THE late Mr. Donn, whose name was
long considered an excellent passport for the quality of pencils was,
during his periodical visits to Glasgow, in the habit of putting up at the
Black Boy Tavern, Gallowgate, where a sectarian barber used to officiate.
One Sabbath morning a young man made his appearance to do the needful for
the chins of the customers, and Mr. Donn, his muzzle being rough and
somewhat irritable, felt reluctant to entrust it to the hands of so young
a practitioner, in case he should take a portion of the soil with the
crop. Accordingly he asked:
"Why did the old gentleman not come
himself?"
"Oh," said the youngster, with a
serious face, "this is Sabbath morning, and my master never shaves on
Sabbath, sir."
"Very well, my little fellow," said
the maker of pencils, "go on." The operation being performed as well as
could be expected— "Now," said Mr. Donn, putting his accustomed fee into
his hand, "when you go home, be sure and make my cornpliments to your
master, and tell him that if he does not wish to go to perdition himself,
he ought not to send his boy there."
