Descended from a long line
of this honourable profession, and literally reared in lather, having my
youthful imagination fired by the tales of my father and grandfather of
the great people they had shaved in their day, what wonder that, at a
precocious age, I should yearn to wield the weapon of my ancestors, and
even aspire to be more eminent in the line than any of my predecessors? It was the height of my father's ambition--who was great in his way, and
added to the ordinary routine of business the higher branches of the
art, such as bleeding, tooth drawing, quack salving, and the like--that
I, his only son, should step into his shoes, and hand down the name of
"Suds" in all its unblemished purity. "Joe," he would say to me, "when I am gone to my long account, who will
there be to support your poor mother unless you fix upon some honest
trade for a livelihood?" "And what trade should I fix upon, if not yours, father?" I would reply. "Well, Joe, my boy," he would say, "if you would be a true barber, and
uphold the honour of the family, recollect that no excellence is
achieved without constant practice. The primary rules of barber-craft
are simple. Keep your razors sharp and free from rust, your water
boiling; spare not the lather, and rub it well in before you begin to
shave; dip the razor in the boiling water, and work with a steady
hand." I promised him that I would abide by his instructions, and although up
to a certain age I was not permitted to handle a razor, I was,
nevertheless, always in my father's shop, and watched with admiring eyes
the masterly way in which my progenitor finished off his customers. In
the case of a tooth having to be drawn, or a vein opened, I was never
missing, and great was my pride should my father call upon me now and
then to render him some trifling assistance. I might have been about
seven years old when I made my first essay. It was about Christmas time, and my father had just killed a pig, which
he had left hung up by the legs in the yard. Being left alone for a few
minutes, a bright idea struck me. I would try my "'prentice han'" on the
carcase of the porker. So, locking all the doors so as not to be
interrupted, I mixed up a lather and, with one of my father's
well-sharpened razors, I commenced operations. Whilst thus busily
employed, I was attracted by the sound of smothered laughter, and
looking up at the window of our next-door neighbour's house, which
looked into our yard, I beheld some dozen of the neighbours, who had
been called in to witness my performance. I thought they would have died
with laughter. However, nothing daunted, I proceeded diligently with my
task, until my father, rattling at the door, demanded instant
admittance. I was forced to admit him, and when he saw what I had been
about, he quickly snatched the razor from my hand, and calling me "a
dirty young dog," administered to me a slight kick behind, although I
thought at the time, by the expression on his face, and likewise by that
on my mother's, that my parents felt inwardly proud of their son. An interval of two years now elapsed before I again put hand to razor. I
remember that at this time I was nine years old, and it was when I was
at this tender age that my poor father caught a fever and died. As you may suppose, gentlemen, it was a terrible blow to my poor widowed
mother, who, besides the grief she naturally felt for the loss of an
affectionate husband, found herself now alone in the world with a
growing lad to support as well as herself by the scanty proceeds of the
business. It was some little time before I could realise the fact that my father
was actually dead. When my mother first brought me the startling news I
heard it in a sort of stupor, resembling insensibility, out of which I
did not awake until the undertaker arrived with the coffin, when the
whole extent of our calamity seemed to dawn upon me for the first time,
and I fairly howled for grief. Whilst thus indulging my sorrow, a few
neighbours dropped in to see my father laid out in his coffin before he
was nailed down. I heard my mother make something like an apology for
showing her husband's body before it had been shaved. I stopped short in
my sobbing and mused awhile. It was then the custom to shave a corpse
before consigning it to its last home. Who was to perform this duty? Here the instinct of the barber came over me. Not a moment was to be
lost if I really intended to put my plan into practice. Yes, I myself
would shave my father's corpse, and no other. Accordingly, as my mother
was showing out the neighbours and listening to their well meant
condolences on the threshold, I quickly locked myself into the room with
the corpse, having previously procured the apparatus necessary for the
operation. I bore in my mind my father's instructions, "Keep your razor
sharp, and free from rust; let the water be boiling, and don't spare the
lather, but rub it well in before you begin." I now proceeded to put my
father's advice into practice; so, lathering well the face of the
corpse, and rubbing the suds well in, I proceeded to wield the razor
with a dexterity at first that surprised me with my own performance and
encouraged me to attempt something of that "nonchalance" of style that I
had observed my father adopt whilst shaving his customers, but which is
not looked upon as quite safe until one has undergone considerable
practice. Now, this was only my second attempt; still, I was so elated at having
gone through the shaving of both cheeks as well as the throat, without a
single cut, that I already deemed myself a proficient in the art, and
affected that air of ease and careless grace I have just alluded to
whilst I attempted the scraping of the upper lip, when, oh, horror! the
razor gave an untimely slip, and sliced my father's nose off! I dropped
the razor in my fright, and I really wonder I did not go off in a fit
on the spot, such was the thrill of terror that seized me as I gazed on
the ghastly hideousness of my father's corpse as it lay noseless in its
coffin. I staggered and almost fell to the ground, but mustering all my
courage, I picked up the nose and clapped it on in its place. I remember
that in my eagerness and hurry I stuck it on the wrong way, with the
nostrils upwards, which gave an appearance at once fearful and ludicrous
to its ghastly features. It rolled off, however, immediately, and I
hastened to rectify my mistake, and after much care and adroitness,
succeeded in poising the feature nicely in the centre of the face, in
the hopes that it would adhere of its own accord to the spot, and
proceeded with the operation; but, alas, no sooner had I begun to meddle
with the upper lip, than off rolled the nose again, so I just let it be
this time until I had completed the operation.