small part in the life of the average man or woman, and that it is
unreasonable to expand it to the uttermost limits of art.

Strangely enough, the realists are all men. If a woman ventures to write
a book which may fitly be classed under the head of realism, the critics
charitably unite upon insanity as the cause of it and lament the lost
womanliness of a decadent generation.

If realism were actually real, we should have no time for books and
pictures. Our days and nights would be spent in reclaiming the people in
the slums. There would be a visible increase in the church fair--where
we spend more than we can afford for things we do not want, in order to
please people whom we do not like, and to help heathen who are happier
than we are.

[Sidenote: The Root of all Good]

The love of money is said to be the root of all evil, but love itself is
the root of all good, for it is the very foundation of the social
structure. The universal race for the elusive shilling, which is
commonly considered selfish, is based upon love.

Money will buy fine houses, but who would wish to live in a mansion
alone! Fast horses, yachts, private cars, and the feasts of Lucullus,
are not to be enjoyed in solitude; they must be shared. Buying jewels
and costly raiment is the purest philanthropy, for it gives pleasure to
others. Sapphires and real lace depreciate rapidly in the cloister or
the desert.

The envy which luxury sometimes creates is also altruistic in character,