Life — March 1, 1883 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- LIFE: A ROUGH BEARD. * “ Y owl find I've got a mean, rebellious beard !”" observed a thin-haired stranger, with a pre- maturely high forehead, as he tried to hang his hat up on a revolving hook in “ Jeffries’ Tonsorial Bazaar.” The speaker paused and eyed the old man at the end chair critically, then loosened his collar, leaned back and leveled his legs across the foot-rest with reckless resignation. “And now,” he went on, with hectic gayety, “as I am obliged to shave every day, and am kept constantly upon the road, and never have an op- portunity of repeating the agony of being shaved twice by the same barber, I desire, right here and now, to preface the ordeal to which I am about to submit my- self, by suggesting that you first lather the territory liberally—say, about three coats, to begin with—with three hot-water washings-off to match, supplementing the last soak with a general lathering of extra thickness and moisture-retaining qualities. Then shave lightly —very lightly, and always down the current of the beard, save when you strike the rapids and the whirl- pools under the jaw and chin ; and there you will need a cool head, a steady hand, and all your presence of mind if you don’t wreck us both!” The speaker shud- dered, drew a long, quivering breath that sounded not unlike a gas-jet turned on too full, and continued, as the old man made a feint towards putting in a word or two himself: ‘I trust, further, that you will recognize that this is not a time for two to talk, when one, by the entire monopoly of the same privilege may, in some vague degree, save his mind from the contemplation of sufferings that otherwise would drive him mad. Let me even anticipate the vast expenditure of such badinage as nestles nearest to your heart, and glancing- ly prance over the full gamut of all fascinating topics —weather, politics, sacred and secular subjects—any- thing—everything !_ To begin with:—I have learned to love all climates. I have courted politics, and paced the devious paths of public life. I have tried all forms of government, and whether they worked to my entire satisfaction or not, I found them working just the same. I have run for many offices, and got there, very, very seldom. I have walked in the ways of vice, and therein have my naked feet encountered more gravel that green grass. I have tried religion, and I like it— in its place. When shaving, however, I can with equal truth aver, attest, and solemnly depose, that I have yet to find the vaguest consolation in its restrictions. I have passed through multitudinous administrations‘ in piping times of peace,’ and when the gaunt confederate cned ‘ Whoop la!’ and ‘let slip the dogs of war.’ Be- neath the shelter of the old flag, I have lived on beans for weeks, and washed ’em down with moonshine whiskey that would corrode the stomach of a canteen, and gnaw the stopper up and spit it out as one would say, ‘O ‘wat chu givin’ me!’ All these trials I have borne with a patience that surpasseth understanding ; but, barber mine ! when you shall have wreaked sulk: cient vengeance on my side-face and throat, and ‘set’ the ears up high enough to meet the favor and the nice exactness of your artistic eye ;—why, then, THE SUPPRESSION OF VICE. Policeman No. 137921. LOOK OUT, BOYS, CLEAR AWAY QUICK, WE ARE GOING TO MAKE A RAID ON YOU, should you handcuff and strap me down securely in the chair before you, wade in on the upper lip, I will regard the measure only as a delicate and timely recognition on your part of the fact that there may, sometime, occur a limit to the patience and forbearance of the most heroic martyr of the present age.” And a half hour later, as the forensic stranger stood buttoning up the collar of his overcoat outside the door, the momentary silence from within was broken by the high falsetto voice of the boy apprentice, saying : “Well, dat's de beatinest rooster evah I see! is dat man, Mistah Jeffries?” “Who is dat man !” responded the evident voice of Mr. Jeffries, contemptuously. “ Who is dat man, in- deed! I nevah ain't fo’ dis minit see dat man—nevah ain't see him high or low ! but, mind now, I's a sayin’ ‘at dat man’s de smart Elick ‘at’s goin’ to lecture at de Presbyterian meeting-house to-night! ‘Who is dat man,’ you say? Look heah, boy? ain't you nevah goin’ to learn yo’ trade ?” Who ProvipENCE is impartial. It rains upon the just and New Jersey nullo discrimine. REMARKABLE TRANSFORMATION OF COLOR.—When the white stag turns to bay. ‘THE BEST WARDS FOR A LATCH-KEY.—Home wards, comicbooks.com