A year or two ago I was the guest in the home of an eminent scientist, whose wife is herself a remarkable woman, gifted as a writer and public speaker, and yet whose home is laden with extraneous material to the nerve-breaking point. One evening they were entertaining a well-known author and lecturer, and the hostess had called upon him to tell of some of his interesting experiences. The guest was a normal, healthy man and gentle in his movements, but, while speaking, somewhat free in gesticulation. In one part of his story he made a quick motion and pushed his chair gently back. In doing so he overturned a Japanese vase that stood on a slight pedestal near by. With a crash that shocked the nerves of every one present, the valuable piece of bric-a-brac fell. Fortunately, it was not broken, but, with blanched face, though her voice was well under control, the hostess tenderly picked it up. She endeavored to smooth over the accident, but the author’s interest in his story was gone. He brought it to a lame conclusion, and gave an evident sigh of relief,--though quite unconsciously,--when his wife suggested that “the babies might need her presence at home.” After they had gone I was witness of the grief and distress of the poor woman who lamented the injury to her treasure, and who evidently valued it far more than she did the comfort and welfare of her visitors and guests. I sometimes go to homes where the furniture is of the elegantly polished or “enameled” type. To place a book or one’s hand upon such polish is to mar the surface. The hostess must either keep the table to be merely looked at, and be in constant terror lest some one outwit her vigilance and mar its “beauty,” or resign herself to seeing it used and spoiled. Now, of all of these things, I constantly ask myself, What’s the use? For myself I value the health and happiness of my wife and my children more than all the bric-a-brac that ever was, or ever will be, made. The nerves of the former, and the healthy, untrammeled movements of the latter, are worth far more than a few “curios.” And so with my guests. I want my visitors to feel free to move around and about in my home, as healthy men and women ought to do, and if there is anything in the way of such action the sooner it is knocked down and smashed the better I shall like it. And as for “enameled” furniture: if I found any of it introduced into my house where I was constantly in danger of marring it, I fear my “angry passions would rise,” and so would the polished article, to find itself at the next moment on the woodpile. Human happiness and comfort are of more value than many pieces of furniture, and he, and he only, is wise who keeps life as simple as possible, and free from these needless, labor-creating, nerve-wearing luxuries and superfluities of life. [Illustration: THE WIDOW OF MANUELITO, THE LAST GREAT CHIEF OF THE NAVAHOS. ONE OF THE QUEENLIEST WOMEN IN DIGNITY, GRACE, AND CHARACTER I HAVE EVER MET.]