misjudged the man.  I wondered where he had got it from.  I had seen his pipes; I knew them off by heart—­and some nice trumpery he has among them, too! but I had never seen that pipe before.  The more I looked at it, the more my amazement grew.  The beast perched upon the edge of the bowl was so lifelike.  Its two bead-like eyes seemed to gleam at me with positively human intelligence.  The pipe fascinated me to such an extent that I actually resolved to—­smoke it!

I filled it with Perique.  Ordinarily I use Birdseye, but on those very rare occasions on which I use a specimen I smoke Perique.  I lit up with quite a small sensation of excitement.  As I did so I kept my eyes perforce fixed upon the beast.  The beast pointed its upraised tentacle directly at me.  As I inhaled the pungent tobacco that tentacle impressed me with a feeling of actual uncanniness.  It was broad daylight, and I was smoking in front of the window, yet to such an extent was I affected that it seemed to me that the tentacle was not only vibrating, which, owing to the peculiarity of its position, was quite within the range of probability, but actually moving, elongating—­stretching forward, that is, farther toward me, and toward the tip of my nose.  So impressed was I by this idea that I took the pipe out of my mouth and minutely examined the beast.  Really, the delusion was excusable.  So cunningly had the artist wrought that he succeeded in producing a creature which, such was its uncanniness, I could only hope had no original in nature.

Replacing the pipe between my lips I took several whiffs.  Never had smoking had such an effect on me before.  Either the pipe, or the creature on it, exercised some singular fascination.  I seemed, without an instant’s warning, to be passing into some land of dreams.  I saw the beast, which was perched upon the bowl, writhe and twist.  I saw it lift itself bodily from the meerschaum.