of the bathhouses was matched by
the admirable system within. The convenience and the architecture
were equally good. For every hour of the invalid's day the secret of
his well-being seemed to have been thought out. On one side of the
group and court of baths ran the chief street, shady and well-kempt,
with its hotels and its very entertaining shops; on the other side
spread a park. This was a truly gracious little region, embowered in
trees, with spaces and walks and flowers all near at hand, yet nothing
crowded. The park sloped upward to a terrace and casino, with tables
for sitting out to eat and drink and hear the band, and with a concert
hall and theater for the evening. Herein comedies and little operas
and music, both serious and light, were played.

Nothing was far from anything; the baths, the doctors, the hotels,
the music, the tennis courts, the lake, the golf links--all were
fitted into a scheme laid out with marvelous capability. Various hills
and forests, a little more distant, provided walks for those robust
enough to take them, while longer excursions in carriages or motor
cars over miles of excellent roads were all mapped out and tariffed in
a terse but comprehensive guidebook. Such was living at Nauheim.
Dying, I feel sure, was equally well arranged; it was never allowed to
obtrude itself on living.

Each day began with an early hour of routine, walking and
water-drinking before breakfast, amid surroundings equally well
planned--an arcade inclosing a large level space, with an expanse of
water, a band playing, flowers growing in the open, cut flowers for
sale in the arcade and comfortable seats where the doctor permitted
pausing, but no permanent settling down. Thus went the whole day.
Everything was well planned and everything worked. I thought of
America, where so many things look beautiful on paper and so few
things work, because nobody keeps the rules. I thought of our college
elective system, by which every boy was free to study what best fitted
him for his career, and nearly every boy did study what he could most
easily pass examinations in. There was no elective system in Nauheim.
Everybody kept the rules. There was no breakdown, no failure.

Moreover, the civility of the various ministrants to the invalid, from
the eminent professor-doctor down through hotel porters and bath
attendants to the elevator boy, was well-nigh perfect. If you asked
for something out of the routine, either it was p