EVEN barbers require change of (h)air occasionally; consequently there were no dissentient voices when Potts proposed an excursion, and suggested the Gap, where the "yesty waves" seem never to tire of their monotonous occupation of shampooing the South Head. The pic-nic took place eventually among the romantic glades in the immediate vicinity of Pearl (-powder) Bay, where the "maidenhair" (capillis veneris) grew luxuriantly—having been neither cut by the north-east wind, nor brushed by machinery—while the rabbit and false-hare frisked fearlessly among solitudes seldom disturbed by the presence of man, and that beautiful bird the antimacassowary flew with well-oiled pinions from branch to branch of the Eucalipsalve.

It might be imagined by ignorant people that hairdressers, who pay so much attention to the adornment of the outward man, would be apt to forget the requirements of the inner entirely; this, however, was not the case, jugged hairs and barbercues being among the least of the delicacies provided.

Of course there were speeches. That old demagogue—Bearsgrease, shampooed, no, pooh! poohed everything, everybody else. Being a wig-maker, it was natural that in politics he should be a Whig; and though, as he said, he had never appeared as a candidate for Parliamentary honors, or been at the head of an electioneering poll, he knew as much about heads and polls as some who had.

But why enlarge on all this? Can we not imagine how young Potts led Miss Glycerina Crimpington for a stroll by the sounding sea, and directed her attention to the magnificent crests of the billows, fresh from the curling-tongs of Nature, tumbling over one another, and doubling themselves into such exquisite "frizettes" and "waterfalls" that they were enough to excite envy in the breast of any young lady, especially if she happened to be a hair-dresser's daughter.

Can we not picture to ourselves the thousand and one incidents which go to make up what is called a pic-nic? How some were stricken hungry, and others sentimental; how some satisfied their cravings with kisses, others with pie; how Potts charmed the ear of his adored Crimpington with recitations from "Locksley Hall," and the "Hair of Redcliffe;" how the young folks danced the Kalydorians (arranged by Rowlands); and last, not least, how the old folks got maudlin on limejuice and glycerine, and talked of the days when their feet were as light, and their chevleures as heavy as those of any young scalp-lock trimmer present We can, I think, imagine all this so it will not be necessary to say more than that the whole thing was a thorough success, especially Potts's song of "(H)airy spirts round us hover," with a comb accompaniment, after which a general stampede was made for the boats.