the editor, are in error, but only
in so far as each claims peculiar facilities for the sort of knowledge
in question; because, you see, sir, the truth is, that every trade or
pursuit which brings one into contact with the facts, sir, such trade or
pursuit is equally an avenue to those facts."

"_How_ exactly is that?"

"Why, sir, in my opinion--and for the last twenty years I have, at odd
times, turned the matter over some in my mind--he who comes to know
man, will not remain in ignorance of man. I think I am not rash in
saying that; am I, sir?"

"Barber, you talk like an oracle--obscurely, barber, obscurely."

"Well, sir," with some self-complacency, "the barber has always been
held an oracle, but as for the obscurity, that I don't admit."

"But pray, now, by your account, what precisely may be this mysterious
knowledge gained in your trade? I grant you, indeed, as before hinted,
that your trade, imposing on you the necessity of functionally tweaking
the noses of mankind, is, in that respect, unfortunate, very much so;
nevertheless, a well-regulated imagination should be proof even to such
a provocation to improper conceits. But what I want to learn from you,
barber, is, how does the mere handling of the outside of men's heads
lead you to distrust the inside of their hearts?

"What, sir, to say nothing more, can one be forever dealing in macassar
oil, hair dyes, cosmetics, false moustaches, wigs, and toupees, and
still believe that men are wholly what they look to be? What think you,
sir, are a thoughtful barber's reflections, when, behind a careful
curtain, he shaves the thin, dead stubble off a head, and then dismisses
it to the world, radiant in curling auburn? To contrast the shamefaced
air behind the curtain, the fearful looking forward to being possibly
discovered there by a prying acquaintance, with the cheerful assurance
and challenging pride with which the same man steps forth again, a gay
deception, into the street, while some honest, shock-headed fellow
humbly gives him the wall! Ah, sir, they may talk of the courage of
truth, but my trade teaches me that truth sometimes is sheepish. Lies,
lies, sir, brave lies are the lions!"

"You twist the moral, barber; you sadly twist it. Look, now; take it
this way: A modest man thrust out naked into the street, would he not be
abashed? Take him in and clothe him; would not his confidence be
restored? And in either case, is any reproach involved? Now, what is