en me in a tandem, and at that moment was seized with a violent fit
of sneezing--(sternutatory paroxysm he called it)--at the conclusion of
which I was a mile down the Woodstock Road. He had seen me in pink, as
we used to call it, swaggering in the open sunshine across a grass-plat
in the court; but spied out opportunely a servitor, one Todhunter by
name, who was going to morning chapel with his shoestring untied,
and forthwith sprung towards that unfortunate person, to set him an
imposition. Everything, in fact, but tobacco he could forgive. Why
did cursed fortune bring him into the rooms over mine? The odor of the
cigars made his gentle spirit quite furious; and one luckless morning,
when I was standing before my "oak," and chanced to puff a great bouffee
of Varinas into his face, he forgot his respect for my family altogether
(I was the second son, and my brother a sickly creature THEN,--he is now
sixteen stone in weight, and has a half-score of children); gave me a
severe lecture, to which I replied rather hotly, as was my wont. And
then came demand for an apology; refusal on my part; appeal to the dean;
convocation; and rustication of George Savage Fitz-Boodle.

My father had taken a second wife (of the noble house of Flintskinner),
and Lady Fitz-Boodle detested smoking, as a woman of her high principles
should. She had an entire mastery over the worthy old gentleman, and
thought I was a sort of demon of wickedness. The old man went to his
grave with some similar notion,--heaven help him! and left me but
the wretched twelve thousand pounds secured to me on my poor mother's
property.

In the army, my luck was much the same. I joined the --th Lancers,
Lieut.-Col. Lord Martingale, in the year 1817. I only did duty with the
regiment for three months. We were quartered at Cork, where I found the
Irish doodheen and tobacco the pleasantest smoking possible; and was
found by his lordship, one day upon stable duty, smoking the shortest,
dearest little dumpy clay-pipe in the world.

"Cornet Fitz-Boodle," said my lord in a towering passion, "from what
blackguard did you get that pipe?"

I omit the oaths which garnished invariably his lordship's conversation.

"I got it, my lord," said I, "from one Terence Mullins, a jingle-driver,
with a packet of his peculiar tobacco. You sometimes smoke Turkish, I
believe; do try this. Isn't it good?" And in the simplest way in the
world I puffed a volume into his face. "I see you like