MR. CLIP'S APPEAL.
[The Hairdressers' Early Closing Association of London (whose Central Office is at 6, Swallow Street, Piccadilly, W., and whose President is Mr. W.J. REED, and Hon. Sec., Mr. A.M. SUTTON), has for object "to secure and maintain one early-closing day per week, suitable to the neighbourhood, and to generally assist in obtaining time for rest and recreation, and promote better and healthier conditions for hairdressers.">[
Dear BOB,—There's a stir in our noble Profession.
The hope of the Hairdresser, silent so long,
At last, like most others, is finding expression.
We've started, dear BOB, and are now going strong.
Early Closing's our object, which means that on one day
We want to shut up shops and scissors at five!
Perhaps Saturday's best, BOB, as coming next Sunday—
Don't seem asking much, if they'd keep us alive.
You cannot imagine how grinding our trade is—
Long hours, and long waits, BOB, when custom is slack!
When the premises hold one old gent and two ladies,
'Tis hard for twelve chaps to be kept on the rack.
To knock off at five on a Saturday eases
Our week's work a little. One evening in six
Ain't more than the Public can spare—if it pleases—
If only its hours 'twill conveniently fix.
When a swell wants a shave, a shampoo, or a clipping,
He likes to drop in at his pleasure, no doubt;
But surely he'd not keep us scraping and snipping
To save him from being a trifle put out!
If he'll but get fixed before five on a Saturday,
We poor Hairdressers may get just a chance
Of an hour or two's pleasure or rest on the latter day;
Prospect to make many dreary eyes dance!
And yet some object to this small "Early Closing,"
I wish they could know what it is to chop, chop,
When your feet are one ache and your eyes drawn to dozing
And you're sick of the sight and the smell of the shop!
When a whiff from the meadows appears to come stealing
Above all our washes, and powders, and soaps;
And the whirr of the brush which revolves near the ceiling
Seems pain to our ears and seems death to our hopes!
True, most of the Masters will yield to our yearnings,
A lesson I think to the few who stand out!
I wager the change won't diminish their earnings,
W. REED and A. SUTTON know what they're about,—
Our President, BOB, and our Hon. Sec. Address 'em
At "fair Piccadilly," 6, Swallow Street, W.
Hairdressers' Assistants unitedly bless 'em,
If you, BOB, or others can help us, I'll trouble you!
'Tis long, my dear BOB, since I sent you a letter,
And this you'll admit is a practical one.
We Hairdressers wish our condition to better,
And get our fair share of rest, leisure, and fun.
One Five o' Clock Close every week is our plea, BOB,
Not much for the slaves of scrape-scrape and snip-snip!
The fairness of it I'm convinced you will see, BOB,
And so should the world, says
CARACTACUS CLIP.
[Mr. Punch, who knows how much his own personal comfort is dependent upon the adroit ministrations of the "Sons of the Shears," cordially seconds the appeal of his old Correspondent.]
A CASE OF FRENCH LEAVE.—The Gallic Fleet have gone to Cherbourg—as if they had not had enough "cheers" before leaving England!
