His haggard figure with his Sunday's best,
With shooting-coat, white hat, and stripped vest,
White inexpressibles, and shining shoes,

Hop, step, and leap, he ran to learn the news—
If any rival had made application,

And make his own, high flushed with expectation.
Now having reached the mansion of the great,
And ushered in by one in menial state;
Then for the Butler shortly he inquired,
Who came, and with him to the hall retired;
When seated both and compliments dispensed,
The fool romantic thus his tale commenced:-
"His Lordship quickly, sir, I wish to see;
My mission's urgent-bring him now to me."
"His Lordship, sir," the Butler then averred,
"Is scarcely up; by coming soon you erred.
He can't be seen before the hour of two;
Come, take a pinch, and tell me what is new.
We've been acquainted now for many years,

Why look so blunt? you seem oppressed with fears;
As physiognomy in all mankind

Betrays the ruling passions of the mind."
At last our hero, who all fear denied,
But with his abrupt flippancy replied,
"You say his Lordship now I cannot see;
I am in haste, and quickly off must be:
Another visit soon to him I'll pay-

My news shall be forthcoming on that day.
But since you press so hard to hear my news,

Point blank, I'll tell you, judge then as you choose;

But do not think me in the least absurd,
And to his Lordship for me drop a word.
I heard that you your office had resigned,
Hence for such honour now I feel inclined;
Of which my delicate and handsome wife,
Fair smiling blossom, comfort of my life,
Approved, and kindly gave me her consent;
Though neighbours laughed, and wondered how I went,
And flung their snow-balls after me afar,
With cursed intent my good design to mar,
Calling me weak and silly with much pains,
As if they took the measure of my brains;
These they denied, and swore my eyes and brow
Bespoke the idiot, and they well knew how
Heaped on me insult with the tongue of scorn,
Calling me nick-names, shocking to be borne,
Enough to vex a saint, inflame a sage,
Provoke their ire, and rouse the dead to rage:
More than would try the patience of a Job,
This ridicule unmeasured of the mob,

Would wake the wrath of Moses meek and mild,
Much more a barber madden and drive wild.
But, sir, you know that I'm accomplished well,
Perhaps much better than I now can tell;
You know his Lordship I can soap and shave
With expedition and deportment grave,
And dress his cranium when it stands in need,
On shortest notice with the greatest speed;
The boots and shoes the son will make and mend,
None can them better do, you may depend.

His clothes to keep I'll take the greatest pains;
But you must show me to erase the stains
And spots of grease, or wine, or drops of oil,
That oft the tablecloth and linen soil.
The silver-plate and glasses well I'll keep-
None knows the good his Lordship then will reap.
The wines to sort, you know I've got the brain,
For well I know both Claret and Champagne;
I'll keep the liquors with a saving hand,
A leader being of that worthy band,
The Barbers' Royals, to their colours true,
And like their noble president, true blue,
Backbone Teetotallers, eternal foes
Of every potion, save the stream that flows.
But should my creed here any difference make,
My pledge I'll swallow gladly, for its sake,
Renounce the sect, and deprecate their zeal,
Though in their eyes my ruin I should seal.
The last accomplishment I now shall state-
Oh give attention while I it relate—
It is then, sir, that I excel in prayer,
As every Sunday morning I repair,
In haste and zeal, to meet the pious few,
And to receive that merit which is due
To such unheard-of talents, gifts, and grace,
My loving labours in that sacred place.

6

I am a burning and a shining light'
Among my neighbours, sunk in deepest night.
My league-spun prayers and graces of a mile,
Prove me all worthy of my Author's smile;

But even, sir, while at the throne of grace,
My dearest wish was oft the Butler's place;
This phrase for blessing, oft could I have said—
This, oh for this, I secret homage paid!
Yet should this canting of the praying kind
Awake objections in your honest mind,
I'll give it over, and my stand I'll take
Among the fash'nables, for interest's sake.
Nought, sir, shall stand between my God and me;
My soul's desire 's a butler now to be.
This I declare in boldness, without fear-
Behold as proof my wish-expressing tear."
The Barber done, the Butler now replied-
"You're surely mad; it cannot be denied,
Like you a fool accomplished and upright,
A finished novice never met my sight.
What you inspired, or, rather, thus misled,
And with such frenzy crammed your vacant head?
You must confess, and own you surely must,
The people's censure and their views were just.
With all they said I frankly acquiesce,

For you I feel not, neither can redress;

Puffed up with arrogance and vain conceit,
You thought your hopes would full fruition meet.
Presumptuous oaf, what may I call you not!
The maddest barber ever was begot;

For if you had one grain of common sense
Could ever you have come on this pretence?
That you are qualified I much dispute,
And flat deny as butler you will suit.

Who would a blockhead trust with such a place?
Your very name his Lordship would disgrace;
Hence Heaven forbid I thus should be so blind,
Now to insult a master good and kind,
By recommending such a turncoat cool,
A crazy barber, fanatic, and fool.

And blame me not, my hero bold and brave-
Well you deserve this dry and soapless shave."
Up spoke the Barber-" Please your censure spare:
Such pointed insult well I cannot bear;

For on a Barber's solemn asseveration,
I never shared like grief and defamation.
And has a shaver, sir, of my degree,

The smallest right thus to insulted be?

Mind who I am-the ground whereon you stand-
Dread my resentment, and beware my hand.
I'm sure my story calmly did I tell !
Whence this abuse-this dialect of hell-
This pungent ridicule with such disdain,
Enough to drive this occult head insane,
About a project reasonable and right—
Fruit of intelligence and genius bright ?
Praiseworthy, honourable, profoundly just,
The scion of no base, avaricious lust,
Which I abhor, and ever must declaim,

For, told the truth, none with it can me blame.
I am a barber of a nobler kind.

Stern foe of mammon is my worthy mind;
Presumption, arrogance, conceit and pride,
Are qualities I innately deride;