AN APROPOS SOLILOQUY. BY A GIRL OF THE PERIOD. To dye, or not to dye, that is the question:―― “Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer” Th’ outrageous colour of Dame Nature born, The very “head and _front_ of my offending” Against the fiat of chameleon Fashion, Or summon Art to aid me? Shall I end This heart-ache by the “hazard of a dye” That Fashion dooms my hair to?――Dye:――a wash:―― No more:――Poison, perhaps? ay, that’s the rub To bring paralysis: the ‘_harmless wash_’ With lead and sulphur, from the depths profound Of Acheron, is loaded: and who knows But when I shuffle off last season’s coil, And tone the little hair I call my own To match my latest chignon’s altered hue, Disease in my ‘frizzettes’ may lurk unseen, Stride my back-comb, or stalk with cat-like tread Along the parting? Let me pause, and think How much respect to chemistry be due―― For who would bear the sneers and up-turned nose Of female friend, the criticising eye Of street-cad,――when (as all the papers tell) She can herself the remedy procure For thirteen stamps――but that a hazy dread Of something that may happen cramps the will, And knowledge makes a coward of the purse? ’Tis too much proved:――yet I obey thy call, Stern mother of invention! Truefitt, in thy orisons Be all my fears remembered. _The Tomahawk_, January 30, 1869. ――――:o:―――― A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S SOLILOQUY.