do we always eat and sleep within doors? Why, when we plan new houses, do we not arrange them so that the kitchen and serving pantry will communicate as easily with a porch as with the indoor dining room? Why do we not have roof gardens, where we can sleep under the beautiful stars in warm weather? A shower bath open at the top, so that we could take water and air and sun baths all at the same time, would add to the attractiveness of the roof, and it might also be possible to have arrangements there for our European breakfast or our afternoon tea. Why do we ever shut the sun out of unoccupied rooms? Why do we not let it blaze in its life-giving, sterilizing rays? Draperies again? Carpets? Curtains? Well, there is one consolation. The old-fashioned, fast dyes are being revived, and we may in time have furnishings that will stand the sun. In the matter of muscular exercise, why do we have our working clothes (humorously so called) made so that they weigh down our legs and bind down our arms; while our play clothes, our golf, tennis, and bathing suits, are made so as to permit free muscular activity? Why do not women, when they do their housework, which would give play to every muscle if it had a chance, wear suits akin to gymnasium suits, less abbreviated in the skirt, perhaps, but not long enough to be stepped upon when the body is bent over? Why do we put skirts on the baby that is just learning to draw himself to his feet, when we know that he cannot avoid stepping upon them and wrenching his head forward? Why, in short, do we put skirts on any living creature until that living creature demands them? If we did not put skirts on our girls until they discovered that they were differently dressed from the rest of their sex, what a long period of free, healthful, muscular activity they would have! One of the prettiest sights I ever saw was the little girls of a New England town dressed for coasting in woolen tights and sweaters and tasseled caps. On this subject of clothes the hygienist and the teacher of physical culture have done their best to reform us. The former has shown us grewsome cross-sections of people who have had their ribs displaced by tight lacing. The latter has stood up before us at exhibitions and assumed graceful poses. But somehow neither has related the subject sufficiently to life itself. It is only when we think of life as made up of desires that find expression only through the body, when we think that by a motion, by a posture, we can express love, hatred, sympathy, cordiality, that we begin to cherish the smallest muscle and to think of clothes, not with reference to whether they are tight or loose, but with reference to whether they help or hinder the body in its effort to express the inner life.