Spare Half-hours.

Otago Witness, Issue 1501, 21 August 1880, Page 26

Spare Half-hours.

IN A HAIRDRESSING SALOON.

By Henry Lapham.

I Bhould have liked to head my paper " In a Barber's Shop," but there are no barbers •nd no shops in this highly polite age of ours. These gentlemen are all professors of the tonsorial art, and their shops saloons. Anything bo vulgar as spending half an hour in a barber's shop would inevitably shock the gentility of all refined persons who blush to oall a spade a spade ; so let us be polite whatever we are. " Manners is manners," as Mr Joe Gargery observed. There are two demands made by polite society which I think may fairly be reckoned first amongst the evils that afflict mankind : having one's hair out and having one's photograph taken. Barbers— men whose trade it was to fashion the beard and trim the hair— were followers of an ancient calling; bnt the fashion of having the hair cropped olose to the poll is a barbarism of comparatively modern date. In warm climates, and in summer, the custom has some sense and use, but in winter it is positively injurious, exposing a man to all the evils of catarrh, toothache, and throat diseases ; but fashion ordains it shall be the correct thing, and one oannot bat submit. However, it may be questioned if a man really looks the least more elegant or handsome because his hair is cropped as close as a prisoner's who has completed his term in gaol. For my own part, I never enter a hairdressing saloon without a shudder. I know quite well that every implement of the trade will be scrupulously clean (I mean in the saloon proper ; I would not, of course, go into a barber's shop) ; I know that the professor or his assiatant will be marvelloußly polite and suave— a little too much so at times ; yet there is hardly any operation I would not rather undergo. In the first place, there is generally some viotim beiDg tortured when you enter, and your first thought will be whether, when your time oomes, you will also look as hopelessly idiotic with that big white bib tucked about your neck. You vainly try to fix your attention upon the columns of the newspaper or the pages of the drearily comic annuals, but your eyes will wander to the unfortunate, acd you colour furiously when he catches your glance, as he also does unless he be a pompous individual whoße black frown then" shows he considers your notice as an insult. Then there are the strange odours that prevail in all saloons the smell of scented soap, and of curiously perfumed oils that are not delioious. Your turn comes .at last, and you take your seat in that wide, too- easy arm-chair, with that abominable cloth tucked beneath your chin. Some professors commence operations by tunning their thick fingers through your hair ; others übo a comb viciously, tugging and tearing at your locks as if they wished to do you an injury. Then begins the annoying Bnip, snip, the touch of the cold eteel upon your neck, the surreptitious digs with the points of the scissors that make one shudder again. The professor, too, often delights in displaying his dexterity by snipping as close to your far as possible without actually taking a riece off. When your position requires altering, he Beizes your head in both hands as if it were a refractory pumpkin, and twists ib to one or other side, or jerks it back, or pushes it down as if he wanted you to take a bite out (f your own cheßt. Now and again he blowa against your neck to sweep away dinging hairr, and if he smokes, as too many profeesors do, the whiff U b ny thing but suggestive of "the odours of Araby the blest." Next he will sorub away at you with a pair of brußhes, as if he were a very aotive hostler grooming a refractory horse, till your unfortunate head feels red-hot, and you begin to wonder if the oil will fizz when it drops upon it. Then he ruba in the oil as if the unguent were intended to poak through the skull and lubricate the brain. Still he is loth to let you go, and finds a tress here or a fltray lock there whioh requires snipping. A sprinkling of ecoiit finishes you off. and you fly "the accursed spot," feeling like a sheep escaped from the hands of a skilful shearer. Our American cousins, who have contrived means to alleviate most of the ilia of life, have made even haircutting a blissful operation by the employment of female barbers—or should the term be "barberess" ? Imagine the ecstatic delight of seeing a lovely female face bending over yours, of her "flower soft palms" caressing your locks, of her breatb, sweet as new violets, wandering about your face. Under such conditions I should think a man would conBider it his dnty to have his hair cub once a week at the farthest. If he happened to be a married man, it would be prudent also to have the hair out aa tlioit as possible, to give the less hold for an irate wife's lingers by-and-bye, I fanoy, however, these lady

barbers would not get many married customers—the pleasure would scarcely be worth the penalty. Try to picture the delight of being shaved by a lady barber ! Fancy the "rosy oleander fingers" plying the lather brush about your lips, lightly touching your cheek, actually with dainty thumb and finger pressing your nose— oh, happy, happy feature !— while the glittering razor sparkles less brightly than those merry eyes glancing downward full into your own. Oh, brother bachelor, soarcely would we try to resist if she offered to out our throats !

However, there is nothing new under the sun, and we can all call to mind the story of that ancient man of might who allowed a female friend to operate upon his locks while with his hair his miraoulous strength was shorn away. The tale ia a very old one, bub has still a moral for us is these years. Were our modern Delilahs to adopt barbering, there would be no lack of unwise Samsons who would lose their looks to such professors, even though they were aware that they also parted with their mental and physical strength at the same time, content to be spell-bound beneath the witchery of languishing eyes and soft oaresses, careless of the opinion of their fellows, "And lost to life and use, and name and fame."