Business went on swimmingly until I was twelve years old, when I had the misfortune to lose my poor mother. I was now quite alone in the world, so in order to instruct myself more fully in the higher branches of the art, such as wig making, hair-cutting, etc., I offered myself as apprentice under the late Mr. Hackchin, under whose tuition in the wig line I vastly improved, although even from the beginning my shaving was universally preferred to his. Lor, sirs! his razors were never sharp, his water always lukewarm, and his hand shook as with the palsy. The fact was, he was getting old, was my poor employer, and ought, in my opinion, to have given up business long before he did, when he might have retired from the field with all due honours, and handed down his name unstained to posterity. Well, gentlemen, not to wear out your patience, I will at once proceed to the very heart of my story--plunge into the very thick of the lather, as my poor father used to say--being about the time of my going abroad, and the reason of it. It was now some time since I had begun to cast sheep's eyes on the pretty Sally Snip, daughter of Simon Snip, the village tailor. We met by stealth, took long walks together of a Sunday in the green lane, danced together on the green on holidays, exchanged tokens, breathed vows of eternal fidelity, and all the rest of it. Our interviews were detected at length by Sally's parents, who looked on our attachment with no favourable eyes. Old Snip was ambitious, and designed quite another match for his daughter than a penniless young barber like myself, and gave me plainly to understand that if I did not _sheer_ off he would _baste_ my broadcloth for me. I was in a rage, but smothered it for prudence sake, yet didn't I wish in that moment that I had the shaving of him--wouldn't I have scraped him, that's all! Well, words grew high; I protested that my intentions were strictly honourable, etc., etc., but all to no purpose; the obstinate old parent wouldn't see what was for his daughter's good, and I left him very much disgusted. A few stolen interviews were attempted after this, but were all frustrated, and I soon saw we were not destined for one another, so we met for the last time, wept, embraced, and vowed still to love each other to eternity. Now, there is no knowing but I might still have sought to renew my interviews, had not an extraordinary circumstance occurred to alter my determination. On the very night after our parting I was tossing restlessly on my bed, between sleeping and waking, when all of a sudden--whether it was a dream, I know not, but I fancy that I was awake--all at once there stood by my bedside the spirit of my father in the habiliments of the grave, unblemished in whiteness as the suds he used in his lifetime, and, approaching me solemnly, said,