hich we attribute
to nervousness. Our more frank girl, if affected in the same way,
would bluntly acknowledge that she was "as cross as a bear." Let us
quietly take hold of ourselves and ask ourselves the plain question,
"Are we nervous, or cross?" If the latter, we know how to remedy it. A
well person has no right to be so abominably bad-tempered or moody
that he cannot keep people from finding it out. If you are nervous,
there is some reason for it. Perhaps you did not sleep well last
night; perhaps you are suffering from dyspepsia; but in any case
will-power will do much towards lessening the trouble. If you are ill,
it may cause a struggle greater than your nearest and dearest can
imagine to repress the startled ejaculation at the slamming of a door,
or the angry exclamation when your bed is jarred. But you will be
better, not worse, physically, for this self-control. The woman, who,
though tortured by nervousness sets her teeth and says, "I _will_ be
strong!" stands a better chance of speedy recovery than does she who
weakly gives way to hysterical sobs a dozen times a day. Your nerves
should be your servants, and, like all servants, may give you much
trouble, but as long as you are mistress of yourself you need not fear
them. Once let them get the control over you, and you are gone. There
is no tyrant more merciless than he who has hitherto been a slave.

May I add one word to those whom we, in exasperation, are apt to call
aggressively strong? If you, yourself, do not know what nervousness
is, pity and help the poor sufferer in your family who never knows
during day or night what it is to be without what you consider "the
fussiness that sets you wild." If this mother, or aunt, or sister,
does control herself, remember that she is stronger than you, as the
man who successfully curbs the fiery steed is more to be commended for
courage than he who holds the reins loosely over the back of the safe
farm-horse who does not know how to shy, kick, or run.

CHAPTER XI.

THE RULE OF TWO.

One character mentioned in the unique rhyme of Mary and her Little
Lamb, has never had due praise and consideration dealt out to him. The
teacher who heartlessly expelled from the temple of learning the
unoffending and guileless companion of the innocent maiden who is the
heroine of the above-mentioned ditty, was, in spite of his cruelty, a
philosopher. After the exit of the principal actors in the poem, we
are told that the