Yes,
in the days of Beau Tibbs, every street had its corner and every corner
its shoe-black, and to every shoe-black might be traced an old wig,
sometimes _two_. In those days of ruffles and etiquette, when
a well-formed leg was advantageously displayed in _whole_ silk
stockings, shoes, and buckles, it was the custom with pedestrians, when
making a call, to have their shoes wiped and touched up at the corner
of the street nearest the place they were going to visit: and what so
efficient for the purpose as an old wig? nothing. But, alas! those days
are gone! and Beau Tibbs is gone! and, if we question where? only Echo
answers. But what becomes of the old wigs? is the question at issue.
Alas! again, such is the degeneracy of modern days, that, instead of
being used as an appendage to the toilet, though humble, I fear they
will be traced to the vulgar bricklayer and plasterer, to be mingled
with mortar, and "patch a wall, to expel the winter's flaw." Now, I
believe, every particle is accounted for; and any little article, in the
shape of a bijou, is the perquisite of those pickers-up of unconsidered
trifles, the sifters.
_Monthly Magazine._
[3] It was a dispute between a dustman and a sifter, as to which had
the most rightful claim to a five-pound note, found in the ashes;
and certainly nothing could be more impartially decided; for
as their claims, or rather their non-claims, turned out to be
equal--that is, in point of law--it was retained by the presiding
magistrate in trust.
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