Of beauty, Mr. Galloway could boast little; but of his hair he was
moderately vain: a very good head of hair it was, and curled naturally.
But hair, let it be luxuriant enough to excite the admiration of a
whole army of coiffeurs, is, like other things in this sublunary world
of ours, subject to change; it will not last for ever; and Mr.
Galloway's, from a fine and glossy brown, turned, as years went on, to
sober grey--nay, almost to white. He did not particularly admire the
change, but he had to submit to it. Nature is stronger than we are. A
friend hinted that it might be "dyed." Mr. Galloway resented the
suggestion: anything false was abhorrent to him. When, however, after
an illness, his hair began to fall off alarmingly, he thought it no
harm to use a certain specific, emanating from one of her Majesty's
physicians; extensively set forth and patronized as an undoubted remedy
for hair that was falling off. Mr. Galloway used it extensively in his
fear, for he had an equal dread both of baldness and wigs. The lotion
not only had the desired effect, but it had more: the hair grew on
again luxuriantly, and its whiteness turned into the finest flaxen you
ever saw; a light delicate flaxen, exactly like the curls you see upon
the heads of blue-eyed wax dolls. This is a fact: and whether Mr.
Galloway liked it, or not, he had to put up with it. Many would not be
persuaded but that he had used some delicate dye, hitherto unknown to
science; and the suspicion vexed Mr.
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