Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 March 1875 — Tonsorial Delights. [ARTICLE]

Tonsorial Delights.

There ia a faint life-picture in the old memory-chest of nearly* every man in tbe land, the central figure of which is a tow-headed youth, perched on a milkingstool in a Windsor chair, a long calico apron tied at the neck, and revolving about this center a spectacled dame, cruelly wielding a pair of not overly-keen shears, while to the cheerful chirrup of the rickety mowing-machine great shocks of the ripened straw fall scattering to the kitchen floor like chaff in an autumn breeze; and tears, bitter as a November rain, go coursing over the face of the nut-brown boy. But it is done differently now. The apron-strings are broken—the spectacles have become a relic, the boy a man. He saunters into a tonsorial parlor, suave, bronze statues become animated at his approach, deft hands remove his outer garments, and half a dozen arm-chairs are at his service. Into the nearest—if he has no preference—he casts himself with the abandon of a convicted felon, despair settles on his countenance, and “ a little straighter up, sir,” restores him to consciousness. The comb, the brush and the tongue perform a trio. He must select a style—“very short,” “ shingled,” “ half shingled.” The teeth of the comb are sharp, the hand that holds it is powerful, but never turns back. Oh, that ears were made removable or constructed Of tin! “ Sharp-pointed shears, with about three rough spots in the blade, will be the rage this season,” is the way Marie Le Baron would say if she were writing a barberus fashion letter. Not more than a dozen hairs are cut at a clip, but the plow crashes through the scalp incessantly. Suggestions are in order. “ Shampoo, sir?” (Heads are like watches when experts get a look at them, you know. “Hair is coming out, sir; better have a bottle of my restorer, sir;” and still the snip, snip, scratch, scratch goes on till another change in the vocal solo suggestive of coloring: “ Gray hairs pretty thick, sir; try my hair color; made without any lead, sirand this leads up to cologne, oil, bay rum and other equivalents for the perfume of a wet dog, and the agony is about over. No; for the crop of clippings is about equally divided between the lap of the apron and the ears and neck, and .nettles are no sharper than well-anchored bristles in a woolen garment. Hair shirts are only for penance. When the martyr again emerges from the close and choky air of the shop he belches forth a great sigh of relief, consults his watch, finds he has missed an engagement, and sneaks awav with the guilty air of a petty thief, thinking, after all, the new-fangled way is not so much better than the old.— Louisville Commercial.