The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog lettersJerrold, Douglas William
General
The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters
Jerrold, Douglas William
English literature -- 19th century; English wit and humor
Suddenly the glowing lights of the picture faded. A daughter who was
living in Guernsey fell dangerously ill; and he was called away from
the editorial chair, and from the “Barber’s Chair.” He was so affected
by the danger in which he found my sister that he could not write a
line. Douglas Jerrold’s Weekly Newspaper began to appear without Mr
Nutts and his customers; and each week the newsboys would ask, “Any
Barber?”
Answered in the negative, they would take a less number of copies.
Week after week, while my father remained away, the circulation of
the paper fell. Not only was his pen absent, but he had weighted it
with heavy contributors, who were possibly sound, but unquestionably
dull. He could not say nay to a friend; and directly he had installed
himself as editor of a weekly journal, he was besieged. He would take
a series, thinking rather of the pleasure he was giving the writer
than of the way in which the public would receive it. Thus he became
entangled in a currency series of interminable length, that tried the
patience of readers to the utmost. In Angus Reach he had a lively and
spirited colleague, and Frederick Guest Tomlins was a fair manager; but
these could not make way, in his absence, against the dull men, and
the decline of circulation continued. My father returned to London to
find a newspaper which he had left a handsome property, dwindled to a
concern that hardly paid its expenses.
The “Barber’s Chair” was resumed, and with it the flagging paper
revived. Messrs Nutts, Nosebag, Tickle, Bleak, Slowgoe, and the rest
of the authorities of the barber’s shop, talked about the events
of the week in the old sprightly manner. Nutts and his wife cross
to France, and the lady is rudely treated at the Customhouse. They
were searched, said Nutts, as though they had brought a cutler’s shop
and a cotton-mill in every one of their pockets. Slowgoe reproaches
the barber as the advocate of universal peace, “and all that sort of
stuff;” and defends war on the ground that “there’s nothing so little
as doesn’t eat up something as is smaller than itself.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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