Summary

John Kettelwell Beaver: An Alphabet of Typical Specimens

Shall we live to see the Beard exalted as an horn on high? Will the game of Beaver re-instate the Beard as the Crimean campaign instituted the now almost extinct (but exquisite) moustache-whisker fitment, or will it drive the hairy to put off the whole armour of hairiness? Quien sabe? These things remain, in the charming phrase of M. Cliché, “on the knees of the gods,” but it is safe to assert that, even now, we can as a people, we English, rebut the accusation of Samuel Butler, “we often do not notice that a man has grown a beard.”
Source: Gutenberg

John Kettelwell Beaver: An Alphabet of Typical Specimens

For many years the auburn-haired hero who grew a beard was not, ipso facto, a person of any importance. A dignitary of the Church, whose venerable features were complemented or obscured by a snowy, a grizzled or a brindled beard of majestic length, was not, inherently, remarkable. Behold them now, a Red-King and an Ecclesiastical King, cynosures, orchids upon the unlovely tree-trunk of our common life.
Source: Gutenberg

John Kettelwell Beaver: An Alphabet of Typical Specimens

I, myself, have once scored a Zebra-King, but it was, and is, the only specimen of which I have heard, and it is greatly prized locally.
The colour-demarcation must be very obvious before one can claim a Zebra. There is as much difference between a Yellow and a Red-King as there is between a Zebra and a Brindle.
The King illustrated is—I speak without fear of being contradicted—literally unique. In superb coat, ideal shape of attachment, in colour—a greenish tabby with dark markings, the Zebra I have the pleasure of showing you represents the ne-plus-ultra of rarity.
Source: Gutenberg

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