Addressat the actors’ fund fair,
Philadelphia, in 1895
Ladies and gentlemen,—The—er
this—er—welcome occasion gives
me an —er—opportunity to make
an—er—explanation that I have
long desired to deliver myself of. I rise to
the highest honors before a Philadelphia audience.
In the course of my checkered career I have, on divers
occasions, been charged—er—maliciously
with a more or less serious offence. It is in
reply to one of the more—er—important
of these that I wish to speak. More than once
I have been accused of writing obituary poetry in
the Philadelphia Ledger.
I wish right here to deny that dreadful assertion.
I will admit that once, when a compositor in the
Ledger establishment, I did set up some of that poetry,
but for a worse offence than that no indictment can
be found against me. I did not write that poetry—at
least, not all of it.
My friends for some years now have remarked that I
am an inveterate consumer of tobacco. That is
true, but my habits with regard to tobacco have changed.
I have no doubt that you will say, when I have explained
to you what my present purpose is, that my taste has
deteriorated, but I do not so regard it.
Whenever I held a smoking-party at my house, I found
that my guests had always just taken the pledge.
Let me tell you briefly the history of my personal
relation to tobacco. It began, I think, when
I was a lad, and took the form of a quid, which I
became expert in tucking under my tongue. Afterward
I learned the delights of the pipe, and I suppose
there was no other youngster of my age who could more
deftly cut plug tobacco so as to make it available
for pipe-smoking.
Well, time ran on, and there came a time when I was
able to gratify one of my youthful ambitions—I
could buy the choicest Havana cigars without seriously
interfering with my income. I smoked a good many,
changing off from the Havana cigars to the pipe in
the course of a day’s smoking.
At last it occurred to me that something was lacking
in the Havana cigar. It did not quite fulfil
my youthful anticipations. I experimented.
I bought what was called a seed-leaf cigar with a
Connecticut wrapper. After a while I became satiated
of these, and I searched for something else, The Pittsburg
stogy was recommended to me. It certainly had
the merit of cheapness, if that be a merit in tobacco,
and I experimented with the stogy.
Then, once more, I changed off, so that I might acquire
the subtler flavor of the Wheeling toby. Now
that palled, and I looked around New York in the hope
of finding cigars which would seem to most people vile,
but which, I am sure, would be ambrosial to me.
I couldn’t find any. They put into my
hands some of those little things that cost ten cents
a box, but they are a delusion.
