“At least,” continued Sparkle, “you will admit it is better to be a bad poet—than a bad man.”
“Agreed—agreed,” replied Tom.—“But who in the name of wonder have we here—the emperor of hair-dressers and head-cutters turned print-seller—Why, this was Money's, where I have, before now, had a clip.”
“Nay, nay,” said Sparkle, “don't be in a hurry to form your judgment—his ingenuity is at work, and really it will be worth while to have a cut all round; for I find he gives a portrait, displaying the most fashionable Parisian dresses to every customer. Some you know present bank, or, more properly speaking, flush notes upon these occasions; but certainly this is a less exceptionable plan.—What say you?”
“With all my heart:” and into the Magazin de Mode they marched; to which they were welcomed by the artist himself—ushered up stairs with all due politeness, and in two minutes Sparkle was under his incomparable hands, while Tom and Bob amused themselves with a peep at the newspapers and the Gazette of Fashion.
“Fine morning, gentlemen,” said the friseur.
“Is there any news?” asked Sparkle.
“We have the Paris papers, Sir, regularly, and a constant supply of drawings of the newest fashion.”
“I am more for domestic or home news,” continued Sparkle.
“Not aware, Sir, of any thing particular—oh, yes; I recollect I was told last night, over at the Haunch, that the mermaid is discovered.”
“What,” said Tom, “discover a mermaid over a haunch!” laying down the paper.