hirks nudity as it shirks pain. Even your
modern preacher of the Simple Life is at best suggesting the moderate
use of ruffles.... Indeed, we can suffer anything, everything, but the
naked and ugly reality. Alas, have I not listened for years to what I
mistook to be the strong, pure voice of the naked Truth? And have I
not discovered, to my astonishment, that the supposed scientific
Nudity is but an indurated thick Crust under which the Lie lies
hidden. Why strip Man of his fancy appendages, his adventitious
sanctities, if you are going to give him instead only a few yards of
shoddy? No, I tell you; this can not be done. Your brambles and thorn
hedges will continue to grow and luxuriate, will even shut from your
view the Temple in the Grove, until the great Pine rises again to
stunt, and ultimately extirpate, them.

"Behold, meanwhile, how the world parades in ruffles before us. What a
bewildering phantasmagoria this: a very Dress Ball of the human race.
See them pass: the Pope of Christendom, in his three hats and heavy
trailing gowns, blessing the air of heaven; the priest, in his alb and
chasuble, dispensing of the blessings of the Pope; the judge, in his
wig and bombazine, endeavouring to reconcile divine justice with the
law's mundane majesty; the college doctor, in cap and gown, anointing
the young princes of knowledge; the buffoon, in his cap and bells,
dancing to the god of laughter; mylady of the pink-tea circle, in her
huffing, puffing gasoline-car, fleeing the monster of ennui; the bride
and bridegroom at the altar or before the mayor putting on their
already heavy-ruffled garments the sacred ruffle of law or religion;
the babe brought to church by his mother and kindred to have the
priest-tailor sew on his new garment the ruffle of baptism; the
soldier in his gaudy uniform; the king in his ermine with a crown and
sceptre appended; the Nabob of Ind in his gorgeous and multi-colored
robes; and the Papuan with horns in his nostrils and rings in his
ears: see them all pass.

"And wilt thou still add to the bewildering variety of the pageant? Or
wilt have another of the higher things of the mind? Lo, the artist
this, wearing his ruffles of hair over his shoulders; and here, too,
is the man of the sombrero and red flannel, which are the latest
flounces of a certain set of New World poets. Directly behind them is
Dame Religion with her heavy ruffled robes, her beribboned and belaced
bodices, her ornaments and sac