imposition upon the public--they are
superfluous, the line of simplicity is passed. Every human being has a
right to whatever can best feed his life, satisfy his legitimate desires,
contribute to the growth of his soul. It is not for me to judge whether
this is luxury or want. There is no merit in riches nor in poverty. There
is merit in that simplicity of life which seeks to grasp no more than is
necessary for the development and enjoyment of the individual. Most of
us, in all conditions; are weighted down with superfluities or worried to
acquire them. Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just
baggage enough.

The needs of every person differ from the needs of every other; we can
make no standard for wants or possessions. But the world would be greatly
transformed and much more easy to live in if everybody limited his
acquisitions to his ability to assimilate them to his life. The
destruction of simplicity is a craving for things, not because we need
them, but because others have them. Because one man who lives in a plain
little house, in all the restrictions of mean surroundings, would be
happier in a mansion suited to his taste and his wants, is no argument
that another man, living in a palace, in useless ostentation, would not
be better off in a dwelling which conforms to his cultivation and habits.
It is so hard to learn the lesson that there is no satisfaction in
gaining more than we personally want.

The matter of simplicity, then, comes into literary style, into building,
into dress, into life, individualized always by one's personality. In
each we aim at the expression of the best that is in us, not at imitation
or ostentation.

The women in history, in legend, in poetry, whom we love, we do not love
because they are "clad royally." In our day, to be clad royally is
scarcely a distinction. To have a superfluity is not a distinction. But
in those moments when we have a clear vision of life, that which seems to
us most admirable and desirable is the simplicity that endears to us the
idyl of Nausicaa.

THE ENGLISH VOLUNTEERS DURING THE LATE INVASION

The most painful event since the bombardment of Alexandria has been what
is called by an English writer the "invasion" of "American Literature in
England." The hostile forces, with an advanced guard of what was regarded
as an "awkward squad," had been gradually effecting a landing and a
lodgment not unwelcome to the unsuspicious natives. No al