Life — March 25, 1886 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AT THE PLAYHOUSE. THOUSAND souls the Play Doth kindly, gently sway In Merriment now—: or Sentiment Constraineth them to stay, Forgetting World and Worriment The while they ‘re at the Play. Of those who see the Play Each goes his several way ; The Benches then in conference One to another say, With a becoming deference : “ They ‘re gone to another Play. Nor thought here is but Play ; Reality’s night is day; Necessity masks as Merriment, And Age as jocund Youth here may Come whiles for Plaudit—: where Discontent And Death as myths array. A, Brennan. The old gentleman turned uncomfortably in his chair. The unusual silence appalled him. What, was this taciturn barber and the dozen others he saw around him equipped with simi- lar aprons and equal taciturnity ? Grate, grate went the razor. coming dolorous. “ What do you think of the French Canadian demonstra- tion on the Champ de Mars the other afternoon ?” asked the old gentleman, timidly, at last. “Don't you consider that the action of Senator Trudel in condemning the Government was untimely?” There was still silence. Grate, grate went the razor, which had been forced to pause fora moment. Then the barber uttered an unwilling “Yes,” and continued his operations. The old gentleman became crimson. -A cold perspiration broke out upon him immediately after. He shuffled uneasily in his chair. “Keep quiet, or I shall cut you,” said the barber. Silence again. More grate, grate. Then the old gentleman made another effort. “ Vignaux does n’t seem to have shown to great advantage in the Chicago billiard contest, does he? They say he is very weak in the balk-line game,” he said. “Yes,” assented the imperturbable barber, while the other The silence was rapidly be- barbers tittered and looked complacently at their own well- drilled, taciturn customers. The old gentleman sighed. All this was so different to the good old-fashioned verbosity of the barber's shop. Perhaps, however, he’was diming too high. He would tryonce more. “T see that the Signal Service reported rain followed by colder, fair weather for to-day,” he remarked, feebly. “I never believe much in that bureau myself. Do you?” A pause. The barber saturated his towel with bay rum, applied it vigorously to the plural chin and remarked, indif- ferently, “No.” ~ The old gentleman became frantic. He sat up in his chair while the final strokes were given to his hair and moustache. He would make this barber speak. “My hair is coming out,” he said, desperately ; ‘I wish I could buy some tonic to strengthen it. I don’t care what I pay, for I should hate to be bald. Tell me what the matter is and I will purchase any- thing you recommend.” The barber was still silent. Quickly he removed the towels from his patient neck, and with equal tranquility assisted him out of the chair. “ We don’t sell such rubbish,” he said, scornfully, ‘and we don’t talk twaddle to our customers. We're reformers. Good morning.—Next.” Alan Dale, comicbooks.com