pretty gardens and tropical trees. Here
is the grand hotel where the Special Correspondent to the _New York
Trigger_ wields his mighty pen. To him and to other acquaintances I
apply for information on the subject of tobacco. My foreign friends
assure me you cannot get a good cigar in Havana at any price, as all the
best are exported to Europe and the United States; unless you prefer
German tobacco, of which great quantities are imported into Havana. The
natives have quite a different account to give. They declare that the
best cigars never leave the country but are easily obtained if you know
where to seek them; and they refer me to the warehouses. Every one whom
I consult graciously offers me a few specimens from his own particular
cigar-case; and as in Cuba it is considered an offence to refuse a man's
tobacco, I am soon in possession of a goodly stock, which I calculate
will last me for the next eight and forty hours at least.

A singular etiquette is observed all over Cuba with respect to smoking,
which a rough Britisher does not always appreciate. An utter stranger is
at liberty to stop you in the middle of the street to beg the favour of
your 'candela,' or light from your cigar. If you are polite, you will
immediately hand him your weed, with the ashes carefully shaken off, and
the lighted end conveniently pointed in his direction. Part of your fire
having been successfully transferred to his cigar, the stranger is bound
to return your property, presenting it, by a dexterous turn of the
wrist, with the mouth end towards you; an operation which requires no
little practice, as it is accompanied with a downward jerk to express
deep obligation. If, after this, you are inclined to abandon your cigar
for a fresh one, you may not do so in the stranger's presence, but wait
till he has disappeared. There is a sort of smoking freemasonry, too,
between Cubans all over the world. A Cuban recognises a compatriot
anywhere, by the manner in which he screws up his cigarette, holds it,
and offers or accepts a light.

Advised by a friend who is a great smoker, I give up my cigar
investigations, and devote my attention to the humbler cigarette. With
this object in view, I ramble down the narrow 'calles' or streets of St.
Ignacio, del Obispo, and de Cuba. At every twelfth house which I pass is
a small shop where only the article I seek is sold. In the
first-mentioned calle is the 'deposito' of the far-famed Cabanas
cigarette; in the