University of Virginia Library

I have a son—a little fourteen-year-old boy who proudly bears my name. This lad I have brought up with the greatest care. I have spared no pains to make him an upright, moral, God-fearing youth.

I had succeeded, I thought, in inculcating in him all those worthy principles for which our Puritan fathers fought and—aye—died. I do not believe that there existed in our neighborhood a more virtuous, more righteous boy.

From his earliest childhood until now Mrs. Pringle and I have kept him carefully free from any suggestion of evil. We have put in his hands only the best and purest of books; we have not allowed him to attend any motion picture performances other than the yearly visit of the Burton Holmes travelogues, and, last year, a film called Snow White and Rose Red; we have forbidden

him to enter a theater. Roland (for that is his name) has never in his life exhibited any interest in what is known as sex.

Sir, you may imagine my chagrin when my Roland—my boy who, for fourteen years, I have carefully shielded from sin—rushed in last night to where Mrs. Pringle and I were enjoying our evening game of Bézique, bearing in his hand a copy of your magazine which, I presume, he had picked up at some so-called friend's house. "Papa, look," said my boy to me, pointing to the cover of the magazine. "What are these?"

Sir, I looked. Mrs. Pringle gave a shriek, and well may she have. My boy was pointing to a cover on which was what is called—in barroom parlance—a "nude." And not one nude but twelve!

Sir, you have destroyed the parental labors of fourteen years. I trust you are satisfied.