My First Shave.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XVI, Issue 5097, 6 October 1891, Page 4

My First Shave.

Shall I ever forget my first shave ? For a long time daily, almost hourly, consultations were held between my face and the mirror, much to the disadvantage of the latter, which last considerable quicksilver caused by the liangs received from my nose as I buried my face in the glass endeavoring wildly to find more than four real dark hairs on my upper lip. One morning, with many inward reproaches for my cowardice in not venturing forth before, I braced up and hunted for a barber-shop. It was not necessary to hunt for long, for there were four such places within a block of my house. I was all right until the door was reached, when my heart sank in a way that made my legs tremble, and I would turn a.vay like a whipped dog. I went through this performance eight times. At last, in desperation bom of despair. I rushed into a shop, dropped my hat several times before I hung it up, fell in a chair and stared around me in a petrified way that attracted the attention of every one in the place, which to my dismay was crowded. But I saw that my turn would come in five minutes. Nerving myself for the ordeal, I watted excitedly for the awful summons of "next" to come. It came.

"Your turn next, young gentleman," exclaimed the guardian of the velvetcushioned chairHow I ever reached it is unknown to me. I had a dim consciousness of stumbling over a man who was settling his bill, when my trance was broken. "Hair cut short ?" exclaimed the tonsorial impressionist. To this day I have entertained a consistent malicious hatred towards that man for the cruel remark about hair cut, but the blood of my nice was aroused, the majority of it in my face, I must .admit.

"No. sir," I replied ; "shave." A look of astonishment that was very galling to me broke over the man's face. Then the soul of the artist asserted itself. He turned his back and yelled out to a shop boy, " Hot water, Charlie! " attracting by his loud tone the attention of customers and barbers alike. In my inward soul I knew the 3' were laughing at me. My barber seemed to do an unnecessary amount of stropping and lathering. At last the brush, warm with feathery lather, touched my cheek. When my face was covered with the white fanm I breathed easier. No one now could tell whether I had the beard of a variety actor or the nothingness of a schoolboy. Poising his razor in the air like the sword of Damocles, the barber began. When the cold steel touched my flesh an ecstatic thrill Kin from head to heel. But one thing detracted from my joy. No grating sound of the disappearing beard reached my ear. The razor passed over my face noiselessly, with a continuity of motion that caused me sorrow. The filial shave was made. My face was slushed with hot water and then with cold water. The powder-puff tickled my nostrils. The barber oiled and flattened my hair in two scollops on my youthful forehead. One final nib of the eyebrows—- " Next."

I jumped from the chair, won the barber's heart by a shilling tip, got on my coat and hat in some unexplainable manner, felt the whisk-broom travel with great force up and down my spinal column. Leaving the brush fiend fanning the air, I rushed into the street, and. with a great effort, conquered the feeling to give a yell loud as old Archimedes —one that would voice to the whole world the gratifying information that I had been shaved at last.—American.