Rev. William Welsteed.
An answer to a query in a modern newspaper gives the word “caxon” as descriptive of a dress-wig. It was in truth a term for a wig, but it was a cant term, a slang phrase for the worst possible wig; thus Charles Lamb Wrote:—
“He had two wigs both pedantic but of different omen. The one serene, smiling, fresh-powdered, betokening a mild day. The other an old discoloured, unkempt, angry caxon denoting frequent and bloody execution.”
All these wigs, even the bob-wig, were openly artificial. The manner of their make, their bindings, their fastening, as well as their material, completely destroyed any illusion which could possibly have been entertained as to their being a luxuriant crop of natural hair.
No one was ashamed of wearing a wig. On the contrary, a person with any sense of dignity was ashamed of being so unfashionable as to wear his own hair. It was a glorious time for those to whom Nature had been niggardly. A wig was as frankly extraneous as a hat. No attempt was made to imitate the roots of the hairs, or the parting. The hair was attached openly, and bound with a high-colored, narrow ribbon. Here is an advertisement from the Boston News Letter of August 14, 1729:—
“Taken from the shop of Powers Mariott, Barber, a light Flaxen Natural Wigg parted from the forehead to the Crown. The Narrow Ribband is of a Red Pink Color, the Caul is in rows of Red, Green and White Ribband.”
Another “peruke-maker” lost a Flaxen “Natural” wig bound with peach-colored ribbon; while in 1755 Barber Coes, of Marblehead, lost “feather-tops” bound with various ribbons. Some had three colors on one wig—pink, green and purple. A goat’s-hair wig bound with red and purple, with green ribbons striping the caul, must have been a pretty and dignified thing on an old gentleman’s head. One of the most curious materials for a wig was fine wire, of which Wortley Montague’s wig was made.