544 The United Service Smoke-shop : a Winter Sketch. [MAY, 



hieroglyphics displayed on the magnificent hatchment announced that 

 the last of his race had perished. Returning,, I passed Needham's cottage, 

 where closed windows told me that Fanny's sorrows had also found a 

 refuge in the grave. 



Her child survived. Of him a future tale may tell. G. D. 



THE UNITED SERVICE SMOKE-SHOP : A WINTER SKETCH. 

 BY A SMOKER. 



Scene, the Divan. St. Martin's in the Fields. President's Chair. 



Long Table. Chairs, fyc. Enter Bob Vino and Beau Ben in argument. 



Vino. But give me leave to say, friend Ben, that you are quite mis- 

 taken : a pipe is, I contend, a more dignified medium for inhaling the 

 perfume of tobacco than your boasted cigarro, and only inferior to the 

 sublime hooka. 



Beau Ben. Psha, Bob ! you are always on stilts : dignified ! sublime ! 

 what have these pompous words to do with our humble smoke-shop ? 

 where a few good fellows meet, in the free-and-easy way, to blow a 

 cloud ; each, according to his fancy, enjoys his nip of ale, or glass of grog 

 and Welsh rabbit, free from all restraint, and without being exposed to 

 that prying inquisition into each other's circumstances which seems to be 

 half the business of certain modern associations : enjoy your splendidly- 

 mounted meerchaum, if you will ; but for the luxury of smoking, give 

 me the cigar fresh and fragrant from the cedar box. 



Vino. But you'll give me leave to say 



Beau Ben. Avast ! /'// give you leave (without further asking) to say 

 whatever you please for the next six months ; but a'n't we early ? no 

 faith, nearly nine. Where can old MacTowlter be ; he maintains that 

 character in the smoke-shop which all agree he did in the field of battle 

 the first in and the last out of it. 



Enter Lieut. Col. MacTowlter (choked). 



Beau Ben. Welcome, noble colonel ; well secured, I see : we were 

 afraid you had got a tumble this slippery weather. 



Lt. Col. Towlter. Not quite, Beau ; but, I'll tell you what, I walked 

 very aisy for fear I would. 



Beau Ben. Colonel, here's an old campaigning friend of yours, Mr. 

 Vino, of the commissary department. 



Vino. (Correcting him.) Commissary/, if you please. 



Beau Ben. Well then, commissan'atf, if you will have it so. 



Lt. Col. Towlter. Mr. Vino, we have seen some hard, ay, and some 

 pleasant days too, together. Do you remember our scramble on the 

 march from Figuera? we were both hearty cocks in these times; but 

 twenty years or so makes all the difference. 



Vino. I often think of my old acquaintances of the rough and ready, 

 and wish them well. 



Lt. Col. Towlter. Why, for the matter of that, Mr. Vino, they are, 

 I hope, well off; but seeing there are not above five or six of the old 

 hands left to give an account of ourselves, we must only trust that our 

 old comrades in arms, having made their last mortal march with honour, 

 have arrived at better and permanent quarters. 



