At the Sign of the Barbers Pole | Page 9

dying in 1821. Mr John Timbs, the popular writer, left on record that he
had a vivid recollection of Middleditch's dentistry.
Over the last resting-places of some barber-surgeons are curious
epitaphs. At Tewkesbury Abbey one in form of an acrostic is as
follows:--
"Here lyeth the body of Thomas Merrett, of Tewkesbury,
Barber-chirurgeon, who departed this life the 22nd day of October
1699.
=T=hough only Stone Salutes the reader's eye, =H=ere (in deep silence)
precious dust doth lye, =O=bscurely Sleeping in Death's mighty store,
=M=ingled with common earth till time's no more. =A=gainst Death's
Stubborne laws, who dares repine, =S=ince So much Merrett did his
life resigne.
=M=urmurs and Tears are useless in the grave, =E=lse hee whole
Vollies at his Tomb might have. =R=est in Peace; who like a faithful
steward, =R=epair'd the Church, the Poore and needy cur'd; =E=ternall
mansions do attend the Just, =T=o clothe with Immortality their dust,

=T=ainted (whilst under ground) with wormes and rust."
Under the shadow of the ancient church of Bakewell, Derbyshire, is a
stone containing a long inscription to the memory of John Dale,
barber-surgeon, and his two wives, Elizabeth Foljambe and Sarah
Bloodworth. It ends thus:--
"Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, in the year of grace 1757, the
rambling remains of the above John Dale were, in the 86th yeare of his
pilgrimage, laid upon his two wives.
This thing in life might raise some jealousy, Here all three lie together
lovingly, But from embraces here no pleasure flows, Alike are here all
human joys and woes; Here Sarah's chiding John no longer hears, And
old John's rambling Sarah no more fears; A period's come to all their
toylsome lives The good man's quiet; still are both his wives."

BYGONE BEARDS
The history of the beard presents many items of interest connected with
our own and other countries. Its importance belongs more to the past
than to the present, but even to-day its lore is of a curious character. We
find in Leviticus xiii. 29, the earliest mention of our theme, where
Moses gives directions for the treatment of a plague in the beard, and a
little later he forbids the Israelites to "mar the corners" of it. David,
himself bearded, tells us that Aaron possessed one going down to the
skirts of his garments. In David's reign ambassadors were sent to the
King of Ammon, who, treating them as spies, cut off half of each of
their beards. We are told that they were greatly ashamed, and David
sent out to meet them, saying, "Tarry at Jericho until your beards be
grown, and then return." To shave off the beard was considered by the
Jews as a mark of the deepest grief.
[Illustration: Bayeux Tapestry.
The above picture, showing two soldiers of William the Conqueror's
army, is taken from the celebrated Bayeux tapestry.]

To turn to the annals of our own land, we find that the ancient Britons
did not cultivate the beard. The Saxons wore the hair of the head long,
and upon the upper lip, but the chin was clean shaven. Harold, in his
progress towards the fateful field of Hastings, sent spies in advance to
obtain an idea as to the strength of the enemy. On their return they
stated among other things that "the host did almost seem to be priests,
because they had all their face and both their lips shaven," a statement
borne out by the representations of the Norman soldiers in the Bayeux
tapestry. It is recorded that when the haughty victors had divided the
broad lands of England among themselves, and when the Englishmen
had been made to feel that they were a subdued and broken nation, the
conquered people still kept up the old fashion of growing their hair
long, so that they might resemble as little as possible their cropped and
shaven masters.
Julius II., who ascended the Papal throne in 1503, was the first Pope to
allow his beard to grow, "in order," as he said, "to inspire the greater
respect among the faithful." A curious custom of the Middle Ages was
that of imbedding three hairs from the king's beard in the wax of the
seal, in order to give greater solemnity to the document. Another
instance of the value placed on this adornment of nature by some
nations comes to us in the story of the Eastern potentate to whom the
King of England had sent a man without a beard as his ambassador.
The Eastern monarch flew into a passion when the beardless visitor was
presented. "Had my master measured wisdom by the beard," was the
ready retort, "he would have sent a goat."
It is said that beards came into fashion in England in the thirteenth
century, but by the nineteenth century