The Nietzschean doubt respecting art--today this has become a demand for truth in art and for truthfulness in the artist! And from these a third--the demand for simplicity! And all this is of a piece with the purpose to live a simple life. Man does not live by bread alone. It is a living question for the sake of future humanity that our art shall give the True Bread to the heart of man, so that we may form a life in us and around us, a life whereon shall not repose the dead weight of a culture artificially burdened with a thousand anxieties and cares, but a life wherein man shall breathe freer, because he breathes the fresh free air of life itself. Beautiful life, artistic culture; this means the opposite of what many mean by it today--it means, not upholstered chairs, not more cushions and carpets, not motlier pictures on the walls, and not a pleroma of all varieties of ornaments overloading stands and tables, but it means a life full of soul, warm with the sunshine of love, it means that all man does, all that environs him, shall find through eye and ear the mystic pathway to the heart, to bear witness there of a joy and an ardor, of a freedom and a truth, inspiring men to cry: It is good to be here, let us build tabernacles! For such beautiful life, so little is required, yet so much! So little sumptuousness, so much soul! So little money, so much man! Patriots ON THE "7:50" PARKE FARLEY As you go in and out upon the train, You're always reading poetry? ... Yes. At first it slightly did embarrass me To have the people stare, Like you, over my shoulder, Catching, as it were, a sudden flashing thigh, Or gleam of sunlight on a truth laid bare, Then sizing me up from the tail of the eye. I used to shield the books, and myself, too, But now I have grown bolder--I don't care ... They say this morning train from Lake Forest to Chicago Carries more money, more living money Than any train of its length and size in the world. There's the Club car, for Bridge, and then the Smoker, And four or five other coaches. It makes one feel rich merely to ride upon it ... No, it's not Keats or Shelley--yes, well enough, But these are living. I like them young and strenuous, And when I find one that has done with lies, I send a word ... "Change" at the Fine Arts Theatre DEWITT C. WING Your enthusiastic welcome of Change, published in the April number of THE LITTLE REVIEW, compelled me to see the play, and I hasten to report a memorable evening. Have you ever heard the hard, sharp, battering, hammering of an electric riveter used on a steel bridge? Change has a punch like that, and every punch is a puncture. No kind of orthodoxy can resist it.