An assertion, by the bye, which is open to doubt. What does come to every one is an hour fraught with warning, which, if unheeded, leads on to folly. This fateful date coincides for most of us with the discovery that we are turning gray, or that the "crow's feet" or our temples are becoming visible realities. The unpleasant question then presents itself: Are we to slip meekly into middle age, or are arms be taken up against our insidious enemy, and the rest of life become a losing battle, fought inch by inch?
In other days it was the men who struggled the hardest against their fate. Up to this century, the male had always been the ornamental member of a family. Caesar, we read, coveted a laurel crown principally because it would help to conceal his baldness. The wigs of the Grand Monarque are historical. It is characteristic of the time that the latter's attempts at rejuvenation should have been taken as a matter of course, while a few years later poor Madame de Pompadour's artifices to retain her fleeting youth were laughed at and decried.
To-day the situation is reversed.
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