AN ATTEMPT TO SHAVE A SHAVER. 91 much apparent assurance of success in the suit he was about to engage in, as a politician speaks of the election of his favourite presidential candidate" By gar, sare, I shall let you see by de law whethare you shave me for I shave you, eh?” This was addressed to a man who, if he was not a worn out blackleg, looked extremely like one-and notwithstanding the little Frenchman's tempestuous passion, retained the most placid equanimity of temper. "Have you any charge to make, sir ?" said the Recorder to the little Frenchman. "By gar, Monsieur Judge," said the little Frenchman, “ I have one twelve month charge to make against dis dere robbere." "If you bring it before this court," said the Recorder, “you will have to make it brief. I cannot occupy myself in hearing a twelve months' charge from you." "Pardonnez moi, Monsieur Judge, you no comprehend. I am de one grand barbere, freezuer and perruquier from Paree ; dis man comes to my emporium of fashion and he says, what you pay me-no, sacre pay-what you charge me, he says, for barbering-for shave me, you call it, and cut my hair, for one year? I do it, I said, and give your whiskers de grand Paree curl for tirty dollar, but you pay me cash down--not no credit system for me, nevare." "Well, did he comply with your terms?" said the Recorder. "Not one time, he no paid me at all," said the Frenchman"I now shave him one month and give his hair de fashionable cut and de finish off wid de bear's grease, and he nevare paid me one cent. Sacre! he be one grand wat you call-humbug -one shaver what don't be barbers you know, but wat live by shaving barbers and oder gentlemens. Sacre! when I ask him for my tirty dollar dis vera mornin', he give me tree ten dollar bills of de fallen in Brandon Bank, and he say they be good as silvare next year. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! they will nevare be no good till de whole world break up in one smash! What you say to dat, Monsieur Judge?" continued the little Frenchman, anxious to draw from the Recorder his opinion of the man who could have the effrontery to offer a Parisian barber $30 in Brandon money for cutting his hair and shaving him for twelve months, and giving his whiskers the grand curl-"wat you say do dat, Monsieur Judge, eh?" "Why, I say that it was any thing but a legal tender," said the Judge, "and the very worst representative of a specie currency which he could offer you." "I shave him, he want shave me," said the Frenchman, taking another large pinch of snuff. The defendant was now called on to state what he had to say to the charge made against him. He admitted a part and denied a part. It was true, he said, that the Frenchman had shaved him for a month, powdered his face, cut his hair, rubbed in the bear's grease, till he thought the hair of his head would be mistaken for a grenadier's cap, it grew so strong, and he took excessive pains to curl his whiskers; but he emphatically denied offering to remunerate him with Brandon money. He merely pulled it out, he said, to show what a loss he sustained as a holder of it; and in proof that he did not do it as a fraud, he now offered to pay the barber in good and current Second Municipality bills for his services. The proposition was accepted-the Frenchman's demand was liquidated, and he left the office snuffing his snuff, and saying in triumph to the defendant-"By gar, I can shave you, but you can no shave me, not no how-ha! ha!" A SMALL TEA PARTY. SHOWING THE CONNECTION BETWEEN SCANDAL AND SOUCHONG. "TWAS eve. The sun tinged the west with a golden glow; a light, gossamer veil, which undulated in the breeze, carpeted the earth; the sapless tree leaves rustled as some feathered gallant flew from branch to branch in quest of his mate, and echoes mellowed down by distance breathed on the air softly and sweetly as a lover's wooings. This may be called a very poetical prelude to a very anti-poetical sketch. Be that as it may, it was at the time described above, that Miss Jones, on Sunday evening last, paid her usual weekly visit to the Misses Jenkins. The Misses Jenkins, to use their own fa vourite phrase, are "very peculiar remarkably peculiar" people, and Miss Jones, by some secret sympathy of nature, is just as peculiar as they are. The Misses Jenkins don't keep a house, but they rent apartments, and follow the fancydress making business; Miss Jones is in the bonnet line, and boards out. The consequence is, that Miss Jones calls A SMALL TEA PARTY. 93 oftener to see the Misses Jenkins than the Misses Jenkins do to see Miss Jones; and the further effect of this state of things is, that Miss Jones drinks more of the Misses Jenkins's tea than they do of hers.-This leaves the balance of trade in favour of the Misses Jenkins, and as individuals, like nations, feel a jealousy for their interests when they begin to find out that they give more than they receive, they sometimes put a protective tariff on their evening beverage by closing the front doors and window shutters, and reporting themselves, through the coloured Abigail, "not at home." Such a report was about to be made on Sunday evening. But, as Burns says, "The best laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft agley." So say we, do often the plans and projects of women. Miss Jones was not to be "not at home'd" by the servant; so passing her, and going to the inner room, she found both the Misses Jenkins there asleep, of course. She soon applied to them the reverse passes, as a mesmeriser would say, and woke them up. They were so glad to see Miss Jones, and so angry with the servant for reporting them not at home, when they distinctly told her they were always at home to Miss Jones but never to Miss Fitzfry; and they would have been so lonesome, too, if she had not come, and she was such good company. After a mutual interchange of such compliments, they adjourned to the front room, where the buttered toast was on the table, and the tea was undergoing the progress of abstraction. But before we place them behind their favourite beverage, let us take a look at Miss Jones, her conjoint hostesses, and their front room. Miss Jones was-but a woman's age is not to be spoken of; she had a cock-up nose, something like the lower half of the letter S, a wiry sort of face, and a tall, attenuated form, that was uniform in its want of fulness from the ankles to the ears. The Misses Jenkins were a pair of Siamese twins, so far as mutual resemblance, thoughts and tastes went. They were low of stature, with faces that plainly bespoke an irascible temper. The room in which they had assembled might be, and we believe was, some fifteen feet by twelve in diameter. The walls were ornamented with coloured plates of the fashions, cut from the monthly magazines. A sofa, from which the curled hair was protruding, had its place opposite the grate; a ricketty arm chair undulated near the fender; a small table, which contained the tea equipage, stood near the centre, and some half dozen ordinary chairs-very ordinary ones-filled up the intermediate space round the room. Miss Jenkins, the elder, did the honours of the table. Before pouring out the tea, she indulged in a dissertation on the injurious effects which strong narcotics have on the nervous system, and to prove that she practised what she preachedthat her practice was in consonance with her theory-she proceeded to pour out the beverage, which looked, as it streamed from the pot, and as it proved to be, a most neutral concoction, which, if analyzed, would be found to contain one part of tea and ninety-nine parts of boiling water. The toast was but lightly buttered, but that the fair hostess accounted for by saying there was no Goshen in the market, and who could use any thing else; and if the brown sugar was too soft, it was accounted for by the rain's being too hard in Cuba. They commenced operations, however, and other themes than the strength of the tea or the rancid taste of the butter engrossed their attention. It is strange, but yet a fact, and one for which philosophers have never accounted, that drinking tea begets a desire to talk of one's neighbours. The trio of ladies in question, not being of course exempt from the general influences that operate on our nature, were suddenly inoculated with the cacoethes loquendi. Miss Jones had seen the Misses Riptons return from church, and such frights of bonnets as they wore. She noticed for the first time that Maria squints most ruefully, and that Martha turns in her toes when she walks, like a shoemaker. Miss Jenkins, the elder, never liked to speak of people behind their backs; she had an utter aversion to the practice, and believed that was the reason she hated Miss Smith, who had such an awful habit of speaking of people in their absence. She could not avoid saying to Miss Jones in confidence, however, that there were some most scandalous stories afloat about Maria Ripton; and one of them was that she was seen going down to the lake late one evening with Dick Fitwell, the tailor-and another that she takes gin in her lemonade. She herself did not believe a word of these slanders, and would enjoin Miss Jones not to repeat them, except in a confidential manner and to a particular friend. Miss Jones pledged herself never to open her lips on the subject-unless it was as a secret. It seemed almost incredible, and still she was inclined to believe it; some young women do such strange things now-a-days.-There was Miss Hartwell, didn't she borrow Miss Meldon's dress to go to the ball last NED BROWN, DONE BROWN. 95 week, and actually had the assurance to send it home without washing it! "Did you ever!" said the two Miss Jenkins in concert, and Miss Jones echoed "never !" and so they went on, commencing with Miss Ripton, and going through the whole circle of their acquaintance, whose peculiarities and peccadilloes they dissected and bisected-canvassed and criticised-till after the miniature alembic on the table refused to disgorge any more of its liquid beverage. When they had got through with their tea and tired with their talk, Miss Jones rose to leave. The Misses Jenkins bid her an affectionate good night, and asked her if she would not soon come again, yet the door had not been well closed on her when they mutually wished never to see her face again. She had such a nasty habit of speaking of people behind their backs, a practice of which, they thanked goodness, they were never guilty. It is queer, how we thus censure others for conduct which very often forms the ruling passion of our own character, but as that astute philosopher Sam Slick says, we suppose "it's human natur." NED BROWN, DONE BROWN. NED BROWN was arrested in Camp street, opposite Lafayette Square on Friday night, as blue as brandy toddies could make him. "It was just at the time when the weary gun And Ned felt as though he'd be on for some fun, "Stop that 'ere firing!" he cried out again-" there aint no need of it. We've licked the Britishers, and we're able to do it again, but there aint no use making too much noise about it; it isn't magnanimous no how you can fix it, besides the troops is all dismissed and there's no need in fooling them. Popping off a gun at night aint poetical neither, and as I views it is an approach to amalgamation principles, because it is popping the question in a sorter way to the niggers. It won't never furnish such an idea as 'The curfew tolls the knell of parting day.' |