He was speedily shown the way to such an emporium of intelligence, and
soon found he was likely to hear all he desired to know, and much
more, while his head was subjected to the art of a nimble tonsor, the
glibness of whose tongue kept pace with the nimbleness of his fingers
while he ran on, without stint or stop, in the following excursive
manner:--
"The Court here, master?--yes, master--much to the advantage of trade-
-good custom stirring. His Majesty loves Greenwich--hunts every
morning in the Park--all decent persons admitted that have the entries
of the Palace--no rabble--frightened the king's horse with their
hallooing, the uncombed slaves.--Yes, sir, the beard more peaked? Yes,
master, so it is worn. I know the last cut--dress several of the
courtiers--one valet-of-the-chamber, two pages of the body, the clerk
of the kitchen, three running footmen, two dog-boys, and an honourable
Scottish knight, Sir Munko Malgrowler."
"Malagrowther, I suppose?" said Nigel, thrusting in his conjectural
emendation, with infinite difficulty, betwixt two clauses of the
barber's text.
"Yes, sir--Malcrowder, sir, as you say, sir--hard names the Scots
have, sir, for an English mouth. Sir Munko is a handsome person, sir--
perhaps you know him--bating the loss of his fingers, and the lameness
of his leg, and the length of his chin. Sir, it takes me one minute,
twelve seconds, more time to trim that chin of his, than any chin that
I know in the town of Greenwich, sir.
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