His First Shave.
This is a momentous event in a boy's life, as it is to him the line of demarcation between boyhood and manhood.
The microscopic indications under his chin are becoming annoying to him, and he considers it a duty to society to have them removed without delay.
He has already made several surreptitious attempts with his father's razor, to the great detriment of both the razor and his face, and although he succeeded, in a measure, in removing the obnoxious down, yet it was with the unpleasant accompaniment of some of his chin. Therefore he determines to do the thing in a manly way, and resolves to submit to the barber's delicate manipulations without delay.
It takes him some time to muster up the requisite courage to enter the barber's shop, as he has certain misgivings that the barber might indulge in facetious and satirical remarks concerning his beard.
He passes the shop many times and looks in; but his heart sinks within him. There is always some drawback—either too many people inside or too few; in either case of which he thinks he will be noticed. Once he does enter; and one of the barbers venturing the inquiry, "Hair cut, sir?" involves him in delightful confusion, and to avoid further embarrassment, he submits to having his hair cut, and still remains unshaved.
At last, in sheer desperation, he makes a very firm resolve either to get shaved that day or never. With this heroic resolve, and twopence in his hand, he sallies forth to the barber's, and at a favorable moment walks in and tremblingly awaits his turn.
The sharp, short "Next!" sends the blood thrilling up his backbone, and he feebly climbs into the chair, and hurriedly says, "Shave me, please," and shuts his eyes.
The barber, with an eye to the twopence, says nothing, and proceeds to shave him, figuratively speaking. There is only one drawback to the boy's cup of happiness, and that is the entire absence of that peculiarly pleasant rasping sound which comes only from a long experience.
—Liverpool Post.
The season has come again when a fine string of fish in the hand is worth two dollars out of pocket to the man who didn't catch the fish.
—Albany Express.
Considering how little the bell knows it is wonderful how much it has tolled.
—Merchant Traveler.
Mr. Retired Politician (to Society Artist)—Now you are sure you can make a good likeness of me?
Society Artist—Oh, yes; you see yours is a very simple face—er, er, I mean to draw, you know.
A great deal of fault can be found with a defaulter.
—Pittsburgh Chronicle.