o-do! Hearken this, ye
dainty perruquiers, "who look so brisk, and smell so sweet," and
have such an exquisite knack of chirruping, and lisping, and sliding
over the smooth edge of the under lip,--and, sometimes, agreeably
too,--"an infinite deal of nothing,"--ye who clip and anoint the
hair of Old England's curled darlings! Eight chins a penny; and
three months' credit! A bodle a piece for mowing chins overgrown
with hair like pin-wire, and thick with dust; how would you like
that? How would you get through it all, with a family of four, and
only one razor? The next place we called at was what my friend
described, in words that sounded to me, somehow, like melancholy
irony,--as "a poor provision shop." It was, indeed, a poor shop for
provender. In the window, it is true, there were four or five empty
glasses, where children's spice had once been. There was a little
deal shelf here and there; but there were neither sand, salt,
whitening, nor pipes. There was not the ghost of a farthing candle,
nor a herring, nor a marble, nor a match, nor of any other thing,
sour or sweet, eatable or saleable for other uses, except one small
mug full of buttermilk up in a corner--the last relic of a departed
trade, like the "one rose of the wilderness, left on its stalk to
mark where a garden has been." But I will say more about this in the
next chapter.

CHAPTER VI.

Returning to the little shop mentioned in my last--the "little
provision shop," where there was nothing left to eat--nothing,
indeed, of any kind, except one mug of buttermilk, and a miserable
remnant of little empty things, which nobody would buy; four or five
glass bottles in the window, two or three poor deal shelves, and a
doleful little counter, rudely put together, and looking as if it
felt, now, that there was nothing in the world left for it but to
become chips at no distant date. Everything in the place had a sad,
subdued look, and seemed conscious of having come down in the world,
without hope of ever rising again; even the stript walls appeared to
look at one another with a stony gaze of settled despair. But there
was a clean, matronly woman in the place, gliding about from side to
side with a cloth in her hands, and wiping first one, then another,
of these poor little relics of better days in a caressing way. The
shop had been her special care when times were good, and she clung
affectionately to its ruins still. Besides, going about cleaning and
ar