t a gum drop that she
could do it, too, and without half an effort, if she would only once be
consistent and determined.

There is no use in beating about the bush. I feel sorry for the nervous
woman at all times and every day in the week, but there's no chance of
a doubt that the nervous woman is mentally unbalanced for want of
courage and lack of will power. Some place, way back in the far corners
of her intellect, there are numerous little sore spots that need the
healing tonic of level-headedness and the bravery of belief in her own
strength. Those wise gentlemen of pellets and pills tell us that when
there is a defect in the structure of the nervous system, some certain
region of cells not well flushed with blood is usually at the bottom of
the infirmity. The cure, they say, is discipline and training, good
food, exercise and plenty of sleep and good fresh air.

[Illustration: MRS. J. R. DE LAMAR]

Sunlight is a glorious medicine for the woman of nerves. If I had a
nervous fuss-budget under my care, the first thing I would do would be
to feed her well. I'd give her nourishing broths and daintily-served
vegetables, and little steaks and chops and plenty of fattening cereals
and drinks. I would bundle her off to the parks every morning with
sealed orders not to come back until she was dead tired and as hungry
as a small girl at a boarding school. I would impress upon her mind the
great need of throwing worry to the winds and taking in good, long
breaths of God's blessed fresh air. Then, after feeding her some more,
I'd make her take a nice, refreshing sponge bath and tumble early into
bed. After several days of such treatment I'd corner her where she
couldn't get away and lay down the laws.

"Now it's just with yourself," the lecture would begin with, "whether
you are to be a jolly-hearted, wholesome-looking woman or a tailor-made
gown with a bundle of nerves inside of it. No matter what comes, don't
make yourself wretched by fretting. Every one has troubles. You can't
escape them. Sometimes they come with a sweep-like tornadoes gone mad,
and you'll say to yourself: 'My heavens! I wonder if I'll live through
it all?' But you will, and between you and me, my dear, it's just as
well to come out of the battle with a smiling face as with eight
additional crow's feet and a new scolding lock of gray hair. Just say
to yourself: 'I will not grind my teeth because the man next to me in
the street car is chewing a toothpic