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revel in that silent sympathy which is felt for one another by all 
those who have been enslaved by the charms of the “ Arcadia 
Mixture.” 
His companions’ names are Gilray, Marriott, Moggridge— 
familiarly known as Jimmy—and Scrymgeour. ‘There is one 
other called Pettigrew, but he has married and does not often 
join his comrades in smoke. In racy language he describes his 
friends, and tells us that Scrymgeour, who was an artist, had a 
romantic notion that Africa might be civilised by the use of the 
** Arcadia Mixture.’’ Another idea of his was to paint a picture 
of Shakespeare smoking his first pipe of ‘‘ Arcadia,’’ this sublime 
event, which the author calls the grandest scene in history, throws 
quite a new light on the HKlizabethan age, due to the introduc- 
tion of tobacco into England. 
But what are the peculiarities of this ‘‘ Arcadia Mixture,” 
which exercises such a fascination over these men? What is it 
which constitutes this mysterious bond of sympathy between men 
of different characters and in different walks of life? The secret 
is best told in his own words on page 26 of the book. 
He has an excellent chapter on his pipes, in which he tells us 
that although he has tried practically all kinds, he considers a 
briar to be the best, at any rate, for the ‘‘ Arcadia Mixture.” In 
this chaptez also, he gives some most amusing advice to smokers 
on the advantages of paper spills over matches, for the purpose 
of lighting one’s pipe, and on the proper sort of fire required. A 
description of his old tobacco pouch is written in quite his best 
style of pathetic humour, and an account of the vicissitudes of 
his smoking-table is very diverting. All these are merely 
recollections of a time gone by, ‘“ Arcadia Mixture’’ now no 
longer holding him in its fascinating grip. His comparison 
between matrimony and smoking is pervaded by a delightful 
tone of injured innocence. 
But apart from smoking the book is characterized by the same 
entertaining wit, humour, and grasp of human nature in many 
different forms. Some letters which he receives from his nephew, 
who is at school, seem as if they must really have been written 
by a schoolboy. Whether he is arguing with Marriott on love, 
or soliloquizing on matrimony and the selfishness of bachelors, 
or describing Gilray’s dream of criticising the critics, or 
Pettigrew’s dream of meeting his death through writing so many 
articles on the Jubilee, or Jimmy’s dream of killing an editor, 
his style is touched with a delicate humour, or a “mild satire, 
which are both equally pleasing. 
But I have not yet given the reason which is required from 
me as to why I consider this the best book I read in 1901, 
