be insensible to such a
sorrow as this. How I envied the few locks she kept around her
precious forehead! How I wished that scissors had never been
invented!

The good curate, faithful to his promise, took me to the hair
dresser in London, according to the direction in the advertisement;
and, before opening the paper which contained me, told him the story
of Alice, of her trials, and of her excellent character and conduct,
of her present need, and of her purpose to support and educate her
children by her own efforts. He told him that there never was such a
beautiful head of hair, and that he hoped he would be willing to
give something handsome for it.

When the old clergyman opened the paper, and exhibited me to the
hair dresser, he took me out as fondly as if I had been a baby, and
shook me so as to make the ringlets curl again, but they would not.

I felt the difference between the old man's hard fingers, and rough
shake, and the soft touch of the dear Alice.

"Is it not beautiful?" said the old man.

"It is well enough," said the dealer. "I shall have to make a man's
wig of it. The curls will all boil out."

You may imagine my horror at these words; and, as for the poor
vicar, he seemed thunderstruck.

"If I had any money to spare," said he, "I would buy this beautiful
hair myself, and have it framed with a glass over it, and hang it up
in my best parlor, with that blue ribbon that looks so like her;
it's as handsome as a picture; and then her dear children should
have it at my death."

Whether it was that the hair dresser was afraid of losing me, or
that his heart was slightly touched with compassion for Alice and
her orphan children, I know not; but he offered the good curate a
sum for me which satisfied him.

As the curate gave me up, he untied the blue ribbon, folded it up
nicely, and put it into his pocket; and I think he dropped a tear as
he did so.

The wig maker examined me again when he was by himself. "A fine head
of hair it really is," said he. "It will make a good wig for a
youngish sort of a man; and the curls will make it work easier."

Then he tied me up with a piece of twine, and tossed me into a large
drawer with great bunches of hair of all colors and fineness.

Here I remained for I know not how long, without air or light, in
this disagreeable company. At last, one day we were all taken out,
and what we were made to endure I now shudder to think of. We were
boiled, we were pulled a