Whiskers

Horowhenua Chronicle, 25 August 1916, Page 3

Whiskers

(By Walt. MASON.)

I often cry 'Oh, good news gracious! my whiskers, rank, apoeynaceous, grow faster every year; it takes so much ol toil and trouble to mow away the doggooe stubble—l still in net shear and slioa-i'l" I'm shaving, morn and in the gloaming, and by the midnight lamp; I'm shaving when 1 should be earning nomo coin to keep the (ires a-burning. till L have burners' cramp. 'Die time men waste, their whiskers mowing, if it were spent in use!ill sowing would renovate the earth ; why, nftk the innocent bystanders, do laces run to oleanders, which have no price or worth? Tt must be great to be a woman, upon whose face so fair and bloom-in' allwnlfa doesn't grow! She doesn't with her sisters gather at barbers' shops, the taste of lather she doesn't even know. But man must always be a-stropping: to mow away the new outcropping his tools must havo an edge, and if his whiskers are neglected his friends will cry till he's dejected, "Come from behind the