by over brain
pressure. This would naturally lead to talk about my health in general,
and the evident necessity there was for my taking prompt and vigorous
measures. I thought that with a little tact I might even manage so that
the suggestion should come from Ethelbertha herself. I imagined her
saying: "No, dear, it is change you want; complete change. Now be
persuaded by me, and go away for a month. No, do not ask me to come with
you. I know you would rather that I did, but I will not. It is the
society of other men you need. Try and persuade George and Harris to go
with you. Believe me, a highly strung brain such as yours demands
occasional relaxation from the strain of domestic surroundings. Forget
for a little while that children want music lessons, and boots, and
bicycles, with tincture of rhubarb three times a day; forget there are
such things in life as cooks, and house decorators, and next-door dogs,
and butchers' bills. Go away to some green corner of the earth, where
all is new and strange to you, where your over-wrought mind will gather
peace and fresh ideas. Go away for a space and give me time to miss you,
and to reflect upon your goodness and virtue, which, continually present
with me, I may, human-like, be apt to forget, as one, through use, grows
indifferent to the blessing of the sun and the beauty of the moon. Go
away, and come back refreshed in mind and body, a brighter, better man--if
that be possible--than when you went away."

But even when we obtain our desires they never come to us garbed as we
would wish. To begin with, Ethelbertha did not seem to remark that I was
irritable; I had to draw her attention to it. I said:

"You must forgive me, I'm not feeling quite myself to-night."

She said: "Oh! I have not noticed anything different; what's the matter
with you?"

"I can't tell you what it is," I said; "I've felt it coming on for
weeks."

"It's that whisky," said Ethelbertha. "You never touch it except when we
go to the Harris's. You know you can't stand it; you have not a strong
head."

"It isn't the whisky," I replied; "it's deeper than that. I fancy it's
more mental than bodily."

"You've been reading those criticisms again," said Ethelbertha, more
sympathetically; "why don't you take my advice and put them on the fire?"

"And it isn't the criticisms," I answered; "they've been quite flattering
of late--one or two of them."

"Well, what is it?" said Ethelbertha; "