“There have been some other circumstances, of minor importance,” continued the Peruquier--“it is said that a certain Lord, of high military character, has lost considerable sums of money, and seriously impaired his fortune--Lord ---- and a friend are completely ruined at hazard--there was a most excellent mill at Moulsey Hurst on Thursday last, between the Gas-light man, who appears to be a game chicken, and a prime hammerer--he can give and take with any man--and Oliver--Gas beat him hollow, it was all Lombard-street to a china orange. The Masked Festival on the 18th is a subject of considerable attraction, and wigs of every nature, style, and fashion, are in high request for the occasion--The Bob, the Tye, the Natural Scratch, the Full Bottom, the Queue, the Curl, the Clerical, the Narcissus, the Auricula, the Capital, the Corinthian, the Roman, the Spanish, the French, the Dutch--oh! we are full of business just now. Speaking of the art, by the by, reminds me of a circumstance which occurred a very ~55~~short time back, and which shows such a striking contrast between the low-bred citizens, and the True Blues of the West!--have the kindness to hold your head a little on one side, Sir, if you please--a little more towards the light, if you please--that will do excellently--why you'll look quite another thing!--From the country, I presume?” “You are right,” said Bob, “but I don't want a wig just yet.” “Shall be happy to fit you upon all occasions--masquerade, ball, or supper, Sir: you may perhaps wish to go out, as we say in the West, in coy.--happy to receive your commands at any time, prompt attention and dispatch.” “Zounds! you are clipping the wig too close,” said Tom, impatient to hear the story, “and if you go on at this rate, you won't leave us even the _tail_ (tale).” “Right, Sir, I take--'and thereby hangs a tale.' The observation is in point, _verbum sat_, as the latinist would say. Well, Sir, as I was saying, a citizen, with a design to outdo his neighbours, called at one of the first shops in London a very short time since, and gave particular orders to have his _pericranium_ fitted with a wig of the true royal cut. The dimensions of his upper story were taken--the order executed to the very letter of the instructions--it fitted like wax--it was nature--nay it soared beyond nature--it was the perfection of art--the very acmé of science! Conception was outdone, and there is no power in language to describe it. He was delighted; his wife was charmed with the idea of a new husband, and he with his new wig; but “Now comes the pleasant joke of all, 'Tis when too close attack'd we fall.” The account was produced---would you believe it, he refused to have it--he objected to the price.” “The devil take it!” said Tom, “object to pay for the acme of perfection; this unnaturally natural wig would have fetched any money among the collectors of curiosities.” “What was the price?” enquired Bob.