to his office and his books. Verily the shades of the
prison-house gather round the growing boy; for, surely, no one will deny
that life often begins with health little less perfect than that of the
angels.

But the man who habitually wakes sodden, headachy, and a little stupid,
and who needs a cup of strong coffee and various stimulating condiments
to coax his bodily system into something like fair working order, does
not suppose he is out of health. He says, "Very well, I thank you," to
your inquiries,--merely because he has entirely forgotten what good
health is. He is well, not because of any particular pleasure in
physical existence, but well simply because he is not a subject for
prescriptions. Yet there is no store of vitality, no buoyancy, no
superabundant vigor, to resist the strain and pressure to which life
puts him. A checked perspiration, a draught of air ill-timed, a crisis
of perplexing business or care, and he is down with a bilious attack, or
an influenza, and subject to doctors' orders for an indefinite period.
And if the case be so with men, how is it with women? How many women
have at maturity the keen appetite, the joyous love of life and motion,
the elasticity and sense of physical delight in existence, that little
children have? How many have any superabundance of vitality with which
to meet the wear and strain of life? And yet they call themselves well.

But is it possible, in maturity, to have the joyful fulness of the life
of childhood? Experience has shown that the delicious freshness of this
dawning hour may be preserved even to mid-day, and may be brought back
and restored after it has been for years a stranger. Nature, though a
severe disciplinarian, is still, in many respects, most patient and easy
to be entreated, and meets any repentant movement of her prodigal
children with wonderful condescension. Take Bulwer's account of the
first few weeks of his sojourn at Malvern, and you will read, in very
elegant English, the story of an experience of pleasure which has
surprised and delighted many a patient at a water-cure. The return to
the great primitive elements of health--water, air, and simple food,
with a regular system of exercise--has brought to many a jaded, weary,
worn-down human being the elastic spirits, the simple, eager appetite,
the sound sleep, of a little child. Hence, the rude huts and chalets of
the peasant Priessnitz were crowded with battered dukes and princesses,
and nota