The modern male still has a chance to pull himself from the disgraceful mire of effeminacy into which he has been steadily sinking since the razing of the Victorian forest primeval. Mr. Arthur Ponsonby, M.P., has recently been warming the Atlantic cables with a revolutionary, proposal for all men to grow beards.
No doubt, the female-of the species will smile lightly at this brave attempt to refurbish the bristling glory of the cave man. The instinct of vanity in man is too ancient to be uprooted in one generation. Goadod by Colgate's hammering attacks on the hairy face, blinded by the glitter of three-minute safety razors, and drugged by the perfumery of multiplying shaving soap, the helpless male shaves on and on.
In spite of the fact that he wastes over 102 days of his life sowing soap bubbles on his stubly cheek; in spite of the fact that he dissipates enough foot pounds of energy to drive his Ford for 23.7 miles, this poor creature will not heed the new apostle of emancipation. Wild visions of embarrassment in engulfing soup and dismantling chicken wings, and horrible pictures of ice-coated whiskers tighten his grip on the instrument of degradation, as the fettered slaye renews each day the heardless symbol of forsaken manhood.