Читать книгу: «England in the Days of Old», страница 7

Bells as Time-Tellers

The ringing of the bell in bygone times was general as a signal to commence and to close the daily round of labour. In some of the more remote towns and villages of old England the custom lingers at the ingathering of the harvest. At Driffield, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, for example, the harvest bell is still rung at five o’clock in the morning to arouse the labourers from their slumbers, and at seven in the evening the welcome sound of the bell intimates the time for closing work for the day.

References to this subject may sometimes be found in parish accounts and other old church documents. In the parish chest of Barrow-on-Humber, Lincolnshire, is preserved a copy of the “Office and Duty of the Parish Clerk,” bearing date of 1713, stating: —

“Item. – He is to ring a Bell Every working day morning at Break of the day, and continue the ringing thereof until All Saints, and also to ring a Bell Every Evening about the sunseting until harvest be fully ended: which Bells are to begin to ring from the beginning of the harvest.”

We learn from an old survey of the parish, still retained amongst the church papers, the reward given to the clerk for ringing the harvest bell. Says the document: —

“The Clarke Receiveth from Every Cottoger at Easter for Ringing the Day and Night Bell in Harvest two pecks of wheat.”

Barrow-on-Humber became famous for its bells, beer, and singers. An old rhyme states: —

 
“Barrow for ringing,
And Barrow for singing,
And the Oak for good stout ale.”
 

The Oak is the sign of the village inn, and a place of more than local reputation for its strong, home-brewed ale.

We have traces of the custom of ringing the harvest bell in various parts of the Midlands. At Moreton and at Walgrave, in Northamptonshire, the harvest bell was rung at four o’clock in the morning. At Spratton, Wellingborough, and other places in the county, the custom is still remembered, but not kept up.

It was customary in many places, when the last load of grain was brought home, to deck it with the boughs of the oak and ash, and a merry peal of the church bells made known the news that the farmer had ended his harvest, the farm labourers riding on the top of the load to sing —

 
“Harvest home! harvest home!
The boughs they do shake, the bells they do ring,
So merrily we bring the harvest in, harvest in!
So merrily we bring the harvest in.”
 

In some of the more remote villages of the country, the gleaners’ bell is rung as a signal to commence gleaning. By this means, to use the words of Mr. Thomas North, our leading authority on bell lore, the old and feeble, as well as the young and active, may have a fair start. At Lyddington, Rutland, says Mr. North, the clerk claims a fee of a penny a week from women and big children, as a recompense for his trouble. The parish clerk at West Deeping, Lincolnshire, claimed twopence a head from the gleaners, but as they refused to pay, he declined to ring the bell.

Bearing on this theme may be included particulars of a bell formerly rung at Louth when the harvest on the “Gatherums” was ripe. “A piece of ground so called,” writes Mr. North, “was in former times cultivated for the benefit of the poor. When the ‘pescods’ were ripe, the church bell was rung, which gave warning to the poor that the time had arrived when they might gather them; hence (it is said) gather ’em or gatherum.” From the church accounts is drawn the following:

Similar entries occur in the books of the church.

An inscription on a bell at Coventry, dated 1675, states: —

 
“I ring at six to let men know
When to and fro’ their work to goe.”
 

At St. Ives a bell bears a pithy inscription as follows: —

 
“Arise, and go about your business.”
 

The bells of Bow are amongst the best known in England, and figure in the legendary lore as well as in the business life of London. Every reader is familiar with the story of Dick Whittington leaving the city in despair, resting on Highgate Hill, and hearing the famous bells, which seemed to say in their merry peals —

 
“Turn again, Whittington,
Thou worthy citizen,
Lord Mayor of London.”
 

In 1469, an order was given by the Court of the Common Council for Bow bell to be rung every night at nine o’clock. Nine was the recognised time for tradesmen to close their shops. The clerk, whose duty it was to ring the bell, was irregular in his habits, and the late performance of his duties disappointed the toiling apprentices, who thus addressed him: —

 
“Clerk of Bow bell,
With thy yellow locks,
For thy late ringing
Thy head shall have knocks.”
 

The clerk replied: —

 
“Children of Cheape,
Hold you all still,
For you shall hear Bow Bell
Ring at your will.”
 

The foregoing rhymes take us back to a period before clocks were in general use in this country. The parentage of the present clock cannot be traced with any degree of certainty. We learn that as early as 996, Gerbert, a distinguished Benedictine monk (subsequently Pope Sylvester II.), constructed for Magdeburg a clock, with a weight as a motive power. Clocks with weights were used in monasteries in Europe in the eleventh century. It is supposed that they had not dials to indicate the time, but at certain intervals struck a bell to make known the time for prayers.

From the fact that a clock-keeper was employed at St. Paul’s, London, in 1286, it is presumed that there must have been a clock, but we have not been able to discover any details respecting it. There was a clock at Westminster in 1290, and two years later £30 was paid for a large clock put up at Canterbury Cathedral. Thirty pounds represented a large sum of money in the year 1292. About 1326 an astronomical clock was erected at St. Albans. It was the work of Richard de Wallingford, a blacksmith’s son of the town, who rose to the position of Abbot there. In the earlier half of the fourteenth century are traces of numerous other clocks in England. According to Haydn’s “Dictionary of Dates,” in the year 1530 the first portable clock was made. This statement does not agree with a writer in “Chambers’s Encyclopædia” (edition 1890). “The date,” we are told in that work, “when portable clocks were first made, cannot be determined. They are mentioned in the beginning of the fourteenth century. The motive power must have been a mainspring instead of a weight. The Society of Antiquaries of England possess one, with the inscription in Bohemian that it was made at Prague, by Jacob Zech, in 1525. It has a spring for motive power, with fusee, and is one of the oldest portable clocks in a perfect state in England.”

It is asserted that no clock in this country went accurately before the one was erected at Hampton Court, in 1540. Shakespeare, in his Love’s Labour’s Lost, gives us an idea of the unsatisfactory manner clocks kept time in the days of old. He says: —

 
… “Like a German clock,
Still a-repairing; ever out of frame;
And never going aright.”
 

Coming down to later times, we may give a few particulars of the difficulty of ascertaining the time in the country in the earlier years of the last century.

Norrisson Scatcherd, the historian of Morley, near Leeds, gives in his history, published in 1830, an amusing sketch of a local worthy named John Jackson, better known as “Old Trash,” poet, schoolmaster, mechanic, stonecutter, land-measurer, etc., who was buried at Woodkirk on May 19th, 1764. “He constructed a clock, and in order to make it useful to the clothiers who attended Leeds market from Earls and Hanging Heaton, Dewsbury, Chickenley, etc., he kept a lamp suspended near the face of it, and burning through the winter nights, and he would have no shutters nor curtains to his window, so that the clothiers had only to stop and look through it to know the time. Now, in our age of luxury and refinement, the accomodation thus presented by ‘Old Trash’ may seem insignificant and foolish, but I can assure the reader that it was not. The clothiers in the early part of the eighteenth century were obliged to be upon the bridge at Leeds, where the market was held, by about six o’clock in the summer, and seven in the winter; and hither they were convened by a bell anciently pertaining to a Chantry Chapel, which once was annexed to Leeds Bridge. They did not all ride, but most went on foot. They did not carry watches, for few of them had ever possessed such a valuable. They did not dine on fish, flesh, and fowl, with wine, etc., as some do now. No! no! The careful housewife wrapped up a bit of oatcake and cheese in a little checked handkerchief, and charged her husband to mind and not get above a pint of ale at ‘The Rodney.’ Would Jackson’s clock then be of no use to men who had few such in their villages? Who seldom saw a watch, but took much of their intelligence from the note of the cuckoo.”

For an extended period, the curfew bell has been a most important time-teller. The sounds are no longer heard as the signal for putting out fires, as they were in the days of the Norman kings. It is generally asserted that William the Conqueror introduced the curfew custom into England, but it is highly probable that he only enforced a law which had long been in existence in the kingdom, and which prevailed in France, Italy, Spain, and other countries on the Continent. Houses at this period were usually built of wood, and fires were frequent and often fatal, and on the whole it was a wise policy to put out household fires at night. The fire as a rule was made in a hole in the middle of the floor, and the smoke escaped through the roof. In an account of the manners and customs of the English people, drawn up in 1678, the writer states that before the Reformation, “Ordinary men’s houses, as copyholders and the like, had no chimneys, but flues like louver holes; some of them were in being when I was a boy.” In the year 1103, Henry I. modified the curfew custom. In “Liber Albus,” we find a curious picture of London life under some of the Plantagenet kings, commencing with Edward I. It was against the city regulations for armed persons to wander about the city after the ringing of the curfew bell.

We may infer from a circumstance in the closing days of William I., that from a remote period there was a religious service at eight o’clock at night. It will be remembered that the king died from the injuries received by the plunging of his horse, caused by the animal treading on some hot ashes. Shortly before his death he was roused from the stupor which clouded his mind, by the ringing of the vesper bell of a neighbouring church. He asked if it were in England and if it were the curfew bell that he heard. On being told that he was in his “own Normandy,” and the bell was for evening prayer, he “charged them bid the monks pray for his soul, and remained for a while dull and heavy.”

At Tamworth, in 1390, a bye-law was passed, and “it provided that no man, woman, or servant should go out after the ringing of the curfew from one place to another unless they had a light in their hands, under pain of imprisonment.” For a long period it was the signal for closing public-houses.

The Age of Snuffing

In this country old customs linger long, and although the age of snuffing has passed away, in some quarters the piquant pinch still finds favour. Our ancient municipal corporations have been reformed, but old usages are still maintained and revived. In 1896 we saw an account in the newspapers of an amusing episode which occurred during a meeting of the Pontefract Town Council. One of the aldermen, noticing that the councillors had “to go borrowing” snuff, suggested the re-introduction of the old Corporation snuff-box. The official box, in the shape of an antler, was unearthed from underneath the aldermanic bench amidst much amusement, and the Mayor promised ere another sitting the article in question should be duly cleaned and replenished with the stimulating powder. Sir Albert K. Rollit, the learned and genial member of Parliament for South Islington, when Mayor of his native town of Hull a few years ago, presented to his brother members of the Corporation a massive and valuable snuff-box. The gift was much appreciated. In a compilation recently published under the title of “The Corporation Plate and Insignia of Office, &c., of the Cities and Towns of England and Wales,” will be found particulars of snuff-boxes belonging to some of the older municipal bodies. In bygone times taking snuff was extremely popular, its palmy days in England being during the eighteenth century. Snuff was praised in poetry and prose. Peer and peasant, rich and poor, the lady in her drawing-room and the humble housewife alike enjoyed the pungent pinch. The snuff-box was to be seen everywhere.

The earliest allusion we have to snuffing occurs in the narrative of the second voyage of Columbus in 1494. It is there related by Roman Pane, the friar, who accompanied the expedition, that the aborigines of America reduced tobacco to a powder, and drew it through a cane half a cubit long; one end of this they placed in the nose and the other upon the powder. He also stated that it purged them very much.

Snuff and other forms of tobacco on their introduction had many bitter opponents. After the Great Plague the popularity of tobacco and snuff increased, for during the time of the terrible visitation both had been largely used as disinfectants. There is a curious entry in Thomas Hearne’s Diary, 1720-21, bearing on this theme. He writes as follows under date of January 21: – “I have been told that in the last great plague in London none that kept tobacconists’ shops had the plague. It is certain that smoaking was looked upon as a most excellent preservative. In so much that even children were obliged to smoak. And I remember that I heard formerly Tom Rogers, who was yeoman beadle, say that when he was that year when the plague raged a schoolboy at Eton, all the boys in the school were obliged to smoak in the school every morning, and that he was never whipped so much in his life as he was one morning for not smoaking.” Pepys says in his Diary on June 7, 1665: – “The hottest day that ever I felt in my life. This day, much against my will, I did in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and ‘Lord have mercy upon us!’ writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that to my remembrance I ever saw. It put me into ill-conception of myself and my smell, so that I was forced to buy some roll tobacco to smell and chew, which took apprehension.” Another impetus to the habit of snuff-taking was given in 1702. Our Fleet was under the command of Sir George Rooke, and it is recorded that at Port Saint Mary, near Cadiz, several thousand barrels of choice Spanish snuff were captured. At Vigo on the homeward voyage more native snuff was obtained, and found its way to England, instead of the Spanish market, as it was originally intended. The snuff was sold at the chief English ports for the benefit of the officers and men. In not a few instances waggon-loads were disposed of at fourpence per pound. It was named Vigo snuff, and the popularity of the ware, its cheapness, and novelty were the means of its coming into general use. In no part of the world did it become and remain more popular than in North Britain. A volume published in London in 1702, entitled “A Short Account of Scotland,” without the author’s name, but apparently by a military officer, contains some interesting information on the social life of the people. We gather from this work that the chief stimulant of the Scotch at this period was snuff. “They are fond of tobacco,” it is stated, “but more from the sneesh-box [snuff-box] than the pipe. And they made it so necessary that I have heard some of them say that, should their bread come in competition with it, they would rather fast than their sneesh should be taken away. Yet mostly it consists of the coarsest tobacco, dried by the fire, and pounded in a little engine after the form of a tap, which they carry in their pockets, and is both a mill to grind and a box to keep it in.” At social gatherings the snuff-mull was constantly passed round, and we are told that each guest left traces of its use on the table, on his knees, the folds of his dress, and on the floor. The preacher’s voice was impaired with excessive indulgence in snuff.

Long before the English visitor had written his book on Scotland, attempts had been made to prohibit snuff-taking in church. At the Kirk Session of St. Cuthbert’s, held on June 18, 1640, it was decided that every snuff-taker in church be amerced in “twenty shillings for everie falt.” Under date of April 11, 1641, it is stated in the Kirk Session records of Soulton as follows: – “Statute with consent of the ministers and elders, that every one that takes snuff in tyme of Divine Service shall pay 6s. 8d., and give one public confession of his fault.” At Dunfermline, the Kirk Session had this matter under consideration, and the bellman was directed “to tak notice of those who tak the sneising tobacco in tyme of Divine Service, and to inform concerning them.” A writer in a popular periodical, in a chapter on “The Divine Weed,” makes a mistake, we think, presuming people smoked in church in bygone days. “At one period in the history of tobacco,” says the contributor, “smoking was so common that it was actually practised in church.” Previous to the visit of James the First to the University of Cambridge, in 1615, the Vice-Chancellor issued a notice to the students, which enjoined that “Noe graduate, scholler, or student of this Universitie presume to take tobacco in Saint Marie’s Church, uppon payne of finall expellinge the Universitie.” The taking of tobacco doubtless means using it in the form of snuff and not smoking it in a pipe.

Later, and perhaps at the period under notice, a strong feeling prevailed against smoking in the public streets. In the records of the Methwold Manor, Norfolk, is an entry in the court books dated October 4, 1659, as follows: – “Wee agree that any person that is taken smookeing tobacco in the street, forfeit one shilling for every time so taken, and it shall be put to the uses aforesaid (that is to the use of the towne). We present Nicholas Barber for smoking in the street, and do amerce him one shilling.” At a parish meeting held at Winteringham, on January 6, 1685, it was resolved: – “None shall smoke tobacco in the streets upon paine of two shillings for every default.” Schoolmasters were forbidden to smoke. In the rules of Chigwell School, founded in 1629, only fourteen years after the visit of James to Cambridge, it is stated: – “The master must be a man of sound religion, neither Papist nor Puritan, of a grave behaviour, and sober and honest conversation, no tippler, or haunter of alehouses, and no puffer of tobacco.”

We may come to the conclusion from the facts we have furnished, that if persons were not permitted to smoke in the street, it is quite certain they would not be allowed to do so in the house of prayer.

Preachers of all sections of the religious world delighted in a pinch of snuff. Sneezing was heard in the highest and humblest churches, and it even made St. Peter’s at Rome echo. The practice so excited the ire of Pope Innocent the Twelfth that he made an effort in 1690 to stop it in his churches, and “solemnly excommunicated all who should dare to take snuff.” Tyerman, in his “Life of Wesley,” tells us the great trouble the famous preacher had with his early converts. “Many of them were absolutely enslaved to snuff; some drank drams, &c., to remedy such evils, the preachers were enjoined on no account to take snuff, or to drink drams themselves; and were to speak to any one they saw snuffing in sermon time, and to answer the pretence that drams cured the colic and helped digestion.” Mr. Wesley cautioned a preacher going to Ireland against snuff, unless by order of a physician, declaring that no people were in such blind bondage to the silly, nasty, dirty custom as were the Irish. It is stated so far did Irishmen carry their love of snuffing, that it was customary, when a wake was on, to put a plate full of snuff upon the dead man’s, or woman’s stomach, from which each guest was expected to take a pinch upon being introduced to the corpse.

In the earlier days of snuff-taking, people generally ground their own snuff by rubbing roll tobacco across a small grater, usually fixed inside the snuff-box. We find in old-time writings many allusions to making snuff from roll tobacco. In course of time snuff was flavoured with rich essences, and scented snuffs found favour with the ladies. The man of refinement prided himself on his taste for perfumed powder. We find it stated in Fairholt’s book on “Tobacco,” that in the reign of William III. the beaux carried canes with hollow heads, that they might the more conveniently inhale a few grains through the perforations, as they sauntered in the fashionable promenades. Women quickly followed the lead of men in snuffing, in spite of satire in the Spectator and other papers of the period. The list of famous snuff-takers of the olden time is a long one, and only a few can be noticed here. Queen Charlotte heads the roll. She was persistent in the practice, and her unfilial and rude sons called her “Old Snuff.” Captain Gronow, when a boy at Eton, saw the Queen in company with the King taking an airing on the Terrace at Windsor, and relates “that her royal nose was covered with snuff both within and without.” Mrs. Siddons, “the queen of tragedy,” largely indulged in the use of snuff, both on and off the stage, even while taking her more important characters. Mrs. Jordan, another “stage star,” a representative of the comic muse, obtained animation from frequent use of snuff. Mrs. Unwin, the friend of Cowper, was extremely fond of it, and so was the poet, yet he was not a smoker. On snuff he wrote as follows: —

 
“The pungent, nose-refreshing weed,
Which whether pulverised it gain
A speedy passage to the brain,
Or whether touched with fire it rise
In circling eddies to the skies,
Does thought more quicken and refine
Than all the breath of all the Nine.”
 

Pope, in “The Rape of the Lock,” refers to ladies with their snuff-boxes always handy, and the fair Belinda found hers particularly useful in the battle she waged: —

 
“See, fierce Belinda on the baron flies
With more than usual lightning in her eyes;
And this bred lord, with manly strength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb subdued.
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;
The gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Sudden with startling tears each eye o’erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.”
 

Napoleon’s legacy to the famous Lady Holland was a snuff-box, and Moore celebrated the gift in a verse written while he was in Paris in 1821: —

 
“Gift of the Hero, on his dying day,
To her who pitying watch’d, for ever nigh;
Oh, could he see the proud, the happy ray,
This relic lights up in her generous eye,
Sighing, he’d feel how easy ’tis to pay
A friendship all his kingdoms could not buy.”
 

Amongst ladies we have to include the charming Clarinda, a friend of Robert Burns, on whom he wrote when obliged to leave her: —

 
“She, the fair sun of all her sex,
Has blest my glorious day,
And shall, a glimmering planet, fix
My worship to its ray.”
 

She was much addicted to the use of snuff, more especially towards the closing years of her life, and to the last she was famous for her singular sprightliness in conversation. Dr. Deering wrote, about the end of the first half of the eighteenth century, a history of Nottingham, and in it he relates how ladies, enjoying their tea, between each dish regaled their nostrils with a pinch or two of snuff. The snuff-boxes carried by them were usually costly, and generally elegant in form. David Garrick gave his wife a gold snuff-box. George Barrington, the celebrated pickpocket and author, stole from Prince Orloff a snuff-box, set with brilliants, valued at £30,000. Barrington was transported to Botany Bay, and at the opening of Sydney Theatre, January 16, 1796, Young’s tragedy, The Revenge, was performed by convicts, and a prologue from Barrington’s pen contained this passage: —

 
“From distant climes, o’er widespread seas, we come,
Though not with much éclat, or beat of drum;
True patriots we, for, be it understood,
We left our country for our country’s good.
No private views disgraced our generous zeal,
What urged our travels was our country’s weal;
And none will doubt but that our emigration
Has proved most useful to the British nation.”
 

In the olden time it was customary for the English Court to present to an Ambassador on his return home a gold snuff-box, and only in late years has this practice been discontinued. George IV. made a fraudulent display of snuff-taking; he carried an empty box, and pretended to draw from it pinches and apply them to his nose. The great Napoleon could not endure smoking, but filled his waistcoat pocket with snuff, and partook of prodigious quantities. Nelson enjoyed his snuff, and his snuff-box finds a place among his relics at Greenwich. Literary men and dramatists figure in imposing numbers amongst snuff-takers. Dryden enjoyed snuff, and did not object to share the luxury with others. A favourite haunt of his was Will’s Coffee-house in Bow Street, Covent Garden, where he was met by the chief wits of the time. In the “London Spy,” by Ned Wright, it is related that a parcel of raw, second-rate beaux and wits were conceited if they had but the honour to dip a finger and thumb into Mr. Dryden’s snuff-box. Addison, Bolingbroke, Congreve, Swift, and Pope were snuff-takers. Dr. Samuel Johnson carried large supplies in his waistcoat pocket, and his friend Boswell thus praised it: —

 
“Oh snuff! our fashionable end and aim!
Strasburg, Rappee, Dutch, Scotch,
Whate’er thy name;
Powder celestial! quintescence divine!
New joys entrance my soul while thou art mine.”
 

Arkbuckle, another Scottish poet, author of many humorous and witty poems, wrote in 1719 as follows: —

 
“Blest be his shade, may laurels ever bloom,
And breathing sweets exhale around his tomb,
Whose penetrating nostril taught mankind
First how by snuff to rouse the sleeping mind.”
 

The following lines are by Robert Leighton, a modern Scotch poet of recognised ability: —

The Snuffie Auld Man

 
“By the cosie fireside, or the sun-ends o’ gavels,
The snuffie auld bodie is sure to be seen;
Tap, tappin’ his snuff-box, he snifters and sneevils,
And smachers the snuff frae his mou’ to his een.
Since tobacco cam’ in, and the snuffin’ began,
The hasna been seen sic a snuffie auld man.
 
 
His haurins are dozen’d, his een sair bedizen’d,
And red round the lids as the gills o’ a fish;
His face is a’ bladdit, his sark-breest a’ smaddit —
And snuffie a picture as ony could wish.
He maks a mere merter o’ a’ thing he does,
Wi’ snuff frae his fingers an’ draps frae his nose.
 
 
And wow but his nose is a troublesome member —
Day and nicht, there’s nae end to its snuffie desire;
It’s wide as the chimlie, it’s red as an ember,
And has to be fed like a dry-whinnie fire,
It’s a troublesome member, and gie’s him nae peace,
Even sleepin’ or eatin’ or sayin’ the grace.
 
 
The kirk is disturbed wi’ his hauchin and sneezin’,
The domime stoppit when leadin’ the psalm;
The minister, deav’d out o’ logic and reason,
Pours gall in the lugs that are gapin’ for balm.
The auld folks look surly, the young chaps jocose,
While the bodie himsel’ is bambazed wi’ his nose.
 
 
He scrimps the auld wife baith in garnal and caddy;
He snuffs what wad keep her in comfort and ease;
Rapee, Lundyfitt, Prince’s Mixture, and Taddy,
She looks upon them as the warst o’ her faes.
And we’ll ne’er see an end o’ her Rooshian war
While the auld carle’s nose is upheld like a Czar.”
 

Charles and Mary Lamb both enjoyed snuff, and doubtless felt its use assisted them in their literary labours. Here is a picture drawn by Mary of the pair as they were penning their “Tales from Shakespeare,” sitting together at the same table. “Like a literary Darby and Joan,” she says, “I taking snuff, and he groaning all the while, and saying he can make nothing of it, till he has finished, when he finds he has made something of it.” Sterne was a snuff-taker, and when his wife was about to join him in Paris in 1762, he wrote a letter in which he said: – “You will find good tea upon the road from York to Dover; only bring a little to carry you from Calais to Paris. Give the custom-house officer what I told you. At Calais give more, if you have much Scotch snuff; but as tobacco is good here, you had best bring a Scotch mull and make it yourself; that is, order your valet to manufacture it, ’twill keep him out of mischief.” In another letter he says: – “You must be cautious about Scotch snuff; take half a pound in your pocket, and make Lyd do the same.” Sir Joshua Reynolds is described as taking snuff profusely. It is related that he powdered his waistcoat, let it fall in heaps upon the carpet, and even upon his palette, and it thus became mixed with his pigments and transferred to his pictures. Gibbon was a confirmed snuff-taker. In one of his letters he relates how he took snuff. “I drew my snuff-box,” he said, “rapp’d it, took snuff twice, and continued my discourse, in my usual attitude of my body bent forwards, and my forefinger stretched out.”

Offering a pinch of snuff has always been regarded as a mark of civility, but there are some men who could not tolerate the practice. Frederick the Great, for example, disliked others to take snuff from his box. He was lying in the adjoining room to one where he had left his box, and his page helped himself to a pinch from it. He was detected, and Frederick said, “Put that box in your pocket; it is too small for both of us.” George II. liked to have his box for his own exclusive use, and when a gentleman at a masquerade helped himself to a pinch, the King in great anger threw away the box.