The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe Part 71

And mind the pavement, for it's damp!"

Such was the Peeler's last good-night A faint voice stutter'd out "All right."

PROCLIVIOR!

At break of day, as far West-ward A cab roll'd o'er the highways hard, The early mover stopp'd to stare At the wild shouting of the fare-- PROCLIVIOR!

And by the bailiff's faithful hound, At breakfast-time, a youth was found, Upon three chairs, with aspect nice, True to his young life's queer device, PROCLIVIOR!

Thence, on a dull and muggy day, They bore him to the Bench away, And there for several months he lay, While friends speak gravely as they say-- PROCLIVIOR!

JONES AT THE BARBER'S SHOP.

PUNCH.

SCENE.--A Barber's Shop. Barber's men engaged in cutting hair, making wigs, and other barberesque operations.

Enter JONES, meeting OILY the barber.

JONES. I wish my hair cut.

OILY. Pray, sir, take a seat.

OILY puts a chair for JONES, who sits. During the following dialogue OILY continues cutting JONES'S hair.

OILY. We've had much wet, sir.

JONES. Very much, indeed.

OILY. And yet November's early days were fine.

JONES. They were.

OILY. I hoped fair weather might have lasted us Until the end.

JONES. At one time--so did I.

OILY. But we have had it very wet.

JONES. We have.

[A pause of some minutes.

OILY. I know not, sir, who cut your hair last time; But this I say, sir, it was badly cut: No doubt 't was in the country.

JONES. No! in town!

OILY. Indeed! I should have fancied otherwise.

JONES. 'Twas cut in town--and in this very room.

OILY. Amazement!--but I now remember well.

We had an awkward, new provincial hand, A fellow from the country. Sir, he did More damage to my business in a week Than all my skill can in a year repair.

He must have cut your hair.

JONES (looking at him). No--'twas yourself.

OILY. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake.

JONES. I don't mistake--'twas you that cut my hair.

[A long pause, interrupted only by the clipping of the scissors.

OILY. Your hair is very dry, sir.

JONES. Oh! indeed.

OILY. Our Vegetable Extract moistens it.

JONES. I like it dry.

OILY. But, sir, the hair when dry.

Turns quickly gray.

JONES. That color I prefer,

OILY. But hair, when gray, will rapidly fall off, And baldness will ensue.

JONES. I would be bald.

OILY. Perhaps you mean to say you'd like a wig.-- We've wigs so natural they can't be told From real hair.

JONES. Deception I detest.

[Another pause ensues, during which OILY blows down JONES'S neck, and relieves him from the linen wrapper in which he has been enveloped during the process of hair-cutting.

OILY. We've brushes, soaps, and scent, of every kind.

JONES. I see you have. (Pays 6d.) I think you'll find that right.

OILY. If there is nothing I can show you, sir,

JONES. No: nothing. Yet--there may be something, too, That you may show me.

OILY. Name it, sir.

JONES. The door.

[EXIT JONES.