And keep full six yards off from me
Here in wide open street,

And quick let both the sashes down,
In steamcoach when we meet.

There's not a morning comes, but I
Take pains to brush away

From coat, necktie and gloves, the stale
Odour of yesterday;

In spite of all my pains, I own,
Some hangs about me still,

But, well I know, so good your hearts,
Ye will not take it ill.

You 're bound in love, in duty bound,
So much from us to bear,
The smell of a cigar will not

Weigh in the scale one hair.

But that we should the same from you Take patiently in turn,

And only love you all the more,

The more our clothes ye burn,

The more of yesterday's cigar

Your silks are redolent,

The more reichsthaler, every year,

Are in the luxus spent,

The more your lips are red and swelled,

The less your breath is sweet

That is a creed I never held,

Since first I strode the street.

A schoolboy rule is tit for tat,

Not fit for ladies' use,

And that good sauce for gander is
What good sauce is for goose.

For though your woman's stomach 's made
Of the same stuff as ours,
And thirsts and hungers, every day,

At the same stated hours,

Yet kindly Nature has on you,
So much the weaker sex,
Bestowed immunity from qualms
Which mightiest heroes vex;

And you can keep your spirits up,
And healthy appetite sound,
Without one whiff of a cigar

The whole, long twelvemonth round.

Favored of heaven, ye know not what
He bears, the wretched man,
Who, with bare five cigars a day,
Must put up as he can;

Who has not his Havana fresh,

To keep him in right tune,

Before and after every meal,

Morning, and night, and noon;

One to enable him his eyes

To open to the light,

And, when that 's done, another one,.

And so on until night;

And one while for the bed he strips,

And one, when he gets in;

And, if he 's restless in the night,
A little one 's no sin,

Hurrah, then, for Havana mild!
For Nicot loud hurrah!
Sir, might I have a little fire?
I thank you, sir — hurrah!

[STRUVESTRASSE, DRESDEN, March 3, 1866.]

TO AN ETHNOLOGIST.

GIVE up your search; the world's tribes are but two, Cheaters and cheated; of which tribe are you?

[STRUVESTRASSE, DRESDEN, January 21, 1866.]

I HAD a friend, a learned friend,
Who laid upon orthography much weight;
His life came to untimely end
Listen, and I'll to you the tale relate.

It was in winter, and the days Were dark and dismal, and he had no fire, Yet not the less he studied still Whether with Q or CH to spell CHOIR.

And now to Q he was inclined, And now CH appeared to have more weight; But etymology the scale

At last made to CH preponderate.

Rejoiced, he wrote to me same night, Telling me how his doubts were at an end, And begging, if I knew myself,

I'd be so kind to tell a faithful friend,

What right had COLOUR to be spelled,
Or HONOUR, or even ODOUR, with an U,
U being as foreign to the root,
As, to Great Britain, king of Timbuctoo.