Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/415

 402 proceeds to apply a soft cool mixture which I do not see; he then cleanses, coaxes, and lovingly fondles each separate lock of hair. This done, I am treated to a warm shower which becomes gradually cooler and cooler, till a cold douche splashes over my sconce, causing me the most exquisite sensations. The more than womanly tenderness with which I am dried baffles description. The shampooing apparatus being removed, I am brushed (not patted on the head with a piece of board stuck over with bristles), but brushed with brushes moved with firm but gentle pressure through my hair, which is then parted with earnest care. A pang of regret passes over me whilst this is doing, for full well I know that the delicious operation is drawing towards an end. I would gladly pay double and ask the gentle operator to begin again, but conscience forbids me to revel in such luxury. I am pained to be compelled to tell my velvet-fingered attendant that I do not require any Balsamic Cream of Mesopotamia, or, in fact, anything else for my ’air,” and I quit that mansion of blissful sensations, a light-headed but clear-brained man, in just the right mood to turn an epigram or pay a compliment. .

was a sunny summer’s day, The flowers deck’d dale and hill; And gurglingly the streamlet ran That turn’d the clatt’ring mill. The murmurous flies of every tint Flew glittering through the air; And buzzing bees did from the limes Their precious treasures bear.

The air was languid, calm, and sweet, With fragrance overlaid; The slenderest grass unruffled stood, The trees no rustle made. A slumb’rous feeling over all Its gentle influence shed; The lark could scarcely warble, as He floated overhead.

And ’neath a broad far-spreading beech A lovely girl reposed; The deep-fringed curtains of her eyes Serenely o’er them closed. Her bright brown hair in clusters fell Upon her healthy cheek; Her rosy lips were parted as Some gracious words to speak.

A sunbeam glinting thro’ the tree Play’d on her forehead fair; And still more bright and glowing made The glory of her hair. I stood and gazed upon that face As beautiful as Love’s; Nor wonder you, if stooping low, I—won a pair of gloves.