"Next gentleman " said Andre Maggimore, one of the journeyman barbers in the extensive shaving saloon of Cutts & Stropmore, which was situated near the Plutonian temples of State Street, in the city of Boston. "Next gentleman " repeated Andre, in tones as soft and feminine as those of a woman, when no one responded to his summons. "My turn?" asked a spare young man of sixteen, throwing down the Post, with a languid air, and rising to his feet. "Yes, sir," replied Andre, politely; and if the speaker had been out of sight, one would have supposed it was a lady who spoke. "Have your hair cut?" "No; shave.""