Old Mac is a constant visitor at Turk's shop; indeed, it appears to me that he spends most of his time there, for whenever I go westward and open Turk's door, his is the first familiar face I see. He keeps guard, as it were. 'Turk is inside,' he says; or 'Turk is upstairs, crimping a lady's hair.' For Turk has lady as well as gentleman customer's, and has become very skilful in the business. His flow of conversation and anecdote is of great assistance to him; he has always something to say, and, not having been born a barber and hairdresser, he seldom commences about the weather--which is a relief. On a windy day in April, I visited Turk, and, as usual, found old Mac there. Turk, very busy over some theatrical wigs, looked up from his work, and asked me if I wanted to speak to him. No, I answered; I had merely dropped in as I passed. I had as little excuse for the visit as I had for many others; I only went in the vague hope of hearing something of Jessie. Turk understood this, without being told. 'Business good, Turk?' I inquired. 'First-class,' said Turk. 'I shall have to get an assistant, I expect. By the bye---- O, never mind!' He suddenly interrupted himself, in a confused manner. 'By the bye, what, Turk?' 'Nothing,' he replied, bending over his work. Old Mac looked at me somewhat significantly, and, rising, said he should take a stroll in Covent-garden Market. 'It does one good to walk up and down that arcade,' he said. 'One smells the country lanes there. How would it do to have it on the stage, Turk, with real hothouse fruit and flowers fresh from the market gardens every night? I daresay it will come to that, in time. The stage is not what it was, my sons.' Winking at me, old Mac went out, and I, regarding the wink as an invitation to follow him, wished Turk good-morning. 'This is not the way to Covent Garden,' I said, as I joined him. 'Have you had your morning drain, Mac?' 'No, my son, no,' he replied cheerfully; 'and I know a place.' Without more words he conducted me to the 'place,' where I paid for his morning drain twice over. 'You took my hint, my son,' he said, when he had drained his glass, and eaten his lemon; he always ate the slice of lemon after he finished his glass, saying humorously that it was a preparation for the next. 'You took my hint.' 'You wanted to speak to me I thought, Mac.' 'Well, not exactly wanted, my son; but I have something to communicate which may be interesting to you. I know what the tender passion is, and how it burns. I've had my day, and, faith! I'd like to have it over again! It wasn't all sugar, my son. There was one--ah, there was one, I do remember me, in my hot youth!--