The Equinox (Volume I, Number III)

GLAZIERS’ HOUSES: oR, THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT I will write him a very taunting letter—As You Like It. In these latter days, when (too often) a newspaper proprietor is like a Buddhist monk, afraid to scratch his head lest he should incommode his vermin, it is indeed a joy for a young and nameless author to be presented with a long sword by a cordial editor, with the injunction: “There, my lad, sweep away, never mind what you hit—I’ll stand the racket.” Whoosh! off we go. One, two, three—crash! What’s that? ‘“Aere perennius”? Or a perennial ass? Let us see—a very curious problem. A problem not to be solved by mere surface scraping. Well then? A thankless and invidious task it may seem to pierce deeper than the “wolf in Dr. Jaeger’s clothing” of our wittiest woman and most alluring morphinomane. That task is ours. For last night in the visions of mine head upon my bed I beheld, strangely interwoven with this striking picture, the scene between Little Red Riding Hood and her sick grand- mother—how perverted! For in my dream it seemed that the old lady had devoured the wolf and that the scourge of the 346