(_AN APPEAL FROM THE KNIFE-BOARD OF A CITY OMNIBUS._)
[The latest complaint of "the Ladies" is that they are being
"smoked off" the tops of the omnibuses.]
[Illustration]
The "knife-board," sacred once to broad male feet,
The "Happy Garden Seat,"
Invaded now by the non-smoking sex,
Virginal scruples vex,
And matronly anathemas assail.
Alas! and what avail
Man's immunities of time or place?
The sweet she-creatures chase
From all old coigns of vantage harried man.
In vain, how vain to ban
Beauty from billiard-room or--Morning Bus
What use to fume or fuss?
And yet, and yet indeed it is no joke!
Where _shall_ one get a smoke
Without annoying Shes with our cheroots,
And being badged as "brutes"?
If a poor fellow may not snatch a whiff
(Without the feminine sniff)
Upon the "Bus-roof," where in thunder's name
_Shall_ he draw that same!
The ladies, climb, sit, suffocate, and scoff,
Declare _they_ are "smoked off,"
Is there no room inside? If smoke means Hades,
We, "to oblige the ladies,"
Have taken outside seats this many a year,
Cold, but with weeds to cheer
Our macintosh-enswathed umbrella'd bodies;
Now we are called churl-noddies
Because we puff the humble briar-root.
Is man indeed a "brute"
Because he may upon the knife-board's rack owe
Some solace to Tobacco?
If so it be, then man's last, only chance,
Is in the full advance
Of the "emancipated" sex. Sweet elves,
_Pray learn to smoke yourselves!_
Don't crowd us out, don't snub, and sneer, and sniff,
But--join us in a whiff!
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