By Jove-I'd rather turn Lascar at once:
Allow the walnut's devastating juice

To track its inky course along my cheek,
And stain my British brow with Indian brown.
Or, failing that, I'd rather drape myself

In cheap white cotton, or gay colored chintz-
Hang roung my ear the massive curtain-ring—
With strings of bold, effective glassy beads
Circle my neck-and play the Brahmin Priest,
To win the sympathy of passing crowds,
And melt the silver in the stranger's purse.

But ah! (seeing MEADOWS) the land of promise looms before me:
The bulging skirts of that provincial coat

Tell tales of well-filled pocket-books within.

I scarce can say; I'm but a stranger here,

I should not like to misdirect you.

Prigwell.

Thank you, I'll find the way to Newgate by myself.

Meadows (still musing). This is indeed a great Metropolis.

Enter BLIND VOCALIST.

[Exit.

Blind Vocalist (singing). Hey, the bonny! (Knocks up against MEADOWS, who exit). Ho! the bonny-(A passenger knocks up against the BLIND VOCALIST on the other side). Hey, the bonny-(A butcher's tray strikes the BLIND VOCALIST in the chest)-breast knot. As he continues singing "Hey, the bonny! ho, the bonny," the BLIND VOCALIST encounters various collisions, and his breath being taken away by a poke or a push between each bar, he is carried away by the stream of passengers.

Enter BROWN and JONES. Meeting, they stop and shake hands most cordially for several minutes.

Brown. How are you, JONES?

Jones. 'Tis quite an age since you and I have met. Brown. I'm quite delighted.

Jones.

Why, BROWN, I do declare

I'm extremely glad.

[An awkward pause.

Brown. Well! and how are you?

Jones.

Oh!-by the way-have you seen THOMSON lately? Brown. Not very lately. (After a pause, and as if struck with a happy idea). But I met with SMITH

A week ago.

Jones.

And how was SMITH?

Brown.

Oh! did you though, indeed?

Why, he seemed pretty well.

[Another long pause; at the end of which both appear as if

they were going to speak to each other.

Jones. I beg your pardon.

Smith.

You were going to speak?

Jones. Oh! nothing. I was only going to say

Good morning.

Smith.

Oh! and so was I.

Good-day.

[Both shake hands, and are going off in opposite directions, when
Smith turns round. Jones turning round at the same time
they both return and look at each other.

Jones. I thought you wished to speak, by looking back.
Oh no. I thought the same.

Brown.

Both together.

Good-by! Good-by!

[Exeunt finally; and the conversation and the curtain drop together.

PROCLIVIOR.

(A slight Variation on LONGFELLOW's "EXCELSIOR.")

THE shades of night were falling fast,
As tow'rd the Haymarket there pass'd
A youth, whose look told in a trice
That his taste chose the queer device-
PROCLIVIOR!

His hat, a wide-awake; beneath

He tapp'd a cane against his teeth;
His eye was bloodshot, and there rung,
Midst scraps of slang, in unknown tongue,
PROCLIVIOR!

PUNCH

In calm first-floors he saw the light
Of circles cosy for the night;
But far ahead the gas-lamps glow;

He turn'd his head, and murmur'd "Sbw,"
PROCLIVIOR!

"Come early home," his Uncle said,
"We all are early off to bed;

The family blame you far and wide;"
But loud that noisy youth replied-
PROCLIVIOR!

"Stay," said his Aunt, "come home to sup,

Early retire-get early up."

A wink half quivered in his eye;

He answered to the old dame's sigh-
PROCLIVIOR!

"Mind how you meddle with that lamp!
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!

[OILY puts a chair for Joxrs, who sits. During the following dialogue OnY con tinues 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. "T was 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-'t was yourself.
Oily. Myself! Impossible! You must mistake.
Jones. I don't mistake-'t was 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.

Oily (to his man). That's a rum customer at any rate.

Had I cut him as short as he cut me,

How little hair upon his head would be!

But if kind friends will all our pains requite,

We'll hope for better luck another night.

[Shop-bell rings and curtain falls.

THE SATED ONE.

[IMPROMPTU AFTER CHRISTMAS DINNER.]

Ir may not be-go maidens, go,
Nor tempt me to the mistletoe;
I once could dance beneath its bough,
But must not, will not, can not, now!

A weight-a load within I bear;
It is not madness nor despair;

But I require to be at rest,
So that my burden may-digest!

PUNCH.