Once ignited, nothing like longevity pertains to them.

They never grow old.

Why, my lord, the stump of a cigarret is an abomination; and two of them crossed are more of a _memento-mori_, than a brace of thigh-bones at right angles." "So they are, so they are," cried King Media.

"Then, mortals, puff we away at our pipes.

Puff, puff, I say.