There seems, at all times to have been a sinister protest, in some quarter or other, against the presumed arrogance of the beard--a lurking spirit of revolt, engendered possibly of envy, against the supremacy of its reign. Even the would-be-philosopher of old did not go unchallenged, as we may guess from the sharp rebuke administered in the memorable words, “Video barbam et palliam; philosophum nondum video.” And, indeed, if the truth must be spoken, there are faces to which it lends no dignity. A mean and contemptible nature, hid behind a potent beard, is a miserable disguise. The affectations of a gentleman are but trifles. Raleigh wore stays, and was a great dandy; but he was something more--an elegant poet, an accomplished gentleman, and a gallant soldier. But the abuse of a good thing is no argument for its disuse. We grieve to think of the degradation of this manly ornament, and put no faith in “those ambiguous things that ape Goats in their visage, women in their shape;” and would fain hope that a return to the “flat faces,” “such as would disgrace a screen,” is next to impossible. “Now, a beard is a thing which commands in a king, Be his sceptre ne’er so fair; When the beard wears the sway, the people obey, And are subject to a hair. “’Tis a princely sight and a grave delight That adorns both young and old; A well thatch’d face is a comely grace, And a shelter from the cold.” Even our playing cards look the better for the beards; how richly are the kings furnished--what a winning aspect it gives them. “Behold four kings, in majesty revered, With hoary whiskers and a forked beard.” When the lively Beatrice exclaims, “I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face,” and is reminded she may light on one without, the alternative seems by no means pleasing; for she replies, “What shall I do with him? dress him with my apparel, and make him my waiting gentleman? He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath none is less than a man.” And we take it, though the lady tells us she was born to speak “all mirth, no matter” she has given expression to the opinion of her own sex very naively. It was one of those consistent contradictions so in character with the delightful absurdities of lovers, for some sighing swains to part with “the old ornament of their cheeks;” some say, to give a more youthful appearance to those who stood in need of it; and adopted by others from the merciful consideration which swayed the heart of Bottom, when he resolved “to roar like a sucking dove,” not to “fright the ladies.” When the repentant Benedick turned lover, his beard was fated to stuff tennis-balls. To pluck a hair from the beard of the great Cham, at the bidding of some fair inamorata, was obviously an easy and agreeable duty to the knights of old romance. But what shall we say to those giants’ coats “Made from the beards of kings.”