I cannot recollect the precise day, but it was some time in the month of
November 1839, that I took one of my usual rambles without design or
destination. I detest a premeditated route--I always grow tired at the
first mile; but with a free course, either in town or country, I can
saunter about for hours, and feel no other fatigue but what a tumbler of
toddy and a pipe can remove. It was this disposition that made me
acquainted with the fraternity of the "Puffs." I would premise, gentle
reader, that as in my peregrinations I turn down any green lane or dark
alley that may excite my admiration or my curiosity--hurry through
glittering saloons or crowded streets--pause at the cottage door or shop
window, as it best suits my humour, so, in my intercourse with you, I
shall digress, speculate, compress, and dilate, as my fancy or my
convenience wills it. This is a blunt acknowledgment of my intentions; but
as travellers are never sociable till they have cast aside the formalities
of compliment, I wished to start with you at the first stage as an old
acquaintance. The course is not usual, and, therefore, I adopt it; and it
was by thus stepping out of a common street into a common hostel that I
became possessed of the _matériel_ of those papers, which I trust will
hereafter tend to cheat many into a momentary forgetfulness of some care.
I have no other ambition; there are philosophers enough to mystify or
enlighten the world without my "nose of Turk and Tartar's lips" being
thrust into the cauldron, whose
--"Charms of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble."
I had buttoned myself snugly in my Petersham (may the tailor who invented
_that_ garment "sleep well" whenever he "wears the churchyard livery,
grass-green turned up with brown!") The snow--the beautiful snow--fell
pure and noiselessly on the dirty pavement. Ragged, blue-faced urchins
were scrambling the pearly particles together, and, with all the joyous
recklessness of healthier childhood, carrying on a war less fatal but more
glorious than many that have made countless widows and orphans, and,
_perhaps, one_ hero. Little round doll-like things, in lace and ribbons,
were thumping second-door windows with their tiny hands, and crowing with
ecstasy at the sight of the flaky shower. "Baked-tater" cans and
"roasted-apple" saucepan lids were sputtering and frizzing in impotent
rage as they waged puny war with the congealed element. Hackney
charioteers sat on their boxes warped and whitened; whilst those strange
amalgams of past and _never-to-come_ fashions--the clerks of
London--hurried about with the horrid consciousness of exposing their
costliest garments to the "pelting of the pitiless storm." Evening stole
on. A London twilight has nothing of the pale grey comfort that is
diffused by that gradual change from day to night which I have experienced
when seated by the hearth or the open window of a rural home. There it
seems like the very happiness of nature--a pause between the burning
passions of meridian day and the dark, sorrowing loneliness of night; but
in London on it comes, or rather down it comes, like the mystic medium in
a pantomime--it is a thing that you will not gaze on for long; and you
rush instinctively from daylight to candle-light. I stopped in front of an
old-fashioned public-house, and soon (being a connoisseur in these
matters) satisfied myself that if comfort were the desideratum, "The heart
that was humble might hope for it here." I shook the snow from my
"Petersham," and seeing the word "parlour" painted in white letters on a
black door, bent my steps towards it. I was on the point of opening the
door, when a slim young man, with a remarkable small quantity of hair,
stopped my onward coarse by gurgling rather than ejaculating--for the
sentence seemed a continuous word--
"Can't-go-in-there-Sir."
"Why not?" said I."
"Puffs-Sir."
"Puffs!"
"Yes-Sir,--Tues'y night--Puffs-meets-on-Tues'y," and then addressing a
young girl in the bar, delivered an order for "One-rum-one-bran'y-one
gin-no-whisky-all-'ot," which I afterwards found to signify one glass of
each of the liqueurs.
I was about to remonstrate against the exclusiveness of the "Puffs," when
recollecting the proverbial obduracy of waiters, I contented myself with
buttoning my coat. My annoyance was not diminished by hearing the hearty
burst of merriment called forth by some jocular member of this _terra
incognita_, but rendered still more distressing by the appearance of the
landlord, who emerged from the room, his eyes streaming with those tears
that nature sheds over an expiring laugh.
"You have a merry party _concealed_ there, Master Host," said I.
"Ye-ye-s-Sir, very," replied he, and tittered again, as though he were
galvanizing his defunct merriment.
"Quite exclusive?"
"Quite, Sir, un-unless you are introduced--Oh dear!" and having mixed a
small tumbler of toddy, he disappeared into that inner region of smoke
from which I was separated by the black door endorsed "_Parlour_."
I had determined to seek elsewhere for a more social party, when the
thumping of tables and gingle of glasses induced me to abide the issue.
After a momentary pause, a firm and not unmusical voice was heard, pealing
forth the words of a song which I had written when a boy, and had procured
insertion for in a country newspaper. At the conclusion the thumping was
repeated, and the waiter having given another of his _stenographical_
orders, I could not resist desiring him to inform the vocal gentleman that
I craved a few words with him.
"Yes-Sir--don't-think-'ll come--'cos he-'s-in-a-corner."
"Perhaps you will try the experiment," said I.
"Certainly-Sir-two-gins-please-ma'am." And having been supplied with the
required beverage, he also made his _exit in fumo_.
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!
I have climbed the dark and narrow stairway that led to a modern Helicon;
there I have seen the gentle creature that loved nature for her
beauty--beauty that was to him apparent, although he sat hemmed in by bare
and tattered walls; yet there he had seen bright fountains sparkle and the
earth robe herself with life, and where the cunning spider spread her
filmy toils above his head, he has seen a world of light, a galaxy of
wonders. The din of wheels and the harsh discordant cries of busy life
have died within his ear, and the tiny voices of choral birds have hymned
him into peace; or the lettered eloquence of dread sages has become sound
again, and he has communed in the grove and temple, as they of older time
did in the eternal cities, with those whose names are immortal--and there
I have seen the humble pipe! the sole evidence of luxury or enjoyment;
when his daily task was suspended, it can never end, for he must weave and
weave the fibres of his brain into the clue that leads him to the means of
sustaining life.
I have wandered through lanes and fields when the autumn was on and the
world golden, and my journey has ended at a yeoman's door. My welcome has
been a hand-grasp, that needed bones and muscles to bear it
unflinchingly--my fare the homeliest, but the sweetest; and when the meal
was ended, how has the night wore on and then away over a cup of brown
October--the last autumn's legacy--and, forgive me, Emmeline, a pipe of
tobacco! Glorious herb! that hath oft-times stayed the progress of sorrow
and contagion; a king once consigned thee to the devil, but many a humble,
honest heart hath hailed thee as a blessing from the Creator.
I was introduced by my new acquaintance without much ceremony, and was
pleased to see that little was expected. "We meet here thrice a week,"
said Bonus, "just to wile away an hour or two after the worry and fatigue
of business. Most of us have been acquainted with each other since
boyhood--and we have some curious characters amongst us; and should you
wish to enrol your name, you have only to prove your qualification for
this (holding up his pipe), and we shall be happy to recognise you as a
'Puff.'"
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