Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 November 1875 — In a Barber-Shop. [ARTICLE]

In a Barber-Shop.

My friend the barber welcomes me as the rightful captive of his razor and his shears. I have it in mind to cast myself into the clutch of his art—to submit my flowing locks to the scissors, my scalp to the fiery shampoo, and my chin to the harvesting steel. He, therefore, congratulates his secret soul and proceeds to do with me after the manner of his kind. To all of which I solemnly assent. He first cuts my hair. That is to say, he combs it over my eyes and leaves it in that position. Then, with a slow rake of his toothed instrument he fetches it over either ear, careless that the aforesaid ear projects some sufficient distance from the skull. It cheers me in this moment of awful uncertainty, when the comb is deliberately descending, to reflect that if I were indeed an ass he would give the matter more attention. The back of my head he also furrows in order, I presume, to sow “ Tonic” in if, by and by. Then he clips and chatters and gracefully waves his particular customers to his especial friends among his fellow-artists; and clips and snips my ear, and begs a meclianical pardon or two ; and jerks his head on one side, and clips and pushes me forward and pushes me back; and respondsaffirmatively when ] tell him only to take the ends off of it; and clips and says that will be all right; and drives the cold steel on its triumphant way over my forehead and around the outer boundaries of that wig which? is the serene result of his cuts, cross-cuts, shinglings and shearings. Nay, he would even shave the back of my neck did I pennit him so to do. » And now he pours upon my devoted head an anointing which is like that of Aaron. It runs down to my beard and it would go to the skirts of my calico bib if it had anything like the proper success. As it is, 1 open the corner of an eye in order to expostulate and a lava-stream of borax and ammonia plunges into the crevasse. How that eye smarts and stings! Meanwhile the ten fingers of Monsignor are busy with my occiput and sinciput. He traverses every bump and is especially severe with firmness, benevolence and self-esteem. He plow's back and forth upon the moral faculties with an occasional excursion across philoprogenitiveness. I notice with pain that he does not rouse "the dormant energies of combativeness or destructiveness; neither does he meddle with form, color, order, number or size. Like unto all my fellow-men, I suffer these indignities, nodding back and forth, my head one mass of whip-lather, utterly

defenseless and solaced only by an accidental touch or two which is softer than the rest. As I have mentioned (land ruff to him, he considers that suggestion the cue for renewed energy and more desperate exertion. At length he “ raises my hair,” literally. A cloud-capped tower of royal Egyptian shampoo ascends upon my skull, twirled to a peak by those dexterous fingers. And I, with closed eyes, follow stumbling across the room. No one laughs at me; for they all know how it is themselves. But to the inhabitant of another world it would be< awfully funny. Now, the water is either too hot or too cold. It is never just right. It rains upon me and runs down the back of my neck; to prevent which I am jammed lower and lower into the basin. Halfstrangled and with a lurking sense that every particular hair is now sore at the root, I rise up, and, beholding men as . trees walking, I go back to my station. My friend presses both forefingers into the balls of my eyes, he works the towel with which he is armed into the remotest recesses of the drums of my ears, and by an indescribable circular motion he follows this last process with a wipe across my face. Mechanically he conveys each possible unclean particle from the nape of my neck and the back of my ear around to my nose, and then regularly adjourns the movement. It has now become time for the razor. This, being duly selected from a wellworn and dirty heap, is rushed with a whish and a hish back and forth upon some extremely suspicious canvas and across some equally doubtful leather. My friend the barber is by no means a neophyte, as it were. He tips me back until my nose is like the petal of a flower, and then hw lathci's me to his liking. During this procedure he frequently finds it necessary to talk to some familiar or to hold counsel with the “boss,” while the lather dries in to the required consistency. It happens on the present occasion that the razor is villainously dull. After two or three efforts, in the course of which I dare not call my soul my own, he graciously inquires “if it pulls.” I remark that perhaps it does. He selects another instrument of torture, less obdurate of edge, and we progress with more satisfaction to all concerned.

I make no account of all the sharp corners, crooked defiles, capes, promontories, timber-land, or open country around or over which he travels. He is a fairlyexperienced person and I have no great fault to find. True, he nicks a place under toy chin and he scoops out certain hairs from two days beneath the surface; but in this he is not exceptional. The finishing touches command profound admiration. I make no suggestions, and simply and severely commit him to his own devices. Hence, as to my hair, he applies “ Tonic,” which strikes like liquid fire upon all capillaries and abraded surfaces. To this he adds “ Pomatum” (of which I stand in reverent awe, as an unknown substance), and, should I stay his lavish hand, he spreads the residue thereof upon his own ambrosial ringlets. I take no heed of his remark, made in the interest of the “ Universal Hair Restorer,” that the top of my head is but sparsely provided with what ought to grow there. I awake from a reverie in which I behold myself with a high part to my front hair and a waved lock plastered low down upon my marble brow, in time to catch his inquiry if he shall “ put cosmetique on ’em.” With him it’is a word and a dab. Some eccentric mass of lard and perfume is smeared upon my mustache; an extra allowance is appropriated to either extremity; A couple of twirls a la Louis Napoleon—and the trick is performed. . J When or how r my face was submitted to a powder-puff, which fills up all my pores and hides the rents the razor made, I am unable now to testify. I realize it in a vague and misty fashion as a portion of it is being rubbed off at my release. My friend eyes me with adtoairation. I am a here after his own heart. I have exhausted the resources of the establishment. He hands me out a copious check and cries “ Brush!” with undoubted sincerity and begs me to call again. I wander forth scarce knowing what manner of man I am. My mustache sticks stiffly out like the wing of a chick-en-hawk nailed against a farm-door. My hair clings to my forehead like a wet and comfortless wife to her consort after a seabath. lam sad and unnatural in spirit. The top of my head smarts as if it had been trying conclusions with a bramblebush. lam a barber’s image—a walking emblem—a sort of wonder and dismay!— Rev. 8. W. Duffield, in N. Y. Independent.