NERVES AND COMMON SENSE

BY

ANNIE PAYSON CALL

_Author of "Power Through Repose, " "As a Matter of Course, " "TheFreedom of Life, " etc. _

_NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION_

MANY of these articles first appeared in "The Ladies' Home Journal, "and I am glad to take this opportunity of thanking Mr. Edward Bok--theeditor--for his very helpful and suggestive titles. 

ANNIE PAYSON CALL. 

CONTENTS

 I. HABIT AND NERVOUS STRAIN II. HOW WOMEN CAN KEEP FROM BEING NERVOUS III. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW I AM RUSHED" IV. "WHY DOES MRS. SMITH GET ON MY NERVES?" V. THE TRYING MEMBER OF THE FAMILY VI. IRRITABLE HUSBANDS VII. QUIET _vs. _ CHRONIC EXCITEMENT VIII. THE TIRED EMPHASIS IX. HOW TO BE ILL AND GET WELL X. IS PHYSICAL CULTURE GOOD FOR GIRLS? XI. WORKING RESTFULLY XII. IMAGINARY VACATIONS XIII. THE WOMAN AT THE NEXT DESK XIV. TELEPHONES AND TELEPHONING XV. DON'T TALK XVI. "WHY FUSS SO MUCH ABOUT WHAT I EAT?" XVII. TAKE CARE OF YOUR STOMACH XVIII. ABOUT FACES XIX. ABOUT VOICES XX. ABOUT FRIGHTS XXI. CONTRARINESS XXII. HOW TO SEW EASILY XXIII. DO NOT HURRY XXIV. THE CARE OF AN INVALID XXV. THE HABIT OF ILLNESS XXVI. WHAT IS IT THAT MAKES ME SO NERVOUS? XXVII. POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE EFFORT XXVIII. HUMAN DUST XXIX. PLAIN EVERY-DAY COMMON SENSE XXX. A SUMMING UP

CHAPTER I

_Habit and Nervous Strain_

PEOPLE form habits which cause nervous strain. When these habits havefixed themselves for long enough upon their victims, the nerves giveway and severe depression or some other form of nervous prostration isthe result. If such an illness turns the attention to its cause, and sostarts the sufferer toward a radical change from habits which causenervous strain to habits which bring nervous strength, then the illnesscan be the beginning of better and permanent health. If, however, theresimply is an enforced rest, without any intelligent understanding ofthe trouble, the invalid gets "well" only to drag out a miserableexistence or to get very ill again. 

Although any nervous suffering is worth while if it is the means ofteaching us how to avoid nervous strain, it certainly is far preferableto avoid the strain without the extreme pain of a nervous breakdown. 

To point out many of these pernicious habits and to suggest a practicalremedy for each and all of them is the aim of this book, and for thatreason common examples in various phases of every-day life are used asillustrations. 

When there is no organic trouble there can be no doubt that _defects ofcharacter, inherited or acquired, are at the root of all nervousillness. _ If this can once be generally recognized and acknowledged, especially by the sufferers themselves, we are in a fair way towardeliminating such illness entirely. 

The trouble is people suffer from mortification and an unwillingness tolook their bad habits in the face. They have not learned thathumiliation can be wholesome, sound, and healthy, and so they keepthemselves in a mess of a fog because they will not face the shamenecessary to get out of it. They would rather be ill and suffering, andbelieve themselves to have strong characters than to look the weaknessof their characters in the face, own up to them like men, and come outinto open fresh air with healthy nerves which will gain in strength asthey live. 

Any intelligent man or woman who thinks a bit for himself can see thestupidity of this mistaken choice at a glance, and seeing it will actagainst it and thus do so much toward bringing light to all nervouslyprostrated humanity. 

We can talk about faith cure, Christian Science, mind cure, hypnotism, psychotherapeutics, or any other forms of nerve cure which at the verybest can only give the man a gentle shunt toward the middle of thestream of life. Once assured of the truth, the man must hold himself inthe clean wholesomeness of it by actively working for his own strengthof character _from his own initiative. _ There can be no other permanentcure. 

I say that strength of character must grow from our own initiative, andI should add that it must be from our own initiative that we come torecognize and actively believe that we are dependent upon a power notour own and our real strength comes from ceasing to be an obstructionto that power. The work of not interfering with our best health, moraland physical, means hard fighting and steady, never-ending vigilance. But it pays--it more than pays! And, it seems to me, this prevailingtrouble of nervous strain which is so much with us now can be the meansof guiding all men and women toward more solid health than has everbeen known before. _But we must work for it!_ We must give up expectingto be cured. 

CHAPTER II

_How Women can keep from being Nervous_

MANY people suffer unnecessarily from "nerves" just for the want of alittle knowledge of how to adjust themselves in order that the nervesmay get well. As an example, I have in mind a little woman who had beenill for eight years--eight of what might have been the best years ofher life--all because neither she nor her family knew the straight roadtoward getting well. Now that she has found the path she has gainedhealth wonderfully in six months, and promises to be better than everbefore in her life. 

Let me tell you how she became ill and then I can explain her processof getting well again. One night she was overtired and could not get tosleep, and became very much annoyed at various noises that were aboutthe house. Just after she had succeeded in stopping one noise she wouldgo back to bed and hear several others. Finally, she was so worked upand nervously strained over the noises that her hearing becameexaggerated, and she was troubled by noises that other people would nothave even heard; so she managed to keep herself awake all night. 

The next day the strain of the overfatigue was, of course, very muchincreased, not only by the wakeful night, but also by the annoyancewhich had kept her awake. The family were distressed that she shouldnot have slept all night; talked a great deal about it, and called inthe doctor. 

The woman's strained nerves were on edge all day, so that her feelingswere easily hurt, and her brothers and sisters became, as they thought, justly impatient at what they considered her silly babyishness. This, of course, roused her to more strain. The overcare and the feeble, unintelligent sympathy that she had from some members of her familykept her weak and self-centered, and the ignorant, selfish impatiencewith which the others treated her increased her nervous strain. Afterthis there followed various other worries and a personal sense ofannoyance--all of which made her more nervous. 

Then--the stomach and brain are so closely associated--her digestionbegan to cause her discomfort: a lump in her stomach, her food "wouldnot digest, " and various other symptoms, all of which mean strained andoverwrought nerves, although they are more often attributed merely to adisordered stomach. She worried as to what she had better eat and whatshe had better not eat. If her stomach was tired and some simple fooddisagreed with her all the discomfort was attributed to the food, instead of to the real cause, --a tired stomach, --and the cause back ofthat, --strained nerves. The consequence was that one kind of wholesomefood after another was cut off as being impossible for her to eat. Anything that this poor little invalid did not like about circumstancesor people she felt ugly and cried over. Finally, the entire family werecentered about her illness, either in overcare or annoyance. 

You see, she kept constantly repeating her brain impression ofoverfatigue: first annoyance because she stayed awake; then annoyanceat noises; then excited distress that she should have stayed awake allnight; then resistance and anger at other people who interfered withher. Over and over that brain impression of nervous illness wasrepeated by the woman herself and people about her until she seemedsettled into it for the rest of her life. It was like expecting a soreto get well while it was constantly being rubbed and irritated. A womanmight have the healthiest blood in the world, but if she cut herselfand then rubbed and irritated the cut, and put salt in it, it would beimpossible for it to heal. 

Now let me tell you how this little woman got well. The first thing shedid was to take some very simple relaxing exercises while she was lyingin bed. She raised her arms very slowly and as loosely as she couldfrom the elbow and then her hands from the wrist, and stretched andrelaxed her fingers steadily, then dropped her hand and forearmheavily, and felt it drop slowly at first, then quickly and quietly, with its own weight. She tried to shut her eyes like a baby going tosleep, and followed that with long, gentle, quiet breaths. These andother exercises gave her an impression of quiet relaxation so that shebecame more sensitive to superfluous tension. 

When she felt annoyed at noises she easily noticed that in response tothe annoyance her whole body became tense and strained. After she haddone her exercises and felt quiet and rested something would happen orsome one would say something that went against the grain, and quick asa wink all the good of the exercises would be gone and she would betight and strained again, and nervously irritated. 

Very soon she saw clearly that she must learn to drop the habit ofphysical strain if she wanted to get well; but she also learned whatwas more--far more--important than that: that _she must conquer thecause of the strain or she could never permanently drop it. _ She sawthat the cause was resentment and resistance to the noises--thecircumstances, the people, and all the variety of things that had "madeher nervous. "

Then she began her steady journey toward strong nerves and a wholesome, happy life. She began the process of changing her brain impressions. Ifshe heard noises that annoyed her she would use her will to direct herattention toward dropping resistance to the noises, and in order todrop her mental resistance she gave her attention to loosening out thebodily contractions. Finally she became interested in the new processas in a series of deep and true experiments. Of course her living andintelligent interest enabled her to gain very much faster, for she notonly enjoyed her growing freedom, but she also enjoyed seeing herexperiments work. Nature always tends toward health, and if we stopinterfering with her she will get us well. 

There is just this difference between the healing of a physical soreand the healing of strained and irritated nerves With the one ourbodies are healed, and things go on in them about the same as before. With the other, every use of the will to free ourselves from theirritation and its cause not only enables us to get free from thenervous illness, but in addition brings us new nerve vigor. 

When nervous illness is met deeply enough and in the normal way, theresult is that the nerves become stronger than ever before. 

Often the effect of nervous strain in women is constant talking. Talk--talk--talk, and mostly about themselves, their ailments, theirworries, and the hindrances that are put in their way to prevent theirgetting well. This talking is not a relief, as people sometimes feel. It is a direct waste of vigor. But the waste would be greater if thetalk were repressed. The only real help comes when the talker herselfrecognizes the strain of her talk and "loosens" into silence. 

People must find themselves out to get well--really well--from nervoussuffering. The cause of nervous strain is so often in the character andin the way we meet circumstances and people that it seems essential torecognize our mistakes in that direction, and to face them squarelybefore we can do our part toward removing the causes of any nervousillness. 

Remember it is not circumstances that keep us ill. It is not peoplethat cause our illness. It is not our environment that overcomes us. Itis the way we face and deal with circumstances, with people, and withenvironment that keeps our nerves irritated or keeps them quiet andwholesome and steady. 

Let me tell the story of two men, both of whom were brought low bysevere nervous breakdown. One complained of his environment, complainedof circumstances, complained of people. Everything and every one wasthe cause of his suffering, except himself. The result was that heweakened his brain by the constant willful and enforced strain, so thatwhat little health he regained was the result of Nature's steady andpowerful tendency toward health, and in spite of the man himself. 

The other man--to give a practical instance--returned from a journeytaken in order to regain the strength which he had lost from notknowing how to work. His business agent met him at the railroad stationwith a piece of very bad news. Instead of being frightened andresisting and contracting in every nerve of his body, he took it atonce as an opportunity to drop resistance. He had learned to relax hisbody, and by doing relaxing and quieting exercises over and over he hadgiven himself a brain impression of quiet and "let go" which he couldrecall at will. Instead of expressing distress at the bad news he usedhis will at once to drop resistance and relax; and, to the surprise ofhis informant, who had felt that he must break his bad news as easilyas possible, he said "Anything else?" Yes, there was another piece ofnews about as bad as the first. "Go on, " answered the man who had beensick with nerves; "tell me something else. "

And so he did, until he had told him five different things which wereabout as disagreeable and painful to hear as could have been. For everybit of news our friend used his will with decision to drop theresistance, which would, of course, at once arise in response to allthat seemed to go against him. 

He had, of course, to work at intervals for long afterward to keep freefrom the resistance; but the habit is getting more and more establishedas life goes on with him, and the result is a brain clearer than everbefore in his life, a power of nerve which is a surprise to every oneabout him, and a most successful business career. 

The success in business is, however, a minor matter. His brain wouldhave cleared and his nerve strengthened just the same if what might becalled the business luck had continued to go against him, as it seemedto do for the first few months after his recovery. That everything didgo against him for some time was the greatest blessing he could havehad. The way he met all the reverses increased his nerve power steadilyand consistently. 

These two men are fair examples of two extremes. The first one did notknow how to meet life. If he had had the opportunity to learn he mighthave done as well as the other. The second had worked and studied tohelp himself out of nerves, and had found the true secret of doing it. 

Some men, however, and, I regret to say, more women, have the weakeninghabit so strong upon them that they are unwilling to learn how to getwell, even when they have the opportunity. It seems so strange to seepeople suffer intensely--and be unwilling to face and follow the onlyway that will lead them out of their torture. 

The trouble is we want our own way and nervous health, too, and withthose who have once broken down nervously the only chance of permanenthealth is through learning to drop the strain of resistance when thingsdo not go their way. This is proved over and over by the constantrelapse into "nerves" which comes to those who have simply been healedover. Even with those who appear to have been well for some time, ifthey have not acquired the habit of dropping their mental and physicaltension you can always detect an overcare for themselves which meansdormant fear--or even active fear in the background. 

There are some wounds which the surgeons keep open, even though theprocess is most painful, because they know that to heal really theymust heal from the inside. Healing over on the outside only means decayunderneath, and eventual death. This is in most cases exactlysynonymous with the healing of broken-down nerves. They must be healedin causes to be permanently cured. Sometimes the change that comes inthe process is so great that it is like reversing an engine. 

If the little woman whom I mentioned first had practiced relaxing andquieting exercises every day for years, and had not used the quietimpression gained by the exercises to help her in dropping mentalresistances, she never would have gained her health. 

Concentrating steadily on dropping the tension of the body is veryradically helpful in dropping resistance from the mind, and the rightidea is to do the exercises over and over until the impression of quietopenness is, by constant repetition, so strong with us that we canrecall it at will whenever we need it. Finally, after repeated tests, we gain the habit of meeting the difficulties of life withoutstrain--first in little ways, and then in larger ways. 

The most quieting, relaxing, and strengthening of all exercises for thenerves comes in deep and rhythmic breathing, and in voice exercises inconnection with it. Nervous strain is more evident in a voice than inany other expressive part of man or woman. It sometimes seems as if allother relaxing exercises were mainly useful because of opening a wayfor us to breathe better. There is a pressure on every part of the bodywhen we inhale, and a consequent reaction when we exhale, and the morepassive the body is when we take our deep breaths the more freely andquietly the blood can circulate all the way through it, and, of course, all nervous and muscular contraction impairs circulation, and allimpaired circulation emphasizes nervous contraction. 

To any one who is suffering from "nerves, " in a lesser or greaterdegree, it could not fail to be of very great help to take half an hourin the morning, lie flat on the back, with the body as loose and heavyas it can be made, and then study taking gentle, quiet, and rhythmicbreaths, long and short. Try to have the body so loose and open andresponsive that it will open as you inhale and relax as you exhale, just as a rubber bag would. Of course, it will take time, but therefreshing quiet is sure to come if the practice is repeated regularlyfor a long enough time, and eventually we would no more miss it than wewould go without our dinner. 

We must be careful after each deep, long breath to rest quietly and letour lungs do as they please. Be careful to begin the breaths delicatelyand gently, to inhale with the same gentleness with which we begin, andto make the change from inhaling to exhaling with the greatest delicacypossible--keeping the body loose. 

For the shorter breaths we can count three, or five, or ten to inhale, and the same number to exhale, until we have the rhythm established, and then go on breathing without counting, as if we were sound asleep. Always aim for gentleness and delicacy. If we have not half an hour tospare to lie quietly and breathe we can practice the breathing while wewalk. It is wonderful how we detect strain and resistance in ourbreath, and the restfulness which comes when we breathe so gently thatthe breath seems to come and go without our volition brings new lifewith it. 

We must expect to gain slowly and be patient; we must remember thatnerves always get well by ups and downs, and use our wills to makeevery down lead to a higher up. If we want the lasting benefit, or anyreal benefit at all when we get the brain impression of quiet freedomfrom these breathing exercises, we must insist upon recalling thatimpression every time a test comes, and face the circumstances, or theperson, or the duty with a voluntary insistence upon a quiet, openbrain, rather than a tense, resistant one. 

It will come hard at first, but we are sure to get there if we keepsteadily at it, for it is really the Law of the Lord God Almighty thatwe are learning to obey, and this process of learning gives us steadilyan enlarged appreciation of what trust in the Lord really is. There isno trust without obedience, and an intelligent obedience begets trust. The nerves touch the soul on one side and the body on the other, and wemust work for freedom of soul and body in response to spiritual andphysical law if we want to get sick nerves well. If we do not rememberalways a childlike attitude toward the Lord the best nerve training isonly an easy way of being selfish. 

To sum it all up--if you want to learn to help yourself out of "nerves"learn to rest when you rest and to work without strain when you work;learn to loosen out of the muscular contractions which the nervescause; learn to drop the mental resistances which cause the "nerves, "and which take the form of anger, resentment, worry, anxiety, impatience, annoyance, or self-pity; eat only nourishing food, eat itslowly, and chew it well; breathe the freshest air you can, and breatheit deeply, gently, and rhythmically; take what healthy, vigorousexercise you find possible; do your daily work to the best of yourability; give your attention so entirely to the process of gaininghealth for the sake of your work and other people that you have no mindleft with which to complain of being ill, and see that all this effortaims toward a more intelligent obedience to and trustfulness in thePower that gives us life. Wholesome, sustained concentration is in thevery essence of healthy nerves. 

CHAPTER III

_"You Have no Idea how I am Rushed"_

A WOMAN can feel rushed when she is sitting perfectly still and hasreally nothing whatever to do. A woman can feel at leisure when she isworking diligently at something, with a hundred other things waiting tobe done when the time comes. It is not all we have to do that gives usthe rushed feeling; it is the way we do what is before us. It is theattitude we take toward our work. 

Now this rushed feeling in the brain and nerves is intenselyoppressive. Many women, and men too, suffer from it keenly, and theysuffer the more because they do not recognize that that feeling of rushis really entirely distinct from what they have to do; in truth it hasnothing whatever to do with it. 

I have seen a woman suffer painfully with the sense of being pushed fortime when she had only two things to do in the whole day, and those twothings at most need not take more than an hour each. This same womanwas always crying for rest. I never knew, before I saw her, that womencould get just as abnormal in their efforts to rest as in theirinsistence upon overwork. This little lady never rested when she wentto rest; she would lie on the bed for hours in a state of strain aboutresting that was enough to tire any ordinarily healthy woman. Onefriend used to tell her that she was an inebriate on resting. It isperhaps needless to say that she was a nervous invalid, and in theprocess of gaining her health she had to be set to work and kept atwork. Many and many a time she has cried and begged for rest when itwas not rest she needed at all: it was work. 

She has started off to some good, healthy work crying and sobbing atthe cruelty that made her go, and has returned from the work as happyand healthy, apparently, as a little child. Then she could go to restand rest to some purpose. She had been busy in wholesome action and thenormal reaction came in her rest. As she grew more naturally interestedin her work she rested less and less, and she rested better and betterbecause she had something to rest from and something to rest for. 

Now she does only a normal amount of resting, but gets new life fromevery moment of rest she takes; before, all her rest only made her wantmore rest and kept her always in the strain of fatigue. And what mightseem to many a very curious result is that as the abnormal desire forrest disappeared the rushed feeling disappeared, too. 

There is no one thing that American women need more than a healthyhabit of rest, but it has got to be real rest, not strained norself-indulgent rest. 

Another example of this effort at rest which is a sham and a strain isthe woman who insists upon taking a certain time every day in which torest. She insists upon doing everything quietly and with--as shethinks--a sense of leisure, and yet she keeps the whole household in asense of turmoil and does not know it. She sits complacently in herpose of prompt action, quietness and rest, and has a tornado all abouther. She is so deluded in her own idea of herself that she does notobserve the tornado, and yet she has caused it. Everybody in herhousehold is tired out with her demands, and she herself is ill, chronically ill. But she thinks she is at peace, and she is annoyedthat others should be tired. 

If this woman could open and let out her own interior tornado, whichshe has kept frozen in there by her false attitude of restful quiet, she would be more ill for a time, but it might open her eyes to thetrue state of things and enable her to rest to some purpose and toallow her household to rest, too. 

It seems, at first thought, strange that in this country, when theright habit of rest is so greatly needed, that the strain of restshould have become in late years one of the greatest defects. On secondthought, however, we see that it is a perfectly rational result. Wehave strained to work and strained to play and strained to live for solong that when the need for rest gets so imperative that we feel wemust rest the habit of strain is so upon us that we strain to rest. Andwhat does such "rest" amount to? What strength does it bring us? Whatenlightenment do we get from it?

With the little lady of whom I first spoke rest was asteadily-weakening process. She was resting her body straight towardits grave. When a body rests and rests the circulation gets more andmore sluggish until it breeds disease in the weakest organ, and thenthe physicians seem inclined to give their attention to the disease, and not to the cause of the abnormal strain which was behind thedisease. Again, as we have seen, the abnormal, rushed feeling can existjust as painfully with too much and the wrong kind of rest as with toomuch work and the wrong way of working. 

We have been, as a nation, inclined toward "Americanitis" for so longnow that children and children's children have inherited a sense ofrush, and they suffer intensely from it with a perfectly clearunderstanding of the fact that they have nothing whatever to hurryabout. This is quite as true of men as it is of women. In such casesthe first care should be not to fasten this sense of rush on toanything; the second care should be to go to work to cure it, to relaxout of that contraction--just as you would work to cure twitching St. Vitus's dance, or any other nervous habit. 

Many women will get up and dress in the morning as if they had to catcha train, and they will come in to breakfast as if it were a steamer forthe other side of the world that they had to get, and no other steamerwent for six months. They do not know that they are in a rush and ahurry, and they do not find it out until the strain has been on themfor so long that they get nervously ill from it--and then they findthemselves suffering from "that rushed feeling. "

Watch some women in an argument pushing, actually rushing, to provethemselves right; they will hardly let their opponent have anopportunity to speak, much less will they stop to consider what he saysand see if by chance he may not be right and they wrong. 

The rushing habit is not by any means in the fact of doing many things. It asserts itself in our brains in talking, in writing, in thinking. How many of us, I wonder, have what might be called a quiet workingbrain? Most of us do not even know the standard of a brain that thinksand talks and lives quietly: a brain that never pushes and neverrushes, or, if by any chance it is led into pushing or rushing, is sowholesomely sensitive that it drops the push or the rush as a bare handwould drop a red-hot coal. 

None of us can appreciate the weakening power of this strained habit ofrush until we have, by the use of our own wills, directed our mindstoward finding a normal habit of quiet, and yet I do not in the leastexaggerate when I say that its weakening effect on the brain and nervesis frightful. 

And again I repeat, the rushed feeling has nothing whatever to do withthe work before us. A woman can feel quite as rushed when she hasnothing to do as when she is extremely busy. 

"But, " some one says, "may I not feel pressed for time when I have moreto do than I can possibly put into the time before me?"

Oh, yes, yes--you can feel normally pressed for time; and because ofthis pressure you can arrange in your mind what best to leave undone, and so relieve the pressure. If one thing seems as important to do asanother you can make up your mind that of course you can only do whatyou have time for, and the remainder must go. You cannot do what youhave time to do so well if you are worrying about what you have no timefor. There need be no abnormal sense of rush about it. 

Just as Nature tends toward health, Nature tends toward rest--towardthe right kind of rest; and if we have lost the true knack of restingwe can just as surely find it as a sunflower can find the sun. It isnot something artificial that we are trying to learn--it is somethingnatural and alive, something that belongs to us, and our own bestinstinct will come to our aid in finding it if we will only first turnour attention toward finding our own best instinct. 

We must have something to rest from, and we must have something to restfor, if we want to find the real power of rest. Then we must learn tolet go of our nerves and our muscles, to leave everything in our bodiesopen and passive so that our circulation can have its own best way. Butwe must have had some activity in order to have given our circulation afair start before we can expect it to do its best when we are passive. 

Then, what is most important, we must learn to drop all effort of ourminds if we want to know how to rest; and that is difficult. We can doit best by keeping our minds concentrated on something simple and quietand wholesome. For instance, you feel tired and rushed and you can havehalf an hour in which to rest and get rid of the rush. Suppose you liedown on the bed and imagine yourself a turbulent lake after a storm. The storm is dying down, dying down, until by and by there is no wind, only little dashing waves that the wind has left. Then the waves quietdown steadily, more and more, until finally they are only ripples onthe water. Then no ripples, but the water is as still as glass. The sungoes down. The sky glows. Twilight comes. One star appears, and greenbanks and trees and sky and stars are all reflected in the quiet mirrorof the lake, and you are the lake, and you are quiet and refreshed andrested and ready to get up and go on with your work--to go on with it, too, better and more quietly than when you left it. 

Or, another way to quiet your mind and to let your imagination help youto a better rest is to float on the top of a turbulent sea and then tosink down, down, down until you get into the still water at the bottomof the sea. We all know that, no matter how furious the sea is on thesurface, not far below the surface it is absolutely still. It is veryrestful to go down there in imagination. 

Whatever choice we may make to quiet our minds and our bodies, as soonas we begin to concentrate we must not be surprised if intrudingthoughts are at first constantly crowding to get in. We must simply letthem come. Let them come, and pay no attention to them. 

I knew of a woman who was nervously ill, and some organs of her bodywere weakened very much by the illness. She made-up her mind to restherself well and she did so. Every day she would rest for three hours;she said to herself, "I will rest an hour on my left side, an hour onmy right side, and an hour on my back. " And she did that for days anddays. When she lay on one side she had a very attractive tree to lookat. When she lay on the other she had an interesting picture beforeher. When she lay on her back she had the sky and several trees to seethrough a window in front of the bed. She grew steadily better everyweek--she had something to rest for. She was resting to get well. Ifshe had rested and complained of her illness I doubt if she would havebeen well to-day. She simply refused to take the unpleasant sensationsinto consideration except for the sake of resting out of them. When shewas well enough to take a little active exercise she knew she couldrest better and get well faster for that, and she insisted upon takingthe exercise, although at first she had to do it with the greatestcare. Now that this woman is well she knows how to rest and she knowshow to work better than ever before. 

For normal rest we need the long sleep of night. For shorter restswhich we may take during the day, often opportunity comes at mostunexpected times and in most unexpected ways, and we must be ready totake advantage of it. We need also the habit of working restfully. Thishabit of course enables us to rest truly when we are only resting, andagain the habit of resting normally helps us to work normally. 

A wise old lady said: "My dear, you cannot exaggerate the unimportanceof things. " She expressed even more, perhaps, than she knew. 

It is our habit of exaggerating the importance of things that keeps ushurried and rushed. It is our habit of exaggerating the importance ofourselves that makes us hold the strain of life so intensely. If wewould be content to do one thing at a time, and concentrate on that onething until it came time to do the next thing, it would astonish us tosee how much we should accomplish. A healthy concentration is at theroot of working restfully and of resting restfully, for a healthyconcentration means dropping everything that interferes. 

I know there are women who read this article who will say; "Oh, yes, that is all very well for some women, but it does not apply in theleast to a woman who has my responsibilities, or to a woman who has towork as I have to work. "

My answer to that is: "Dear lady, you are the very one to whom it doesapply!"

The more work we have to do, the harder our lives are, the more we needthe best possible principles to lighten our work and to enlighten ourlives. We are here in the world at school and we do not want to stay inthe primary classes. 

The harder our lives are and the more we are handicapped the more trulywe can learn to make every limitation an opportunity--and if wepersistently do that through circumstances, no matter how severe, thenearer we are to getting our diploma. To gain our freedom from therushed feeling, to find a quiet mind in place of an unquiet one, isworth working hard for through any number of difficulties. And think ofthe benefit such a quiet mind could be to other people! Especially ifthe quiet mind were the mind of a woman, for, at the present day, thinkwhat a contrast she would be to other women!

When a woman's mind is turbulent it is the worst kind of turbulence. When it is quiet we can almost say it is the best kind of quiet, humanly speaking. 

CHAPTER IV

_Why does Mrs. Smith get on My Nerves?_

IF you want to know the true answer to this question it is "because youare unwilling that Mrs. Smith should be herself. " You want her to bejust like you, or, if not just like you, you want her to be just as youwould best like her. 

I have seen a woman so annoyed that she could not eat her supperbecause another woman ate sugar on baked beans. When this woman told melater what it was that had taken away her appetite she added: "Andisn't it absurd? Why shouldn't Mrs. Smith eat sugar on baked beans? Itdoes not hurt me. I do not have to taste the sugar on the beans; but isit such an odd thing to do. It seems to me such bad manners that I justget so mad I can't eat!"

Now, could there be anything more absurd than that? To see a womanannoyed; to see her recognize that she was uselessly and foolishlyannoyed, and yet to see that she makes not the slightest effort to getover her annoyance. 

It is like the woman who discovered that she spoke aloud in church, andwas so surprised that she exclaimed: "Why, I spoke out loud in church!"and then, again surprised, she cried: "Why, I keep speaking aloud inchurch!"--and it did not occur to her to stop. 

My friend would have refused an invitation to supper, I truly believe, if she had known that Mrs. Smith would be there and her hostess wouldhave baked beans. She was really a slave to Mrs. Smith's way of eatingbaked beans. 

"Well, I do not blame her, " I hear some reader say; "it is entirely outof place to eat sugar on baked beans. Why shouldn't she be annoyed?"

I answer: "Why should she be annoyed? Will her annoyance stop Mrs. Smith's eating sugar on baked beans? Will she in any way--selfish orotherwise--be the gainer for her annoyance? Furthermore, if it were thecustom to eat sugar on baked beans, as it is the custom to put sugar incoffee, this woman would not have been annoyed at all. It was simplythe fact of seeing Mrs. Smith digress from the ordinary course of lifethat annoyed her. "

It is the same thing that makes a horse shy. The horse does not say tohimself, "There is a large carriage, moving with no horse to pull it, with nothing to push it, with--so far as I can see--no motive power atall. How weird that is! How frightful!"--and, with a quickly beatingheart, jump aside and caper in scared excitement. A horse when he firstsees an automobile gets an impression on his brain which is entirelyout of his ordinary course of impressions--it is as if some onesuddenly and unexpectedly struck him, and he shies and jumps. The horseis annoyed, but he does not know what it is that annoys him. Now, whena horse shies you drive him away from the automobile and quiet himdown, and then, if you are a good trainer, you drive him back againright in front of that car or some other one, and you repeat theprocess until the automobile becomes an ordinary impression to him, andhe is no longer afraid of it. 

There is, however, just this difference between a woman and a horse:the woman has her own free will behind her annoyance, and a horse hasnot. If my friend had asked Mrs. Smith to supper twice a week, and hadserved baked beans each time and herself passed her the sugar withcareful courtesy, and if she had done it all deliberately for the sakeof getting over her annoyance, she would probably have only increasedit until the strain would have got on her nerves much more seriouslythan Mrs. Smith ever had. Not only that, but she would have foundherself resisting other people's peculiarities more than ever before; Ihave seen people in nervous prostration from causes no more seriousthan that, on the surface. It is the habit of resistance and resentmentback of the surface annoyance which is the serious cause of many awoman's attack of nerves. 

Every woman is a slave to every other woman who annoys her. She is tiedto each separate woman who has got on her nerves by a wire which ispulling, pulling the nervous force right out of her. And it is not theother woman's fault--it is her own. The wire is pulling, whether or notwe are seeing or thinking of the other woman, for, having once beenannoyed by her, the contraction is right there in our brains. It isjust so much deposited strain in our nervous systems which will staythere until we, of our own free wills, have yielded out of it. 

The horse was not resenting nor resisting the automobile; therefore thestrain of his fright was at once removed when the automobile became anordinary impression. A woman, when she gets a new impression that shedoes not like, resents and resists it with her will, and she has got toget in behind that resistance and drop it with her will before she is afree woman. 

To be sure, there are many disagreeable things that annoy for a time, and then, as the expression goes, we get hardened to them. But few ofus know that this hardening is just so much packed resistance which isgoing to show itself later in some unpleasant form and make us ill inmind or body. We have got to yield, yield, yield out of every bit ofresistance and resentment to other people if we want to be free. Noreasoning about it is going to do us any good. No passing back andforth in front of it is going to free us. We must yield first and thenwe can see clearly and reason justly. We must yield first and then wecan go back and forth in front of it, and it will only be a reminder toyield every time until the habit of yielding has become habitual andthe strength of nerve and strength of character developed by means ofthe yielding have been established. 

Let me explain more fully what I mean by "yielding. " Every annoyance, resistance, or feeling of resentment contracts us in some wayphysically; if we turn our attention toward dropping that physicalcontraction, with a real desire to get rid of the resistance behind it, we shall find that dropping the physical strain opens the way to dropthe mental and moral strain, and when we have really dropped the strainwe invariably find reason and justice and even generosity toward otherswaiting to come to us. 

There is one important thing to be looked out for in this normalprocess of freeing ourselves from other people. A young girl said onceto her teacher: "I got mad the other day and I relaxed, and the more Irelaxed the madder I got!"

"Did you want to get over the anger?" asked the teacher. 

"No, I didn't, " was the prompt and ready answer. 

Of course, as this child relaxed out of the tension of her anger, therewas only more anger to take its place, and the more she relaxed themore free her nerves were to take the impression of the anger hoardedup in her; consequently it was as she said: the more she relaxed the"madder" she got. Later, this same little girl came to understand fullythat she must have a real desire to get over her anger in order to havebetter feelings come up after she had dropped the contraction of theanger. 

I know of a woman who has been holding such steady hatred for certainother people that the strain of it has kept her ill. And it is all amatter of feeling: first, that these people have interfered with herwelfare; second, that they differ from her in opinion. Every once in awhile her hatred finds a vent and spends itself in tears and bitterwords. Then, after the external relief of letting out her pent-upfeeling, she closes up again and one would think from her voice andmanner--if one did not look very deep in--that she had only kindlinessfor every one. But she stays nervously ill right along. 

How could she do otherwise with that strain in her? If she wereconstitutionally a strong woman this strain of hatred would have wornon her, though possibly not have made her really ill; but, beingnaturally sensitive and delicate, the strain has kept her an invalidaltogether. 

"Mother, I can't stand Maria, " one daughter says to her mother, andwhen inquiry is made the mother finds that what her daughter "cannotstand" is ways that differ from her own. Sometimes, however, they arevery disagreeable ways which are exactly like the ways of the personwho cannot stand them. If one person is imperious and demanding shewill get especially annoyed at another person for being imperious anddemanding, without a suspicion that she is objecting vehemently to areflection of herself. 

There are two ways in which people get on our nerves. The first waylies in their difference from us in habit--in little things and in bigthings; their habits are not our habits. Their habits may be all right, and our habits may be all right, but they are "different. " Why shouldwe not be willing to have them different? Is there any reason for itexcept the very empty one that we consciously and unconsciously wantevery one else to be just like us, or to believe just as we do, or tobehave just as we do? And what sense is there in that?

"I cannot stand Mrs. So-and-so; she gets into a rocking-chair and rocksand rocks until I feel as if I should go crazy!" some one says. But whynot let Mrs. So-and-so rock? It is her chair while she is in it, andher rocking. Why need it touch us at all?

"But, " I hear a hundred women say, "it gets on our nerves; how can wehelp its getting on our nerves?" The answer to that is: "Drop it offyour nerves. " I know many women who have tried it and who havesucceeded, and who are now profiting by the relief. Sometimes theprocess to such freedom is a long one; sometimes it is a short one;but, either way, the very effort toward it brings nervous strength, aswell as strength of character. 

Take the woman who rocks. Practically every time she rocks you shouldrelax, actually and consciously relax your muscles and your nerves. Thewoman who rocks need not know you are relaxing; it all can be done frominside. Watch and you will find your muscles strained and tense withresistance to the rocking. Go to work practically to drop every bit ofstrain that you observe. As you drop the grossest strain it will makeyou more sensitive to the finer strain and you can drop that--and it iseven possible that you may seek the woman who rocks, in order topractice on her and get free from the habit of resisting more quickly. 

This seems comical--almost ridiculous--to think of seeking an annoyancein order to get rid of it; but, after laughing at it first, look at theidea seriously, and you will see it is common sense. When you havelearned to relax to the woman who rocks you have learned to relax toother similar annoyances. You have been working on a principle thatapplies generally. You have acquired a good habit which can neverreally fail you. 

If my friend had invited Mrs. Smith to supper and served baked beansfor the sake of relaxing out of the tension of her resistance to thesugar, then she could have conquered that resistance. But to try toconquer an annoyance like that without knowing how to yield in some waywould be, so far as I know, an impossibility. Of course, we wouldprefer that our friends should not have any disagreeable, ill-bred, personal ways, but we can go through the world without resisting them, and there is no chance of helping any one out of them through our ownresistances. 

On the other hand a way may open by which the woman's attention iscalled to the very unhealthy habit of rocking--or eating sugar onbeans--if we are ready, without resistance, to point it out to her. Andif no way opens we have at least put ourselves out of bondage to her. The second way in which other people get on our nerves is more seriousand more difficult. Mrs. So-and-so may be doing very wrong--really verywrong; or some one who is nearly related to us may be doing verywrong--and it may be our most earnest and sincere desire to set himright. In such cases the strain is more intense because we really haveright on our side, in our opinion, if not in our attitude toward theother person. Then, to recognize that if some one else chooses to dowrong it is none of our business is one of the most difficult things todo--for a woman, especially. 

It is more difficult to recognize practically that, in so far as it maybe our business, we can best put ourselves in a position to enable theother person to see his own mistake by dropping all personal resistanceto it and all personal strain about it. Even a mother with her son canhelp him to be a man much more truly if she stops worrying about andresisting his unmanliness. 

"But, " I hear some one say, "that all seems like such coldindifference. " Not at all--not at all. Such freedom from strain can befound only through a more actively affectionate interest in others. Themore we truly love another, the more thoroughly we respect that other'sindividuality. 

The other so-called love is only love of possession and love of havingour own way. It is not really love at all; it is sugar-coated tyranny. And when one sugar-coated tyrant' antagonizes herself against anothersugar-coated tyrant the strain is severe indeed, and nothing good isever accomplished. 

The Roman infantry fought with a fixed amount of space about eachsoldier, and found that the greater freedom of individual activityenabled them to fight better and to conquer their foes. This symbolizeshappily the process of getting people off our nerves. Let us give eachone a wide margin and thus preserve a good margin for ourselves. 

We rub up against other people's nerves by getting too near tothem--not too near to their real selves, but too near, so to speak, totheir nervous systems. There have been quarrels between good peoplejust because one phase of nervous irritability roused another. Letthings in other people go until you have entirely dropped your strainabout them--then it will be clear enough what to do and what to say, orwhat not to do and what not to say. People in the world cannot get onour nerves unless we allow them to do so. 

CHAPTER V

_The Trying Member of the Family_

"TOMMY, don't do that. You know it annoys your grandfather. "

"Well, why should he be annoyed? I am doing nothing wrong. "

"I know that, and it hurts me to ask you, but you know how he will feelif he sees you doing it, and you know that troubles me. "

Reluctantly and sullenly Tommy stopped. Tommy's mother looked strainedand worried and discontented. Tommy had an expression on his face akinto that of a smouldering volcano. 

If any one had taken a good look at the grandfather it would have beenvery clear that Tommy was his own grandson, and that the old man andthe child were acting and reacting upon one another in a way that washarmful to both; although the injury was, of course, worse to thechild, for the grandfather had toughened. The grandfather thought heloved his little grandson, and the grandson, at times, would not haveacknowledged that he did not love his grandfather. At other times, withchildish frankness, he said he "hated him. "

But the worst of this situation was that although the mother loved herson, and loved her father, and sincerely thought that she was thefamily peacemaker, she was all the time fanning the antagonism. 

Here is a contrast to this little story An old uncle came into thefamily of his nephew to live, late in life, and with a record behindhim of whims and crotchets in the extreme. The father and mother talkedit over. Uncle James must come. He had lost all his money. There was noone else to look after him and they could not afford to support himelsewhere where he would be comfortable. They took it into account, without offence, that it was probably just as much a cross to UncleJames to come as it was to them to have him. They took no pose ofmagnanimity such as: "Of course we must be good and offer Uncle James ahome, " and "How good we are to do it!" Uncle James was to come becauseit was the only thing for him to do. The necessity was to be faced andfought and conquered, and they had three strong, self-willed littlechildren to face it with them. They had sense enough to see that iffaced rightly it would do only good to the children, but if made aburden to groan over it would make their home a "hornets' nest. " Theyagreed to say nothing to the children about Uncle James'speculiarities, but to await developments. 

Children are always delighted at a visit from a relative, and theywelcomed their great-uncle with pleasure. It was not three days, however, before every one of the three was crying with dislike and hurtfeelings and anger. Then was the time to begin the campaign. 

The mother, with a happy face, called the three children to her, andsaid "Now listen, children. Do you suppose I like Uncle James'sirritability any better than you do?"

"No, " came in a chorus; "we don't see how you stand it, Mother. "

Then she said: "Now look here, boys, do you suppose that Uncle Jameslikes his snapping any better than we do?"

"If he does not like it why does he do it?" answered the boys. 

"I cannot tell you that; that is his business and not yours or mine, "said the mother; "but I can prove to you that he does not like it. Bobby, do you remember how you snapped at your brother yesterday, whenhe accidentally knocked your house over?"

"Yes!" replied Bobby. 

"Did you feel comfortable after it?" "You bet I didn't, " was the quickreply. 

"Well, " answered the mother, "you boys stop and think just howdisagreeable it is inside of you when you snap, and then think how itwould be if you had to feel like that as much as Uncle James does. "

"By golly, but that would be bad, " said the twelve-year-old. 

"Now, boys, " went on the mother, "you want to relieve Uncle James'sdisagreeable feelings all you can, and don't you see that you increasethem when you do things to annoy him? His snappish feelings are justlike a sore that is smarting and aching all the time, and when you getin their way it hurts as if you rubbed the sore. Keep out of his waywhen you can, and when you can't and he snaps at you, say: 'I beg yourpardon, sir, ' like gentlemen, and stop doing what annoys him; or getout of his way as soon as you can. "

Uncle James never became less snappish. But the upright, manly courtesyof those boys toward him was like fresh air on a mountain, especiallybecause it had become a habit and was all as a matter of course. Thefather and mother realized that Uncle James had, unconsciously, mademen of their boys as nothing else in the world could have done, and hadtrained them so that they would grow up tolerant and courteous towardall human peculiarities. 

Many times a gracious courtesy toward the "trying member" will discovergood and helpful qualities that we had not guessed before. Sometimesafter a little honest effort we find that it is ourselves who have beenthe trying members, and that the other one has been the member tried. Often it is from two members of the family that the trying elementcomes. Two sisters may clash, and they will generally clash becausethey are unlike. Suppose one sister moves and lives in big swings, andthe other in minute details. Of course when these extreme tendenciesare accented in each the selfish temptation is for the larger mind tolapse into carelessness of details, and for the smaller mind to shrinkinto pettiness, and as this process continues the sisters get more andmore intolerant of each other, and farther and farther apart. But ifthe sister who moves in the big swings will learn from the other to becareful in details, and if the smaller mind will allow itself to beenlarged by learning from the habitually broader view of the other, each will grow in proportion, and two women who began life as enemiesin temperament can end it as happy friends. 

There are similar cases of brothers who clash, but they are not soevident, for when men do not agree they leave one another alone. Womendo not seem to be able to do that. It is good to leave one anotheralone when there is the clashing tendency, but it is better to conquerthe clashing and learn to agree. 

So long as the normal course of my life leads me to live with some onewho rubs me the wrong way I am not free until I have learned to livewith that some one in quiet content. I never gain my freedom by runningaway. The bondage is in me always, so long as the other person'spresence can rouse it. The only way is to fight it out inside of one'sself. When we can get the co-operation of the other so much the better. But no one's co-operation is necessary for us to find our own freedom, and with it an intelligent, tolerant kindliness. 

"Mother, you take that seat. No, not that one, Mother--the sun comes inthat window. Children, move aside and let your grandmother get to herseat. "

The young woman was very much in earnest in seeing that her mother hada comfortable seat, that she had not the discomfort of the hot sun, that the children made way for her so that she could move into her seatcomfortably. All her words were thoughtful and courteous, but thespirit and the tone of her words were quite the reverse of courteous. If some listener with his eyes shut had heard the tone withoutunderstanding the words he might easily have thought that the woman wastalking to a little dog. 

Poor "Mother" trotted into her seat with the air of a little dog whowas so well trained that he did at once what his mistress ordered. Itwas very evident that "Mother's" will had been squeezed out of her andtrampled upon for years by her dutiful daughter, who looked out alwaysthat "Mother" had the best, without the first scrap of respect for"Mother's" free, human soul. 

The grandchildren took the spirit of their mother's words rather thanthe words themselves, and treated their grandmother as if she were asort of traveling idiot tagged on to them, to whom they had to bedecently respectful whenever their mother's eye was upon them, and whomthey ignored entirely when their mother looked the other way. 

It so happened that I was sitting next to this particular mother whohad been poked into a comfortable seat by her careful daughter. And, after a number of other suggestions had been poked at her with a viewto adding to her comfort, she turned to me and in a quaint, confidential way, with the gentle voice of a habitual martyr, and atthe same time a twinkle of humor in her eye, she said "They think, youknow, I don't know anything. "

And after that we had a little talk about matters of the day whichproved to me that "Mother" had a mind broader and certainly more quietthan her daughter. I studied the daughter with interest after knowing"Mother" better, and her habitual strain of voice and manner werepathetic. By making a care of her mother instead of a companion, shewas not only guilty of disrespect to a soul which, however weak it mayhave been in allowing itself to be directed in all minor matters, hadits own firm principles which were not overridden nor even disturbed bythe daughter's dominance. If the daughter had only dropped her strainof care and her habit of "bossing" she would have found a truecompanion in her mother, and would have been a healthier and happierwoman herself. 

In pleasant contrast to this is the story of a family which had an oldfather who had lost his mind entirely, and had grown decrepit andchildish in the extreme. The sons and daughters tended him like a babyand loved him with gentle, tender respect. There was no embarrassmentfor his loss of mind, no thought of being distressed or pained by it, and because his children took their father's state so quietly andwithout shame, every guest who came took it in the same way, and therewas no thought of keeping the father out of sight. He sat in theliving-room in his comfortable chair, and always one child or anotherwas sitting right beside him with a smiling face. Instead of being atrying member of the family, as happens in so many cases, this oldfather seemed to bring content and rest to his children through theirloving care for him. 

Very often--I might almost say always--the trying member of the familyis trying only because we make her so by our attitude toward her, lether be grandmother, mother, or maiden aunt. Even the proverbialmother-in-law grows less difficult as our attitude toward her isrelieved of the strain of detesting everything she does, and expectingto detest everything that she is going to do. With every trying friendwe have, if we yield to him in all minor matters we find the settlingof essential questions wonderfully less difficult. 

A son had a temper and the girl he married had a temper. The motherloved her son with the selfish love with which so many mothers burdentheir children, and thought that he alone of all men had a right tolose his temper. Consequently she excused her son and blamed herdaughter-in-law. If there were a mild cyclone roused between the twomarried people the son would turn to his mother to hear what a martyrhe was and what misfortune he had to bear in having been so easilymistaken in the woman he married. Thus the mother-in-law, who felt thatshe was protecting her poor son, was really breeding dissension betweentwo people who could have been the best possible friends all theirlives. 

The young wife very soon became ashamed of her temper and worked untilshe conquered it, but it was not until her mother-in-law had been outof this world for years that her husband discovered what he had lost inturning away from his wife's friendship, and it was only by the happyaccident of severe illness that he ever discovered his mistake at all, and gained freedom from the bondage of his own temper enough toappreciate his wife. 

If, however, the wife had yielded in the beginning not only to herhusband's bad temper but also to the antagonism of her mother-in-law, which was, of course, annoying in many petty ways, she might havegained her husband's friendship, and it is possible that she might, moreover, have gained the friendship of her mother-in-law. 

The best rule with regard to all trying members of the family is toyield to them always in non-essentials; and when you disagree inessentials stick to the principle which you believe to be right, butstick to it without resistance. Believe your way, but make yourselfwilling that the trying member should believe her way. Make anopportunity of what appears to be a limitation, and, believe me, yourtrying member can become a blessing to you. 

I go further than that--I truly believe that to make the best of lifeevery family should have a trying member. When we have no trying memberof our family, and life goes along smoothly, as a matter of course, theharmony is very liable to be spurious, and a sudden test will all atonce knock such a family into discord, much to the surprise of everymember. When we go through discord to harmony, and once get into step, we are very likely to keep in step:

Be willing, then, make yourself willing, that the trying member shouldbe in the way. Hope that she will stay in your family until you havesucceeded in dropping not only all resistance to her being there, butevery resistance to her various ways in detail. Bring her annoying waysup to your mind voluntarily when you are away from her. If you do thatyou will find all the resistances come with them and you can relax outof the strain then and there. You will find that when you get home orcome down to breakfast in the morning (for many resistances arevoluntarily thrown off in the night) you will have a pleasanter feelingtoward the trying member, and it comes so spontaneously that you willbe surprised yourself at the absence of the strain of resistance in you. 

Believe me when I say this: the yielding in the non-essentials, singularly enough, gives one strength to refuse to yield in principles. But we must always remember that if we want to find real peace, whilewe refuse to yield in our own principles so long as we believe them tobe true, we must be entirely willing that others should differ from usin belief. 

CHAPTER VI

_Irritable Husbands_

SUPPOSE your husband got impatient and annoyed with you because you didnot seem to enter heartily into the interests of his work andsympathize with its cares and responsibilities and soothe him out ofthe nervous harassments. Would you not perhaps feel a little sore thathe seemed to expect all from you and to give nothing in return? I knowhow many women will say that is all very well, but the husband andfather should feel as much interest in the home and the children as thewife and mother does. That is, of course, true up to a certain point, always in general, and when his help is really necessary in particular. But a man cannot enter into the details of his wife's duties at homeany more than a woman can enter into the details of her husband'sduties at his office. 

Then, again, my readers may say: "But a woman's nervous system is moresensitive than a man's; she needs help and consolation. She needs tohave some one on whom she can lean. " Now the answer to that willprobably be surprising, but an intelligent understanding andcomprehension of it would make a very radical difference in the livesof many men and women who have agreed to live together for life--forbetter and for worse. 

Now the truth is man's nervous system is quite as sensitive as awoman's, but the woman's temptation to emotion makes her appear moresensitive, and her failure to control her emotions ultimately increasesthe sensitiveness of her nerves so that they are more abnormal than herhusband's. Even that is not always true The other day a woman sat intears and distress telling of the hardness of heart, the restlessness, the irritability, the thoughtlessness, the unkindness of her husband. Her face was drawn with suffering. She insisted that she was notcomplaining, that it was her deep and tender love for her husband thatmade her suffer so. "But it is killing me, it is killing me, " she said, and one who saw her could well believe it. And if the distress and thegreat strain upon her nerves had kept on it certainly would have madeher ill, if not have actually ended her life with a nervous collapse. 

The friend in whom she confided sat quietly and heard her through. Shelet her pour herself out to the very finish until she stopped becausethere was nothing more to say. Then, by means of a series of gentle, well-adapted questions, she drew from the wife a recognition--for thefirst time--of the fact that she really did nothing whatever for herhusband and expected him to do everything for her. Perhaps she put on apretty dress for him in order to look attractive when he came home, butif he did not notice how well she looked, and was irritable aboutsomething in the house, she would be dissolved in tears because she hadnot proved attractive and pleased him. Maybe she had tried to have adinner that he especially liked; then if he did not notice the food, and seemed distracted about something that was worrying him, she wouldagain be dissolved in tears because he "appreciated nothing that shetried to do for him. "

Now it is perfectly true that this husband was irritable and brutal; hehad no more consideration for his wife than he had for any one else. But his wife was doing all in her power to fan his irritability intoflame and to increase his brutality. She was attitudinizing in her ownmind as a martyr. She was demanding kindness and attention and sympathyfrom her husband, and because she demanded it she never got it. 

A woman can demand without demanding imperiously. There is more selfishdemanding in a woman's emotional suffering because her husband does notdo this or that or the other for her sake than there is in a tornado ofman's irritability or anger. You see, a woman's demanding spirit iscovered with the mush of her emotions. A man's demanding spirit standsout in all its naked ugliness. One is just as bad as the other. One isjust as repulsive as the other. 

It is a radical, practical impossibility to bring loving-kindness outof any one by demanding it. Loving-kindness, thoughtfulness, andconsideration have got to be born spontaneously in a man's own mind tobe anything at all, and no amount of demanding on the part of his wifecan force it. 

When this little lady of whom I have been writing found that she hadbeen demanding from her husband what he really ought to have given heras a matter of course, and that she had used up all her strength insuffering because he did not give it, and had used none of her strengthin the effort to be patient and quiet in waiting for him to come to hissenses, she went home and began a new life. She was a plucky littlewoman and very intelligent when once her eyes were opened. Sherecognized the fact that her suffering was resistance to her husband'sirritable selfishness, and she stopped resisting. 

It was a long and hard struggle of days, weeks, and months, but itbrought a very happy reward. When a man is irritable and ugly, and hiswife offers no resistance either in anger or suffering, theirritability and ugliness react upon himself, and if there is somethingbetter in him he begins to perceive the irritability in its truecolors. That is what happened to this man. As his wife stoppeddemanding he began to give. As his wife's nerves became calm and quiethis nerves quieted and calmed. Finally his wife discovered that much ofhis irritability had been roused through nervous anxiety in regard tohis business about which he had told her nothing whatever because it"was not his way. "

There is nothing in the world that so strengthens nerves as the steadyuse of the will to drop resistance and useless emotions and get a quietcontrol. This woman gained that strength, and to her surprise one dayher husband turned to her with a full account of all his businesstroubles and she met his mind quietly, as one business man might meetanother, and without in the least expressing her pleasure or hersurprise. She took all the good change in him as a matter of course. 

Finally one day it came naturally and easily to talk over the past. Shefound that her husband from day to day had dreaded coming home. Thetruth was that he had dreaded his own irritability as much as he haddreaded her emotional demanding. But he did not know it--he did notknow what was the matter at all. He simply knew vaguely that he was abrute, that he felt like a brute, and that he did not know how to stopbeing a brute. His wife knew that he was a brute, and at the same timeshe felt throughly convinced that she was a suffering martyr. He wasdreading to come home and she was dreading to have him come home--andthere they were in a continuous nightmare. Now they have left thenightmare far, far behind, and each one knows that the other has onegood friend in the world in whom he or she can feel entire confidence, and their friendship is growing stronger and clearer and more normalevery day. 

It is not the ceremony that makes the marriage: the ceremony onlybegins it. Marriage is a slow and careful adjustment. A true storywhich illustrates the opposite of this condition is that of a man andwoman who were to all appearances happily married for years. They wereapparently the very closest friends. The man's nerves were excitableand peculiar, and his wife adjusted herself to them by indulging themand working in every way to save him from friction. No woman couldstand that constant work of adjustment which was in realitymaladjustment, and this wife's nerves broke down unexpectedly andcompletely. 

When our nerves get weak we are unable to repress resistance which in astronger state we had covered up. This wife, while she had indulged andprotected her husband's peculiarities, had subconsciously resistedthem. When she became ill her subconscious resistance came to thesurface. She surprised herself by growing impatient with her husband. He, of course; retorted. As she grew worse he did not find his usualcomfort from her care, and instead of trying to help her to get well heturned his back on her and complained to another woman. Finally thefriction of the two nervous systems became dangerously intense. Eachwas equally obstinate, and there was nothing to do but to separate Thewoman died of a broken heart, and the man is probably insane for therest of his life. 

It was nothing but the mismanagement of their own and each other'snerves that made all this terrible trouble. Their love seemed genuineat first, and could certainly have grown to be really genuine if theyhad become truly adjusted. And the saddest part of the whole story isthat they were both peculiarly adapted to be of use to theirfellow-men. During the first years of their life their home was adelight to all their friends. 

Tired nerves are likely to close up a man or make him irritable, complaining, and ugly, whereas the tendency in a woman is to beirritable, complaining, and tearful. Now of course when each one isselfishly looking out for his or her comfort neither one can beexpected to understand the other. The man thinks he is entirelyjustified in being annoyed with the woman's tearful, irritablecomplaints, and so he is--in a way. The woman thinks that she has aright to suffer because of her husband's irritable ugliness, and so shehas--in a way. But in the truest way, and the way which appeals toevery one's common sense, neither one has a right to complain of theother, and each one by right should have first made things better andclearer in himself and herself. 

Human nature is not so bad--really in its essence it is not bad at all. If we only give the other man a real chance. It is the pushing andpulling and demanding of one human being toward another that smotherthe best in us, and make life a fearful strain. Of course there is ahealthy demanding as well as an unhealthy demanding, but, so far as Iknow, the healthy demanding can come only when we are clear of personalresistance and can demand on the strength of a true principle andwithout selfish emotion. There is a kind of gentle, motherly contemptwith which some women speak of their husbands, which must get on aman's nerves very painfully. It is intensely and most acutely annoying. And yet I have heard good women speak in that way over and over again. The gentleness and motherliness are of course neither of them real insuch cases. The gentle, motherly tone is used to cover up their ownsense of superiority. 

"Poor boy, poor boy, " they may say; "a man is really like a child. " Sohe may be--so he often is childish, and sometimes childish in theextreme. But where could you find greater and more abject childishnessthan in a woman's ungoverned emotions?

A woman must respect the manliness of her husband's soul, and mustcling to her belief in its living existence behind any amount ofselfish, restless irritability, if she is going to find a friend in himor be a friend to him. She must also know that his nervous system maybe just as sensitive as hers. Sometimes it is more sensitive, andshould be accordingly respected. Demand nothing and expect nothing, buthold him to his best in your mind and wait. 

That is a rule that would work wonderfully if every woman who ispuzzled about her husband's restlessness and lack of interest in homeaffairs would apply it steadily and for long enough. It is impossibleto manufacture a happy, sympathetic married lifeartificially--impossible! But as each one looks to one's self and doesone's part fully, and then is willing to wait for the other, thehappiness and the sympathy, the better power for work and the joyfulability to play come--they do come; they are real and alive and waitingfor us as we get clear from the interferences. 

"Why doesn't my husband like to stay with me when he comes home? Whycan't we have nice, cozy times together?" a wife asks with sad longingin her eyes. 

And to the same friend the husband (who is, by the way, something of apig) says: "I should be glad to stay with Nellie often in the evening, but she will always talk about her worries, and she worries about thefamily in a way that is idiotic. She is always sure that George willcatch the measles because a boy in the next street has them, and she isalways sure that our children do not have the advantages nor the goodmanners that other children have. If it is not one thing it is another;whenever we are alone there is something to complain of, and her lastcomplaint was about her own selfishness. " Then he laughed at what heconsidered a good joke, and in five minutes had forgotten all about her. 

This wife, in a weak, selfish little way, was trying to give herhusband her confidence, and her complaint about her own selfishness wasgenuine. She wanted his help to get out of it. If he had given her justa little gracious attention and told her how impossible it was reallyto discuss the children when she began the conversation with whiningcomplaint, she would have allowed herself to be taught and theirintercourse would have improved. On the other hand, if the wife hadrealized that her husband came home from the cares of his businesstired and nervous, and if she had talked lightly and easily on generalsubjects and tried to follow his interests, when his nerves were restedand quiet she might have found him ready and able to give her a littlelift with regard to the children. 

It is interesting and it is delightful to see how, as we each workfirst to bear our own burdens, we not only find ourselves ready andable to lighten the burdens of others but find others who are helpfulto us. 

A woman who finds her husband "so restless and irritable" shouldremember that in reality a man's nervous system is just as sensitive asa woman's, and, with a steady and consistent effort to bear her ownburdens and to work out her own problems, should prepare herself tolighten her husband's burdens and help to solve his problems; that isthe truest way of bringing him to the place where he will be glad toshare her burdens with her as well as his own. 

But we want to remember that there is a radical difference betweenindulging another's selfishness, and waiting, with patient yielding, for him to discover his selfishness himself, and to act unselfishlyfrom his own free will. 

CHAPTER VII

_Quiet vs. Chronic Excitement_

SOME women live in a chronic state of excitement all the time and theydo not find it out until they get ill. Even then they do not alwaysfind it out, and then they get more ill. 

It is really much the same with excitable women as with a man whothinks he must always keep a little stimulant in himself in order tokeep about his work. When a bad habit is established in us we feelunnatural if we give the habit up for a moment--and we feel naturalwhen we are in it--but it is poison all the same. 

If a woman has a habit of constantly snuffing or clearing her throat, or rocking a rocking chair, or chattering to whoever may be near hershe would feel unnatural and weird if she were suddenly wrenched out ofany of these things. And yet the poisoning process goes on just thesame. 

When it seems immaterial to us that we should be natural we are in apretty bad way and the worst of it is we do not know it. 

I once took a friend with me into the country who was one of thosewomen who lived on excitement in every-day life. When she dressed inthe morning she dressed in excitement. She went down to breakfast inexcitement. She went about the most humdrum everyday affairs excited. Every event in life--little or big--was an excitement to her--and shewent to bed tired out with excitement--over nothing. 

We went deep in the woods and in the mountains, full of great powerfulquiet. 

When my friend first got there she was excited about her arrival, shewas excited about the house and the people in it, but in the middle ofthe night she jumped up in bed with a groan of torture. 

I thought she had been suddenly taken ill and started up quickly frommy end of the room to see what was the trouble. 

"Oh, oh, " she groaned, "the quiet! It is so quiet!" Her brain which hadbeen in a whirl of petty excitement felt keen pain when the normalquiet touched it. 

Fortunately this woman had common sense and I could gradually explainthe truth to her, and she acted upon it and got rested and strong andquiet. 

I knew another woman who had been wearing shoes that were too tight forher and that pinched her toes all together. The first time she woreshoes that gave her feet room enough the muscles of her feet hurt herso that she could hardly walk. 

Of course, having been cramped into abnormal contraction the process ofexpanding to freedom would be painful. 

If you had held your fist clenched tight for years, or months, or evenweeks, how it would hurt to open it so that you could have free use ofyour fingers. 

The same truth holds good with a fist that has been clenched, a footthat has been pinched, or a brain that has been contracted withexcitement. 

The process leading from the abnormal to the normal is always a painfulone. To stay in the abnormal means blindness, constantly limiting powerand death. 

To come out into a normal atmosphere and into a normal way of livingmeans clearer sight, constantly increasing power, and fresh life. 

This habit of excitement is not only contracting to the brain; it hasits effect over the whole body. If there is any organ that is weakerthan any other the excitement eventually shows itself. A woman may besuffering from indigestion, or she may be running up large doctor'sbills because of either one of a dozen other organic disturbances, withno suspicion that the cause of the whole trouble is that the noisy, excited, strained habits of her life have robbed her body of thevitality it needed to keep it in good running order. 

As if an engineer threw his coal all over the road and having no fuelfor his engine wondered that it would not run. Stupid women weare--most of us!

The trouble is that many of us are so deeply immersed in the habit ofexcitement that we do not know it. 

It is a healthy thing to test ourselves and to really try to findourselves out. It is not only healthy; it is deeply interesting. 

If quiet of the woods, or, any other quiet place, makes us fidgety, wemay be sure that our own state is abnormal and we had better go intothe woods as often as possible until we feel ourselves to be a part ofthe quiet there. 

If we go into the woods and get soothed and quieted and then come outand get fussed up and excited so that we feel painfully the contrastbetween the quiet and our every-day life, then we can know that we areliving in the habit of abnormal excitement and we can set to work tostop it. 

"That is all very well, " I hear my readers say, "but how are you goingto stop living in abnormal excitement when every circumstance and everyperson about you is full of it and knows nothing else?"

If you really want to do it and would feel interested to makepersistent effort I can give you the recipe and I can promise any womanthat if she perseveres until she has found the way she will never ceaseto be grateful. 

If you start with the intention of taking the five minutes' search forquiet every day, do not let your intention be weakened or yourselfdiscouraged if for some days you see no result at all. 

At first it may be that whatever quiet you find will seem so strangethat it will annoy you or make you very nervous, but if you persist andwork right through, the reward will be worth the pains many times over. 

Sometimes quieting our minds helps us to quiet our bodies; sometimes wemust quiet our bodies first before we can find the way to a reallyquiet mind. The attention of the mind to quiet the body, of course, reacts back on to the mind, and from there we can pass on to thinkingquietly. Each individual must judge for herself as to the best way ofreaching the quiet. I will give several recipes and you can take yourchoice. 

First, to quiet the body:--

1. Lie still and see how quietly you can breathe. 

2. Sit still and let your head droop very slowly forward until finallyit hangs down with its whole weight. Then lift it up very, very slowlyand feel as if you pushed it all the way up from the lower part of yourspine, or, better still, as if it grew up, so that you feel the slow, creeping, soothing motion all the way up your spine while your head iscoming up, and do not let your head come to an entirely erect positionuntil your chest is as high as you can hold it comfortably. When yourhead is erect take a long, quiet breath and drop it again. You canprobably drop it and raise it twice in the five minutes. Later on itshould take the whole five minutes to drop it and raise it once and anextra two minutes for the long breath. 

When you have dropped your head as far as you can, pause for a fullminute without moving at all and feel heavy; then begin at the lowerpart of your spine and very slowly start to raise it. Be careful not tohold your breath, and watch to breathe as easily and quietly as you canwhile your head is moving. 

If this exercise hurts the back of your neck or any part of your spine, don't be troubled by it, but go right ahead and you will soon come towhere it not only does not hurt, but is very restful. 

When you have reached an erect position again stay there quietly--firsttake long gentle breaths and let them get shorter and shorter untilthey are a good natural length, then forget your breathing altogetherand sit still as if you never had moved, you never were going to move, and you never wanted to move. 

This emphasizes the good natural quiet in your brain and so makes youmore sensitive to unquiet. 

Gradually you will get the habit of catching yourself in states ofunnecessary excitement; at such times you cannot go off by yourself andgo through the exercises. You cannot even stop where you are and gothrough them, but you can recall the impression made on your brain atthe time you did them and in that way rule out your excitement and gainthe real power that should be in its place. 

So little by little the state of excitement becomes as unpleasant as acloud of dust on a windy day and the quiet is as pleasant as under thetrees on top of a hill in the best kind of a June day. 

The trouble is so many of us live in a cloud of dust that we do notsuspect even the existence of the June day, but if we are fortunateenough once or twice even to get to sneezing from the dust, and so torecognize its unpleasantness, then we want to look carefully to see ifthere is not a way out of it. 

It is then that we can get the beginning of the real quiet which is thenormal atmosphere of every human being. 

But we must persist for a long time before we can feel established inthe quiet itself. What is worth having is worth working for--and themore it is worth having, the harder work is required to get it. 

Nerves form habits, and our nerves not only get the habit of living inthe dust, but the nerves of all about us have the same habit. So thatwhen at first we begin to get into clear air, we may almost dislike it, and rush back into the dust again, because we and our friends areaccustomed to it. 

All that bad habit has to be fought, and conquered, and there are manydifficulties in the way of persistence, but the reward is worth it all, as I hope to show in later articles. 

I remember once walking in a crowded street where the people werehurrying and rushing, where every one's face was drawn and knotted, andnobody seemed to be having a good time. Suddenly and unexpectedly I sawa man coming toward me with a face so quiet that it showed out like alittle bit of calm in a tornado. He looked like a common, every-day manof the world, so far as his dress and general bearing went, and hisfeatures were not at all unusual, but his expression was so full ofquiet interest as to be the greatest contrast to those about him. Hewas not thinking his own thoughts either--he was one of the crowd and abusy, interested observer. 

He might have said, "You silly geese, what are you making all this fussabout, you can do it much better if you will go more easily. " If thatwas his thought it came from a very kindly sense of humor, and he gaveme a new realization of what it meant, practically, to be in the worldand not of it. 

If you are in the world you can live, and observe, and take a muchbetter part in its workings. If you are of it, you are simply whirledin an eddy of dust, however you may pose to yourself or to others. 

CHAPTER VIII

_The Tired Emphasis_

"I AM so tired, so tired--I go to bed tired, I get up tired, and I amtired all the time. "

How many women--how many hundred women, how many thousand women--saythat to themselves and to others constantly. 

It is perfectly true; they are tired all the time; they do go to bedtired and get up tired and stay tired all day. 

If, however, they could only know how very much they increase theirfatigue by their constant mental emphasis of it, and if at the sametime they could turn their wills in the direction of decreasing thefatigue, instead of emphasizing it, a very large percentage of thetired feeling could be done away with altogether. 

Many women would gladly make more of an effort in the direction of restif they knew how, and I propose in this article to give a prescriptionfor the cure of the tired emphasis which, if followed, will bring happyresults. 

When you go to bed at night, no matter how tired you feel, instead ofthinking how tired you are, think how good it is that you can go to bedto get rested. 

It will probably seem absurd to you at first. You may say to yourself:"How ridiculous, going to bed to get rested, when I have only one shortnight to rest in, and one or two weeks in bed would not rest methoroughly. "

The answer to that is that if you have only one night in which to rest, you want to make the most of that night, and if you carry the tiredemphasis to bed with you you are really holding on to the tired. 

This is as practically true as if you stepped into a bog and then satin it and looked forlorn and said. "What a terrible thing it is that Ishould be in a bog like this; just think of having to sit in a black, muddy bog all the time, " and staying there you made no effort whateverto get out of it, even though there was dry land right in front of you. 

Again you may answer: "But in my tired bog there is no dry land infront of me, none at all. "

I say to that, there is much more dry land than you think--if you willopen your eyes--and to open your eyes you must make an effort. 

No one knows, who has not tried, what a good strong effort will do inthe right direction, when we have been living and slipping back in thewrong direction. 

The results of such efforts seem at times wonderful to those who havelearned the right direction for the first time. 

To get rid of the tired emphasis when we have been fixed in it, a verystrong effort is necessary at first, and gradually it gets easier, andeasier, until we have cast off the tired emphasis entirely and have thehabit of looking toward rest. 

We must say to ourselves with decision in so many words, and must thinkthe meaning of the words and insist upon it: "I am very tired. Yes, ofcourse, I am very tired, but I am going to bed to get rested. "

There are a hundred little individual ways that we can talk toourselves, and turn ourselves toward rest, at the end of the day whenthe time comes to rest. 

One way to begin, which is necessary to most of us, is to stopresisting the tired. Every complaint of fatigue, whether it is merelyin our own minds, or is made to others, is full of resistance, andresistance to any sort of fatigue emphasizes it proportionately. 

That is why it is good to say to ourselves: "Yes, I am tired; I amawfully tired. I am willing to be tired. "

When we have used our wills to drop the nervous and muscularcontractions that the fatigue has caused, we can add with more emphasisand more meaning, "and I am going to bed to get rested. "

Some one could say just here: "That is all very well for an ordinarilytired person, but it would never do me any good. I am too tired even totry it. "

The answer to that is, the more tired you are, the more you need to tryit, and the more interesting the experiment will be. 

Also the very effort of your brain needed to cast off the tiredemphasis will be new to you, and thought in a new direction is alwaysrestful in itself. Having learned to cast off the tired emphasis whenwe go to bed at night, we can gradually learn to cast it off before wego to meals, and at odd opportunities throughout the day. 

The more tired we are, the more we need to minimize our fatigue by theintelligent use of our own wills. 

Who cares for a game that is simple and easy? Who cares for a game whenyou beat as a matter of course, and without any effort on your part atall?

Whoever cares for games at all cares most for good, stiff ones, where, when you have beaten, you can feel that you have really accomplishedsomething; and when you have not beaten, you have at least learnedpoints that will enable you to beat the next time, or the next to thenext time--or sometime. And everyone who really loves a game wants tostick to it until he has conquered and is proficient. 

Why not wake up, and realize that same interest and courage in thisbiggest game of all--this game of life?

We must play it!

Few of us are cowards enough to put ourselves out of it. Unless we playit and obey the rules we do not really play at all. 

Many of us do not know the rules, but it is our place to look about andfind them out. 

Many more of us think that we can play the game better if we make uprules of our own, and leave out whatever regular rules we do know, thatdo not suit our convenience. 

But that never works. 

It only sometimes seems to work; and although plain common sense showsus over and over that the game played according to our own ideasamounts to nothing, it is strange to see how many work and push to playthe game in their own way instead of in the game's way. 

It is strange to see how many shove blindly in this direction, and thatdirection, to cut their way through a jungle, when there is the pathjust by them, if they will take it. 

Most of us do not know our own power because we would rather stay in aditch and complain. 

Strength begets strength, and we can only find our greater power, byusing intelligently, and steadily, the power we have. 

CHAPTER IX

_How to be Ill and get Well_

ILLNESS seems to be one of the hardest things to happen to a busywoman. Especially hard is it when a woman must live from hand to mouth, and so much illness means, almost literally, so much less food. 

Sometimes one is taken so suddenly and seriously ill that it isimpossible to think of whether one has food and shelter or not; onemust just be taken care of or die. It does not seem to matter which atthe time. 

Then another must meet the difficulty. It is the little naggingillnesses that make the trouble--just enough to keep a woman at home aweek or ten days or more, and deprive her of wages which she might havebeen receiving, and which she very much needs. 

These are the illnesses that are hard to bear. 

Many a woman has suffered through an illness like this, which hasdragged out from day to day, and finally left her pale and weak, toreturn to her work with much less strength than she needs for what isbefore her. 

After forcing herself to work day after day, her strength comes back soslowly, that she appears to go through another illness, on her feet, and "in the harness, " before she can really call herself well again. 

There are a few clear points which, if intelligently comprehended, could teach one how to meet an illness, and if persistently acted upon, would not only shorten it, but would lighten the convalescence so thatwhen the invalid returned to her work she would feel stronger thanbefore she was taken ill. 

When one is taken with a petty illness, if it is met in an intelligentway, the result can be a good rest, and one feels much better, and hasa more healthy appearance, than before the attack. 

This effect has been so often experienced that with some people thereis a little bit of pleasantry passed on meeting a friend, in theremark: "Why, how do you do; how well you look--you must have been ill!"

If we remember when we are taken ill that nature always tends towardshealth, we will study carefully to fulfill nature's conditions in orderto cure the disease. 

We will rest quietly, until nature in her process toward health hasreached health. In that way our illness can be the means of giving us agood rest, and, while we may feel the loss of the energy of which thedisease has robbed us, we also feel the good effects of the rest whichwe have given to organs which were only tired. 

These organs which have gained rest can, in their turn, help towardrenewing the strength of the organs which had been out of order, andthus we get up from an illness looking so well, and feeling so well, that we do not regret the loss of time, and feel ready to work, and togradually make up the loss of money. 

Of course, the question is, how to fulfill the conditions so that thishappy result can be attained. 

In the first place, _do not fret. _

"But how can I help fretting?" someone will say, "when I am losingmoney every day, and do not know how many more days I may be laid up?"

The answer to that is: "If you will think of the common sense of it, you can easily see that the strain of fretting is interfering radicallywith your getting well. For when you are using up strength to fret, youare simply robbing yourself of the vitality which would be useddirectly in the cure of your illness. "

Not only that, but the strain of fretting increases the strain ofillness, and is not only preventing you from getting well, but it istending to keep you ill. 

When we realize that fact, it seems as if it would be an easy matter tostop fretting in order to get well. 

It is as senseless to fret about an illness, no matter how much justcause we may feel we have, as it would be to walk west when ourdestination was directly east. 

Stop and think of it. Is not that true? Imagine a child with a pinpricking him, kicking, and screaming, and squirming with the pain, sothat his mother--try as carefully as she may--takes five minutes tofind the pin and get it out, when she might have done it and relievedhim in five seconds, if only the child had kept still and let her. 

So it is with us when Mother Nature is working with wise steadiness tofind the pin that is making us ill, and to get it out. We fret andworry so that it takes her ten or twenty days to do the good work thatshe might have done in three. 

In order to drop the fretting, we must use our wills to think, andfeel, and act, so that the way may be opened for health to come to usin the quickest possible time. 

Every contraction of worry which appears in the muscles we must drop, so that we lie still with a sense of resting, and waiting for thehealing power, which is surely working within us, to make us well. 

_We can do this by a deliberate use of our wills. _

If we could take our choice between medicine, and the curative power ofdropping anxiety and letting ourselves get well, there would be nohesitancy, provided we understood the alternatives. 

I speak of fretting first because it is so often the strongestinterference with health. 

Defective circulation is the trouble in most diseases, and we should doall we can to open the channels so that the circulation, being freeelsewhere, can tend to open the way to greater freedom in the partdiseased. The contractions caused by fretting impede the circulationstill more, and therefore heighten the disease. 

If once, by a strong use of the will, we drop the fretting and giveourselves up entirely to letting nature cure us, then we can study, with interest, to fulfill other necessary conditions. We can giveourselves the right amount of fresh air, of nourishment, of bathing, and the right sort of medicine, if any is needed. 

Thus, instead of interfering with nature, we are doing all in our powerto aid her; and when nature and the invalid work in harmony, healthcomes on apace. 

When illness brings much pain and discomfort with it, the endeavor torelax out of the contractions caused by the pain, are of the sameservice as dropping contractions caused by the fretting. 

If one can find a truly wise doctor, or nurse, in such an illness as Irefer to, get full instructions in just one visit, and then followthose directions explicitly, only one visit will be needed, probably, and the gain from that will pay for it many times over. 

This article is addressed especially to those who are now in health. 

It is perhaps too much to expect one in the midst of an illness tostart at once with what we may call the curative attitude, although itcould be done, but if those who are now well and strong will read andget a good understanding of this healthy way of facing an illness, andget it into their subconscious minds, they will find that if at anytime they should be unfortunate enough to be attacked with illness, they can use the knowledge to very real advantage, and--what ismore--they can, with the right tact, help others to use it also. 

To see the common sense of a process and, when we have not theopportunity to use the laws ourselves, to help others by means of ourknowledge, impresses our own brains more thoroughly with the truth, especially if our advice is taken and acted upon and thus proved to betrue. 

It must not be forgotten, however, that to help another man or woman toa healthy process of getting well requires gentle patience and quiet, steady, unremitting tact. 

CHAPTER X

_Is Physical Culture good for Girls?_

A NUMBER of women were watching a game of basket-ball played by somehigh-school girls. In the interim for rest one woman said to herneighbor: "Do you see that girl flat on her back, looking like a veryheavy bag of sand?"

"Yes, " the answer was; "what under the sun is she doing that for? Shelooks heavy and lazy and logy, while the other girls are talking andlaughing and having a good time. "

"You wait and watch her play, " responded the first woman. And so theywaited and watched, and to the astonishment of the friend the girl whohad looked "lazy and logy, " lying flat on her back during therest-time, was the most active of the players, and really saved thegame. 

When the game was finished the woman said to her friend with surprisein her voice: "How did you see through that, and understand what thatgirl was aiming for?"

The answer was: "Well, I know the girl, and both she and I have readKipling's 'The Maltese Cat. ' Don't you remember how the best poloponies in that story, when they were off duty, hung their heads andactually made themselves looked fagged, in order to be fresher when thetime came to play? And how 'The Maltese Cat' scouted the silly ponieswho held their heads up and kicked and looked alert while they waited?And don't you remember the result?"

"No, I never read the story, but I have certainly seen your point proveitself to-day. I shall read it at once. Meanwhile, I want to speak tothat clever girl who could catch a point like that and use it. "

"Take care, please, that you do not mention it to her at all, " said thefriend. "You will draw her attention back to herself and likely as notmake her lose the next game. Points like that have got to be worked onwithout self-consciousness, not talked about. "

And so the women told the child they were glad that her side won thegame and never mentioned her own part in it at all. After all she hadonly found the law that the more passive you can be when it is time torest, the more alert you are and the more powerful in activity. Thepolo pony knew it as a matter of course. We humans have to discover it. 

Let us, just for the interest of it, follow that same basket-ballplayer a little more closely. Was she well developed and evenly trainedin her muscles? Yes, very. Did she go to gymnasium, or did she scornit? She went, twice a week regularly, and had good fun there; but therewas just this contrast between her and most of the girls in the class:Jane, as we will call her, went to gymnasium as a means to an end. Shefound that she got an even development there which enabled her to walkbetter, to play better, and to work better. In gymnasium she laid hermuscular foundation on which to build all the good, active work of herlife. The gymnasium she went to, however, was managed in an unusual wayexcept for the chest weights, which always "opened the ball, " themembers of the class never knew what work they were to do. Their mindswere kept alert throughout the hour and a half. If their attentionwavered they tripped or got behind in the exercise, and the mentalaction which went into the movement of every muscle made the body alivewith the healthy activity of a well-concentrated, well-directed mind. 

Another point which our young friend learned at gymnasium was to directher mind only on to the muscles that were needed. Did you ever try toclench your fist so tight that it could not be opened? If not, try it, and relax all over your body while you are keeping your fist tightclosed. You will see that the more limp your body becomes the tighteryou can keep your fist clenched. All the force goes in that onedirection. In this way a moderately strong girl can keep a strong manhard at work for several minutes before he can make any impression onthe closed hand. That illustrates in a simple way the fact that themost wholesome concentration is that which comes from droppingeverything that interferes--letting the force of mind or body flow onlyin the direction in which it is to be used. 

Many girls use their brains in the wrong way while on the gymnasiumfloor by saying to themselves, "I cannot do that. " The brain is so fullof that thought that the impression an open brain would receive has nochance to enter, and the result is an awkward, nervous, and uncertainmovement. If a girl's brain and muscle were so relaxed that theimpression on the one would cause a correct use and movement of theother how easy it would be thereafter to apply the proper tension tothe muscle at the proper time without overtaxing the nerves. 

Some one has well said that "it is training, not straining, that wewant in our gymnasiums. " Only when a girl is trained from this point ofview does she get real training. 

This basket-ball player had also been taught how to rest after exercisein a way which appealed to her especially, because of her interestwhich had already been aroused in Kipling's polo pony. She was taughtintelligently that if, after vigorous exercise, when the blood iscoursing rapidly all over the body, you allow yourself to be entirelyopen and passive, the blood finds no interruptions in its work and cancarry away the waste matter much more effectually. In that way you getthe full result of the exercise. It is not necessary always to lie downto have your body passive enough after vigorous exercise to get thebest results. If you sit down after exercise you want to sit withouttension. Or if you walk home from gymnasium you want to walk looselyand freely, keeping your chest up and a little in advance, and pushingwith the ball of your back foot with a good, rhythmic balance. As thisis the best way to sit and the best way to walk--gymnasium or nogymnasium--to look out for a well-balanced sitting and a well-balancedwalk directly after vigorous exercise, keeps us in good form forsitting and walking all the time. 

I know of a professor in one of our large colleges who was offered alsoa professorship in a woman's college, and he refused to accept becausehe said women's minds did not react. When he lectured to girls he foundthat, however attentively they might seem to listen, there was noresponse. They gave nothing in return. 

Of course this is not true of all girls, and of course the gentlemanwho refused the chair in the woman's college would agree that it is nottrue of all girls, but if those who read the anecdote would, instead ofgetting indignant, just look into the matter a little, they would seehow true it is of many girls, and by thinking a little further we cansee that it is not at present the girls' fault. A hundred years agogirls were not expected to think. I remember an anecdote which a veryintelligent old lady used to tell me about her mother. Once, when shewas a little girl, her mother found some fault with her which thedaughter knew to be unjust, and she answered timidly, "But, Mother, Ithink--"

"Abigail, " came the sharp reminder, "you've no business to think. "

One hundred years ago it was only the very exceptional girls who reallythought. Now we are gradually working toward the place where every girlwill think. And surely it cannot be very long now before the unitedminds of a class of college girls will have the habit of reacting sothat any man will feel in his own brain a vigorous result fromlecturing to them. 

This fact that a girl's brain does not react is proved in many ways. Most of the women who come to nerve specialists seem to feel that theyare to sit still and be cured, while the men who come respond and dotheir part much more intelligently--the result being that men get outof "nerves" in half the time and stay out, whereas girls often get outa little way and slump (literally slump) back again before they can behelped to respond truly enough to get well and keep themselves well. This information is given only with an idea of stirring girls up totheir best possibilities, for there is not a woman born with a soundmind who is not capable of reacting mentally, in a greater or lessdegree, to all that she hears, provided she uses her will consciouslyto form the new habit. 

Now this need of intelligent reaction is just the trouble with girlsand physical culture. Physical culture should be a means to an end--andthat is all, absolutely all. It is delightful and strengthening when itis taught thoughtfully as a means to an end, and I might almost say itis only weakening when it is made an end in itself. 

Girls need to react intelligently to what is given them in physicaltraining as much as to what is given them in a lecture on literature orphilosophy or botany. How many girls do we know who take physicalculture in a class, often simply because it is popular at the time, andnever think of taking a long walk in the country--never think of goingin for a vigorous outdoor game? How many girls do we know who takephysical culture and never think of making life easy for theirstomachs, or seeing that they get a normal amount of sleep? Exercise inthe fresh air, with a hearty objective interest in all that is going onabout us, is the very best sort of exercise that we can take, andphysical culture is worse than nothing if it is not taken only as ameans to enable us to do more in the open air, and do it better, andgain from it more life. 

There is one girl who comes to my mind of whom I should like to tellbecause she illustrates truly a point that we cannot consider toocarefully. She went to a nerve specialist very much broken in health, and when asked if she took plenty of exercise in the open air shereplied "Yes, indeed. " And it was proved to be the very best exercise. She had a good horse, and she rode well; she rode a great deal, and nottoo much. She had interesting dogs and she took them with her. Shewalked, too, in beautiful country. But she was carrying in her mind allthe time extreme resistance to other circumstances of her life. She didnot know how to drop the resistance or face the circumstances, and themental strain in which she held herself day and night, waking orsleeping, prevented the outdoor exercise from really refreshing her. When she learned to face the circumstances then the exercise could doits good work. 

On the other hand, there are many forms of nervous resistance and manydisagreeable moods which good, vigorous exercise will blow awayentirely, leaving our minds so clear that we wonder at ourselves, andwonder that we could ever have had those morbid thoughts. 

The mind acts and the body reacts, the body acts and the mind reacts, but of course at the root of it all is the real desire for what isnormal, or--alas!--the lack of that desire. 

If physical culture does not make us love the open air, if it does notmake us love to take a walk or climb a mountain, if it does not help usto take the walk or climb the mountain with more freedom, if it doesnot make us move along outdoors so easily that we forget our bodiesaltogether, and only enjoy what we see about us and feel how good it isto be alive--why, then physical culture is only an ornament without anyuse. 

There is an interesting point in mountain-climbing which I should liketo speak of, by the way, and which makes it much pleasanter and betterexercise. If, after first starting--and, of course, you should startvery slowly and heavily, like an elephant--you get out of breath, letyourself stay out of breath. Even emphasize the being out of breath bybreathing harder than your lungs started to breathe, and then let yourlungs pump and pump and pump until they find their own equilibrium. Theresult is delightful, and the physical freedom that follows is morethan delightful. I remember seeing two girls climbing in the high RockyMountains in this way, when other women were going up on ponies. Finally one of the guides looked back, and with an expression of mildastonishment said "Well, you have lungs!" This was a very pleasantproof of the right kind of breathing. 

There are many good points for climbing and walking and swimming andall outdoor exercise that can be gained from the best sort of physicalculture; and physical culture is good for girls when it gives thesepoints and leads to a spontaneous love for outdoor exercise. But whenit results only in a self-conscious pose of the body then it is harmful. 

We want to have strong bodies, free for every normal action, with quietnerves, and muscles well coordinated. Then our bodies are merelyinstruments: good, clean, healthy instruments. They are the "mechanismof the outside. " And when the mechanism of the outside is well oiledand running smoothly it can be forgotten. 

There can be no doubt but that physical culture is good for girlsprovided it is given and taken with intelligent interest, but it mustbe done thoroughly to be done to real advantage. As, for instance, thepart the shower-bath plays after exercising is most important, for itequalizes the circulation. Physical culture is good for girls who havelittle or no muscular action in their daily lives, for it gives themthe healthiest exercise in the least space of time, and prepares themto get more life from exercise outdoors. It is good for girls whosedaily lives are full of activity, because it develops the unusedmuscles and so rests those that have been overused. Many a hardworkinggirl has entered the gymnasium class tired and has left it rested. 

CHAPTER XI

_Working Restfully_

ONCE met a man who had to do an important piece of scientific work in agiven time. He worked from Saturday afternoon at 2 o'clock until Mondaymorning at 10 o'clock without interruption, except for one hour's sleepand the necessary time it took for nourishment. 

After he had finished he was, of course, intensely tired, but insteadof going right to bed and to sleep, and taking all that brain strain tosleep with him he took his dog and his gun and went hunting for severalhours. 

Turning his attention to something so entirely different gave the otherpart of his brain a chance to recover itself a little. The fresh airrevived him, and the gentle exercise started up his circulation, If hehad gone directly to sleep after his work, the chances are that itwould have taken him days to recover from the fatigue, for nature wouldhave had too much against her to have reacted quickly from so abnormala strain--getting an entire change of attention and starting up hiscirculation in the fresh air gave nature just the start she needed. After that she could work steadily while he slept, and he awakenedrested and refreshed. 

To write from Saturday afternoon until Monday morning seems a stupidthing to do--no matter what the pressure is. To work for an abnormaltime or at an abnormal rate is almost always stupid and short sighted. 

There are exceptions, however, and it would be good if for thoseexceptions people knew how to take the best care of themselves. But itis not only after such abnormal work that we need to know how to reactmost restfully. It is important after all work, and especially forthose who have some steady labor for the whole day. 

Every one is more or less tired at the end of the day and thetemptation is to drop into a chair or lie down on the sofa or to goright to bed and go to sleep. Don't do it. 

Get some entire, active change for your brain, if it is only forfifteen minutes or half an hour. If you live in the city, even to go towalk and look into the shop windows is better than nothing. In that wayyou get fresh air, and if one knows how to look into shop windowswithout wanting anything or everything they see there, then it is veryentertaining. 

It is a good game to look into a shop window for two or three minutesand then look away and see how well you can remember everything in it. It is important always to take shop windows that are out of one's ownline of work. 

If you live in the country, a little walk out of doors is pleasanterthan in the city, for the air is better; and there is much that isinteresting, in the way of trees and sky, and stars, at night. 

As you walk, make a conscious effort to look out and about you. Forgetthe work of the day, and take good long breaths. 

When you do not feel like going out of doors, take a story book--orsome other reading, if you prefer--and put your mind right on it forhalf an hour. The use of a really good novel cannot be overestimated. It not only serves as recreation, but it introduces us to phases ofhuman nature that otherwise we would know nothing whatever about. Avery great change from the day's work can be found in a good novel anda very happy change. 

If the air in the theaters were fresher and good seats did not cost somuch a good play, well acted, would be better than a good novel. Sometimes it freshens us up to play a game after the day's work isover, and for those who love music there is of course the greatest restin that. But there again comes in the question of cost. 

Why does not some kind soul start concerts for the people where, for anominal admission, the best music can be heard? And why does not someother kind soul start a theater for the people where, for a very smallprice of admission, they can see the best plays and see them well acted?

We have public libraries in all our cities and towns, and a librarianin one large city loves to tell the tale of a poor woman in the slumswith her door barred with furniture for fear of the drunken raiders inthe house, quietly reading a book from the public library. 

There are many similar stories to go with that. If we had really goodtheaters and really good concerts to be reached as simply and as easilyas the books in our public libraries, the healthy influence throughoutthe cities would be proportionately increased. The trouble is thatpeople cater as much to the rich with their ideas of a national theateras the theatrical syndicate itself. 

I could not pretend to suggest amusements that would appeal to any orevery reader, but I can make my point clear that when one is tired itis healthy to have a change of activity before going to rest. 

"Oh, " I hear, "I can't! I can't! I am too tired. "

I know the feeling. 

I have no doubt the man who wrote for nearly two days had a very strongtendency to go right to bed, but he had common sense behind it, and heknew the result would be better if he followed his common sense ratherthan his inclination. And so it proved. 

It seems very hard to realize that it is not the best thing to go rightto bed or to sit and do nothing when one is so tired as to make it seemimpossible to do anything else. 

It would be wrong to take vigorous physical exercise after great brainor body fatigue, but entire change of attention and gentle exercise isjust what is needed, although care should always be taken not to keepat it too long. Any readers who make up their minds to try this processof resting will soon prove its happy effect. 

A quotation from a recent daily paper reads, "'Rest while you work, 'says Annie Payson Call, "--and then the editor adds, "and get fired, "and although the opportunity for the joke was probably thought too goodto lose, it was a natural misinterpretation of a very practical truth. 

I can easily imagine a woman--especially a tired out and bitterwoman--reading directions telling how to work restfully and exclaimingwith all the vehemence of her bitterness: "That is all very well towrite about. It sounds well, but let any one take hold of my work andtry to do it restfully. 

"If my employer should come along and see me working in a lazy way likethat, he would very soon discharge me. No, no. I am tired out; I mustkeep at it as long as I can, and when I cannot keep at it any longer, Iwill die--and there is the end. "

"It is nothing but drudge, drudge for your bread and butter--and whatdoes your bread and butter amount to when you get it?"

There are thousands of women working to-day with bodies and minds sosteeped in their fatigue that they cannot or will not take an ideaoutside of their rut of work. The rut has grown so deep, and they havesunken in so far that they cannot look over the edge. 

It is true that it is easier to do good hard work in the lines to whichone has been accustomed than to do easy work which is strange. Nerveswill go on in old accustomed habits--even habits of tiresomestrain--more easily than they will be changed into new habits ofworking without strain. 

The mind, too, gets saturated with a sense of fatigue until the fatigueseems normal, and to feel well rested would--at first--seem abnormal. This being a fact, it is a logical result that an habitually tired andstrained mind will indignantly refuse the idea that it can do more workand do it better without the strain. 

There is a sharp corner to be turned to learn to work without strain, when one has had the habit of working with it. After the corner isturned, it requires steady, careful study to understand the new normalhabit of working restfully, and to get the new habit established. 

When once it is established, this normal habit of work develops its ownrequirements, and the working without strain becomes to us an essentialpart of the work itself. 

For taken as a whole, more work is done and the work is done betterwhen we avoid strain than when we do not. What is required to find thisout is common sense and strength of character. 

Character grows with practice; it builds and builds on itself when onceit has a fair start, and a very little intelligence is needed if oncethe will is used to direct the body and mind in the lines of commonsense. 

Intelligence grows, too, as we use it. Everything good in the soulgrows with use; everything bad, destroys. 

Let us make a distinction to begin with between "rest while you work"and "working restfully. "

"Rest while you work" might imply laziness. There is a time for restand there is a time for work. When we work we should work entirely. When we rest we should rest entirely. 

If we try to mix rest and work, we do neither well. That is true. Butif we work restfully, we work then with the greatest amount of powerand the least amount of effort. 

That means more work and work better done after the right habit isestablished than we did before, when the wrong habit was established. The difficulty comes, and the danger of "getting fired, " when we arechanging our habit. 

To obviate that difficulty, we must be content to change our habit moreslowly. Suppose we come home Saturday night all tired out; go to bedand go to sleep, and wake Sunday almost more tired than when we went tobed. On Sunday we do not have to go to work. 

Let us take a little time for the sole purpose of thinking our workover, and trying to find where the unnecessary strain is. 

"But, " I hear some one say, "I am too tired to think. " Now it is ascientific fact that when our brains are all tired out in onedirection, if we use our wills to start them working in anotherdirection, they will get rested. 

"But, " again I hear, "if I think about my work, why isn't that using mybrain in the same direction?" Because in thinking to apply newprinciples to work, of which you have never thought before, you arethinking in a new direction. 

Not only that, but in applying new and true principles to your work youare bringing new life into the work itself. 

On this Sunday morning, when you take an hour to devote yourself to thestudy of how you can work without getting overtired ask yourself thefollowing questions:--

(1) "What do I resist in or about my work?" Find out each thing thatyou do resist, and drop the contractions that come in your body, withthe intention of dropping the resistances in your mind. 

(2) "Do I drop my work at meals and eat quietly?"

(3) "Do I take every opportunity that I can to get fresh air, and takegood, full breaths of it?"

(4) "Do I feel hurried and pushed in my work? Do I realize that nomatter how much of a hurry there may be, I can hurry more effectivelyif I drop the strain of the hurry?"

(5) "How much superfluous strain do I use in my work? Do I work with afeeling of strain? How can I observe better in order to becomeconscious of the strain and drop it?"

These are enough questions for one time! If you concentrate on thesequestions and on finding the answers, and do it diligently, you will besurprised to see how the true answers will come to you, and how muchclearer they will become as you put them into daily practice. 

CHAPTER XII

_Imaginary Vacations_

ONCE a young woman who had very hard work to do day after day and whohad come to where she was chronically strained and tired, turned to hermother just as she was starting for work in the morning, and in a voicetense with fatigue and trouble, said:--

"Mother, I cannot stand it. I cannot stand it. Unless I can get avacation long enough at least to catch my breath, I shall break downaltogether. "

"Why don't you take a vacation today?" asked her mother. The daughtergot a little irritated and snapped out:---

"Why do you say such a foolish thing as that, Mother? You know as wellas I that I could not leave my work to-day. "

"Don't be cross, dear. Stop a minute and let me tell you what I mean. Ihave been thinking about it and I know you will appreciate what I haveto say, and I know you can do it. Now listen. " Whereupon the motherwent on to explain quite graphically a process of pretense--good, wholesome pretense. 

To any one who has no imagination this would not or could not appeal. 

To the young woman of whom I write it not only appealed heartily, butshe tried it and made it work. It was simply that she should play thatshe had commenced her vacation and was going to school to amuse herself. 

As, for instance, she would say to herself, and believe it: "Isn't itgood that I can have a vacation and a rest. What shall I do to get allI can out of it?

"I think I will go and see what they are doing in the grammar school. Maybe when I get there it will amuse me to teach some of the children. It is always interesting to see how children are going to take what yousay to them and to see the different ways in which they recite theirlessons. "

By the time she got to school she was very much cheered. Looking up shesaid to herself: "This must be the building. "

She had been in it every school day for five years past, but throughthe process of her little game it looked quite new and strange now. 

She went in the door and when the children said "good morning, " andsome of them seemed glad to see her, she said to herself: "Why, theyseem to know me; I wonder how that happens?" Occasionally she was somuch amused at her own consistency in keeping up the game that shenearly laughed outright. She heard each class recite as if she wereteaching for the first time. She looked upon each separate child as ifshe had never seen him before and he was interesting to her as a novelstudy. 

She found the schoolroom more cheerful and was surprised intoperceiving a pleasant sort of silent communication that started upbetween her pupils and herself. 

When school was over she put on her hat and coat to go home, with thesense of having done something restful; and when she appeared to hermother, it was with a smiling, cheerful face, which made her motherlaugh outright; and then they both laughed and went out for a walk inthe fresh air, before coming in to go to bed, and be ready to beginagain the next day. 

In the morning the mother felt a little anxious and asked timidly: "Doyou believe you can make it work again today, just as well asyesterday?"

"Yes, indeed and better, " said the daughter. "It is too much fun not togo on with it. "

After breakfast the mother with a little roguish twinkle, said: "Well, what do you think you will do to amuse yourself to-day, Alice?"

"Oh! I think--" and then they both laughed and Alice started off on hersecond day's "vacation. "

By the end of a week she was out of that tired rut and having a verygood time. New ideas had come to her about the school and the children;in fact, from being dead and heavy in her work, she had become alive. 

When she found the old tired state coming on her again, she and hermother always "took a vacation, " and every time avoided the tired rutmore easily. 

If one only has imagination enough, the helpfulness and restfulness ofplaying "take a vacation" will tell equally well in any kind of work. 

You can play at dressmaking--play at millinery--play at keeping shop. You can make a game of any sort of drudgery, and do the work better forit, as well as keep better rested and more healthy yourself. But youmust be steady and persistent and childlike in the way you play yourgame. 

Do not stop in the middle and exclaim, "How silly!"--and then slumpinto the tired state again. 

What I am telling you is nothing more nor less than a good healthyprocess of self-hypnotism. Really, it is more the attitude we taketoward our work that tires us than the work itself. If we could onlylearn that and realize it as a practical fact, it would save a greatdeal of unnecessary suffering and even illness. 

We do not need to play vacation all the time, of course. The game mightget stale then and lose its power. If we play it for two or three days, whenever we get so tired that it seems as if we could not bear it--playit just long enough to lift ourselves out of the rut--then we can "goto work again" until we need another vacation. 

We need not be afraid nor ashamed to bring back that childliketendency--it will be of very great use to our mature minds. 

If we try to play the vacation game, it is wiser to say nothing aboutit. It is not a game that we can be sure of sharing profitably eitherto ourselves or to others. 

If you find it works, and give the secret to a friend, tell her to playit without mentioning it to you, even though she shares your work andis sitting in the next chair to you. 

Another most healthy process of resting while you work is by means oflowering the pressure. 

Suppose you were an engine, whose normal pressure was six hundredpounds, we will say. Make yourself work at a pressure of only threehundred pounds. 

The human engine works with so much more strain than is necessary thatif a woman gets overtired and tries to lighten her work by lighteningthe pressure with which she does it, she will find that really she hasonly thrown off the unnecessary strain, and is not only getting overher fatigue by working restfully, but is doing her work better, too. 

In the process of learning to use less pressure, the work may seem tobe going a little more slowly at first, but we shall find that it willsoon go faster, and better, as time establishes the better habit. 

One thing seems singular; and yet it appeals entirely to our commonsense as we think of it. There never comes a time when we cannot learnto work more effectively at a lower pressure. We never get to where wecannot lessen our pressure and thus increase our power. 

The very interest of using less pressure adds zest to our work, howeverit may have seemed like drudging before, and the possibility of restingwhile we work opens to us much that is new and refreshing, and gives usclearer understanding of how to rest more completely while we rest. 

All kinds of resting, and all kinds of working, can bring more vitalitythan most of us know, until we have learned to rest and to work withoutstrain. 

CHAPTER XIII

_The Woman at the Next Desk_

IT may be the woman sewing in the next chair; it may be the womanstanding next at the same counter; it may be the woman next at aworking table, or it may be the woman at the next desk. 

Whichever one it is, many a working woman has her life made wretched byher, and it would be a strange thing for this miserable woman to hearand a stranger thing--at first--for her to believe that the woman atthe next desk need not trouble her at all. 

That, if she only could realize it, the cause of the irritation whichannoyed her every day and dragged her down so that many and many anight she had been home with a sick headache was entirely and solely inherself and not at all in the woman who worked next to her, howeverdisagreeable that woman may have been. 

Every morning when she wakes the woman at the next desk rises beforeher like a black specter. "Oh, I would not mind the work; I could workall day happily and quietly and go home at night and rest; the workwould be a joy to me compared to this torture of having to live all daynext to that woman. "

It is odd, too, and true, that if the woman at the next desk finds thatshe is annoying our friend, unconsciously she seems to ferret out hermost sensitive places and rub them raw with her sharp, discourteouswords. 

She seems to shirk her own work purposely and to arrange it so that thewoman next her must do the work in her place. Then, having done all inher power to give the woman next her harder labor, she snaps out alittle scornful remark about the mistakes that have been made. 

If she--the woman at the next desk--comes in in the morning feelingtired and irritable herself, she vents her irritability on hercompanion until she has worked it off and goes home at night feelingmuch better herself, while her poor neighbor goes home tired out andweak. 

The woman at the next desk takes pains to let little disagreeable hintsdrop about others--if not directly in their hearing at least in wayswhich she knows may reach them. 

She drops hint to others of what those in higher office have said orappeared to think, which might frighten "others" quite out of theirwits for fear of their being discharged, and then, where should theyget their bread and butter?

All this and more that is frightful and disagreeable and mean may thewoman at the next desk do; or she may be just plain, every-day _ugly. _

Every one knows the trying phases of her own working neighbor. But withall this, and with worse possibilities of harassment than I have eventouched upon, the woman at the next desk is powerless, so far as I amconcerned, if I choose to make her so. 

The reason she troubles me is because I resist her. If she hurts myfeelings, that is the same thing. I resist her, and the resistance, instead of making me angry, makes me sore in my nerves and makes mewant to cry. The way to get independent of her is not to resist her, and the way to learn not to resist her is to make a daily and hourlystudy of dropping all resistances to her. 

This study has another advantage, too; if we once get well started onit, it becomes so interesting that the concentration on this newinterest brings new life in itself. 

Resistance in the mind brings contraction in the body. If, when we findour minds resisting that which is disagreeable in another, we give ourattention at once to finding the resultant contraction in our bodies, and then concentrate our wills on loosening out of the contraction, wecannot help getting an immediate result. 

Even though it is a small result at the beginning, if we persist, results will grow until we, literally, find ourselves free from thewoman at the next desk. 

This woman says a disagreeable thing; we contract to it mind and body. We drop the contraction from our bodies, with the desire to drop itfrom our minds, for loosening the physical tension reacts upon themental strain and relieves it. 

We can say to ourselves quite cheerfully: "I wish she would go aheadand say another disagreeable thing; I should like to try the experimentagain. " She gives you an early opportunity and you try the experimentagain, and again, and then again, until finally your brain gets thehabit of trying the experiment without any voluntary effort on yourpart. 

That habit being established, _you are free from the woman at the nextdesk. _ She cannot irritate you nor wear upon you, no matter how shetries, no matter what she says, or what she does. 

There is, however, this trouble about dropping the contraction. We areapt to have a feeling of what we might call "righteous indignation" atannoyances which are put upon us for no reason; that, so-called, "righteous indignation" takes the form of resistance and makes physicalcontractions. 

It is useless to drop the physical contraction if the indignation isgoing to rise and tighten us all up again. If we drop the physical andmental contractions we must have something good to fill the openchannels that have been made. Therefore let us give our best attentionto our work, and if opportunity offers, do a kindness to the woman atthe next desk. 

Finally, when she finds that her ways do not annoy, she will stop them. She will probably, for a time at first, try harder to be disagreeable, and then after recovering from several surprises at not being able toannoy, she will quiet down and grow less disagreeable. 

If we realize the effect of successive and continued resistance uponourselves and realize at the same time that we can drop or hold thoseresistances as we choose to work to get free from them, or suffer andhold them, then we can appreciate the truth that if the woman at thenext desk continues to annoy us, it is our fault entirely, and not hers. 

CHAPTER XIV

_Telephones and Telephoning_

MOST men--and women--use more nervous force in speaking through thetelephone than would be needed to keep them strong and healthy foryears. 

It is good to note that the more we keep in harmony with natural lawsthe more quiet we are forced to be. 

Nature knows no strain. True science knows no strain. Therefore _astrained high-pitched voice does not carry over the telephone wire aswell as a low one. _

If every woman using the telephone would remember this fact the goodaccomplished would be thricefold. She would save her own nervousenergy. She would save the ears of the woman at the other end of thewire. She would make herself heard. 

Patience, gentleness, firmness--a quiet concentration--all tellimmeasurably over the telephone wire. 

Impatience, rudeness, indecision, and diffuseness blur communication bytelephone even more than they do when one is face to face with theperson talking. 

It is as if the wire itself resented these inhuman phases of humanityand spit back at the person who insulted it by trying to transmit overit such unintelligent bosh. 

There are people who feel that if they do not get an immediate answerat the telephone they have a right to demand and get good service bymeans of an angry telephonic sputter. 

The result of this attempt to scold the telephone girl is often animpulsive, angry response on her part--which she may be sorry for lateron--and if the service is more prompt for that time it reacts later towhat appears to be the same deficiency. 

No one was ever kept steadily up to time by angry scolding. It isagainst reason. 

To a demanding woman who is strained and tired herself, a wait of tenseconds seems ten minutes. I have heard such a woman ring the telephonebell almost without ceasing for fifteen minutes. I could hear herstrain and anger reflected in the ringing of the bell. When finally she"got her party" the strain in her high-pitched voice made it impossiblefor her to be clearly understood. Then she got angry again because"Central" had not "given her a better connection, " and finally cameaway from the telephone nearly in a state of nervous collapse andinsisted that the telephone would finally end her life. I do not thinkshe once suspected that the whole state of fatigue which had almostbrought an illness upon her was absolutely and entirely her own fault. 

The telephone has no more to do with it than the floor has to do with achild's falling and bumping his head. 

The worst of this story is that if any one had told this woman that hertired state was all unnecessary, it would have roused more strain andanger, more fatigue, and more consequent illness. 

Women must begin to find out their own deficiencies before they areready to accept suggestions which can lead to greater freedom and morecommon sense. 

Another place where science and inhuman humanity do not blend is in theangry moving up and down of the telephone hook. 

When the hook is moved quickly and without pause it does not give timefor the light before the telephone girl to flash, therefore she cannotbe reminded that any one is waiting at the other end. 

When the hook is removed with even regularity and a quiet pause betweeneach motion then she can see the light and accelerate her action ingetting "the other party. "

I have seen a man get so impatient at not having an immediate answerthat he rattled the hook up and down so fast and so vehemently as tonearly break it. There is something tremendously funny about this. Theman is in a great hurry to speak to some one at the other end of thetelephone, and yet he takes every means to prevent the operator fromknowing what he wants by rattling his hook. In addition to this hisangry movement of the hook is fast tending to break the telephone, sothat he cannot use it at all. So do we interfere with gaining what weneed by wanting it overmuch!

I do not know that there has yet been formed a telephone etiquette; butfor the use of those who are not well bred by habit it would be usefulto put such laws on the first page of the telephone book. A lack ofconsideration for others is often too evident in telephoniccommunication. 

A woman will ask her maid to get the number of a friend's house for herand ask the friend to come to the telephone, and then keep her friendwaiting while she has time to be called by the maid and to come to thetelephone herself. This method of wasting other people's time is notconfined to women alone. Men are equal offenders, and often greaterones, for the man at the other end is apt to be more immediately busythan a woman under such circumstances. 

To sum up: The telephone may be the means of increasing ourconsideration for others; our quiet, decisive way of getting goodservice; our patience, and, through the low voice placed close to thetransmitter, it may relieve us from nervous strain; for nerves alwaysrelax with the voice. 

Or the telephone may be the means of making us more selfish andself-centered, more undecided and diffuse, more impatient, morestrained and nervous. 

In fact, the telephones may help us toward health or illness. We mighteven say the telephone may lead us toward heaven or toward hell. Wehave our choice of roads in the way we use it. 

It is a blessed convenience and if it proves a curse--we bring thecurse upon our own heads. 

I speak of course only of the public who use the telephone. Those whoserve the public in the use of the telephone must have many trials tomeet, and, I dare say, are not always courteous and patient. Butcertainly there can be no case of lagging or discourtesy on the part ofa telephone operator that is not promptly rectified by a quiet, decidedappeal to the "desk. "

It is invariably the nervous strain and the anger that makes thetrouble. 

There may be one of these days a school for the better use of thetelephone; but such a school never need be established if everyintelligent man and woman will be his and her own school inappreciating and acting upon the power gained if they compel themselvesto go with science--and never allow themselves to go against it. 

CHAPTER XV

_Don't Talk_

THERE is more nervous energy wasted, more nervous strain generated, more real physical harm done by superfluous talking than any one knows, or than any one could possibly believe who had not studied it. I am notconsidering the harm done by what people say. We all know thedisastrous effects that follow a careless or malicious use of thetongue. That is another question. I simply write of the physical powerused up and wasted by mere superfluous words, by using one hundredwords where ten will do--or one thousand words where none at all wereneeded. 

I once had been listening to a friend chatter, chatter, chatter to noend for an hour or more, when the idea occurred to me to tell her of anexperiment I had tried by which my voice came more easily. When I couldget an opportunity to speak, I asked her if she had ever tried taking along breath and speaking as she let the breath out. I had to insist alittle to keep her mind on the suggestion at all, but finallysucceeded. She took a long breath and then stopped. 

There was perhaps for half a minute a blessed silence, and then whatwas my surprise to hear her remark: "I--I--can't think of anything tosay. " "Try it again, " I told her. She took another long breath, andagain gave up because she could not think of anything to say. She didnot like that little game very much, and thought she would not makeanother effort, and in about three minutes she began the chatter, andwent on talking until some necessary interruption parted us. 

This woman's talking was nothing more nor less than a nervous habit. Her thought and her words were not practically connected at all. Shenever said what she thought for she never thought. She never saidanything in answer to what was said to her, for she never listened. 

Nervous talkers never do listen. That is one of their most strikingcharacteristics. 

I knew of two well-known men--both great talkers--who were invited todine. Their host thought, as each man talked a great deal and--, as hethought--talked very well, if they could meet their interchange ofideas would be most delightful. Several days later he met one of hisguests in the street and asked how he liked the friend whom he had metfor the first time at his house. 

"Very pleasant, very pleasant, " the man said, "but he talks too much. "

Not long after this the other guest accosted him unexpectedly in thestreet "For Heaven's sake, don't ask me to dine with that Smithagain--why, I could not get a word in edgewise. "

Now, if only for selfish reasons a man might realize that he needs toabsorb as well as give out, and so could make himself listen in orderto be sure that his neighbor did not get ahead of him. But a conceitedman, a self-centered man or a great talker will seldom or never listen. 

That being the case, what can you expect of a woman who is a nervoustalker? The more tired such a woman is the more she talks; the more illshe is the more she talks. As the habit of nervous talking grows upon awoman it weakens her mind. Indeed, nervous talking is a steadilyweakening process. 

Some women talk to forget. If they only knew it was slow mental suicideand led to worse than death they would be quick to avoid such falseprotection. If we have anything we want to forget we can only forget itby facing it until we have solved the problem that it places before us, and then working on, according to our best light: We can never reallycover a thing up in our minds by talking constantly about somethingelse. 

Many women think they are going to persuade you of their point of viewby talking. A woman comes to you with her head full of an idea andfinds you do not agree with her. She will talk, talk, talk until youare blind and sick and heartily wish you were deaf, in order to proveto you that she is right and you are wrong. 

She talks until you do not care whether you are right or wrong. Youonly care for the blessed relief of silence, and when she has left you, she has done all she could in that space of time to injure her point ofview. She has simply buried anything good that she might have had tosay in a cloud of dusty talk. 

It is funny to hear such a woman say after a long interview, "Well, atany rate, I gave him a good talking to. I guess he will go home andthink about it. "

Think about it, madam? He will go home with an impression of rattle andchatter and push that will make him dread the sight of your face; andstill more dread the sound of your voice, lest he be subjected tofurther interviews. Women sit at work together. One woman talks, talks, talks until her companions are so worn with the constant chatter thatthey have neither head nor nerve enough to do their work well. If theyknow how to let the chatter go on and turn their attention away fromit, so that it makes no impression, they are fortunate indeed, and thepractice is most useful to them. But that does not relieve the strainof the nervous talker herself; she is wearing herself out from day today, and ruining her mind as well as hurting the nerves anddispositions of those about her who do not know how to protectthemselves from her nervous talk. 

Nervous talking is a disease. 

Now the question is how to cure it. It can be cured, but the firstnecessity is for a woman to know she has the disease. For, unlike otherdiseases, the cure does not need a physician, but must be made by thepatient herself. 

First, she must know that she has the disease. Fifty nervous talkersmight read this article, and not one of them recognize that it is aimedstraight at her. 

The only remedy for that is for every woman who reads to believe thatshe is a nervous talker until she has watched herself for a month ormore--without prejudice--and has discovered for a certainty that she isnot. 

Then she is safe. 

But what if she discover to her surprise and chagrin that she is anervous talker? What is the remedy for that? The first thing to do isto own up the truth to herself without equivocation. To make no excusesor explanations but simply to acknowledge the fact. 

Then let her aim straight at the remedy--silence--steady, severe, relaxed silence. Work from day to day and promise herself that for thatday she will say nothing but what is absolutely necessary. She shouldnot repress the words that want to come, but when she takes breath tospeak she must not allow the sentence to come out of her mouth, butmust instead relax all over, as far as it is possible, and take a good, long, quiet breath. The next time she wants to speak, even if sheforgets so far as to get half the sentence out of her mouth, stop it, relax, and take a long breath. 

The mental concentration necessary to cure one's self of nervoustalking will gather together a mind that was gradually becomingdissipated with the nervous talking habit, and so the life and strengthof the mind can be saved. 

And, after that habit has been cured, the habit of quiet thinking willbegin, and what is said will be worth while. 

CHAPTER XVI

_"Why Fuss so Much About What I Eat?"_

I KNOW a woman who insisted that it was impossible for her to eatstrawberries because they did not agree with her. A friend told herthat that was simply a habit of her mind. Once, at a time when herstomach was tired or not in good condition for some other reason, strawberries had not agreed with her, and from that time she had takenit for granted that she could not eat strawberries. When she wasconvinced by her friend that her belief that strawberries did not agreewith her was merely in her own idea, and not actually true, she boldlyate a plate of strawberries. That night she woke with indigestion, andthe next morning she said "You see, I told you they would not agreewith me. "

But her friend answered: "Why, of course you could not expect them toagree right away, could you? Now try eating them again to-day. "

This little lady was intelligent enough to want the strawberries toagree with her and to be willing to do her part to adjust herself tothem, so she tried again and ate them the next day; and now she can eatthem every day right through the strawberry season and is all thebetter for it. 

This is the fact that we want to understand thoroughly and to look outfor. If we are impressed with the idea that any one food does not agreewith us, whenever we think of that food we contract, and especially ourstomachs contract. Now if our stomachs contract when a food that webelieve to disagree with us is merely mentioned, of course they wouldcontract all the more when we ate it. Naturally our digestive organswould be handicapped by the contraction which came from our attitude ofmind and, of course, the food would appear not to agree with us. 

Take, for instance, people who are born with peculiar prenatalimpressions about their food. A woman whom I have in mind could nottake milk nor cream nor butter nor anything with milk or cream orbutter in it. She seemed really proud of her milk-and-cream antipathy. She would air it upon all occasions, when she could do so without beingpositively discourteous, and often she came very near the edge ofdiscourtesy. I never saw her even appear to make an effort to overcomeit, and it is perfectly true that a prenatal impression like that canbe overcome as entirely, as can a personally acquired impression, although it may take a longer time and a more persistent effort. 

This anti-milk-and-cream lady was at work every day over-emphasizingher milk-and-cream contractions; whereas if she had put the same forceinto dropping the milk-and-cream contraction she would have been usingher will to great advantage, and would have helped herself in manyother ways as well as in gaining the ability to take normally a veryhealthful food. We cannot hold one contraction without having itsinfluence draw us into many others. We cannot give our attention todropping one contraction without having the influence of that oneeffort expand us in many other ways. Watch people when they refuse foodthat is passed them at table; you can see whether they refuse and atthe same time contract against the food, or whether they refuse with nocontraction at all. I have seen an expression of mild loathing on somewomen's faces when food was passed which "did not agree with them, " butthey were quite unconscious that their expressions had betrayed them. 

Now, it is another fact that the contraction of the stomach at one formof food will interfere with the good digestion of another form. Whencauliflower has been passed to us and we contract against it how can weexpect our stomachs to recover from that contraction in time to digestperfectly the next vegetable which is passed and which we may like verymuch? It may be said that we expand to the vegetable we like, and thatimmediately counteracts the former contraction to the vegetable whichwe do not like. That is true only to a certain extent, for the tendencyto cauliflower contraction is there in the back of our brainsinfluencing our stomachs all the time, until we have actually used ourwills consciously to drop it. 

Edwin Booth used to be troubled very much with indigestion; he sufferedkeenly from it. One day he went to dine with some intimate friends, andbefore the dinner began his hostess said with a very smiling face:"Now, Mr. Booth, I have been especially careful with this dinner not tohave one thing that you cannot digest. "

The host echoed her with a hearty "Yes, Mr. Booth, everything that willcome to the table is good for your digestion. "

The words made a very happy impression on Mr. Booth. First there wasthe kind, sympathetic friendliness of his hosts; and then the strongsuggestion they had given him that their food would agree with him. Then there was very happy and interesting talk during the whole timethat they were at table and afterward. Mr. . Booth ate a hearty dinnerand, true to the words of his host and hostess, not one single thingdisagreed with him. And yet at that dinner, although care had beentaken to have it wholesome, there were served things that under otherconditions would have disagreed. 

While we should aim always to eat wholesome food, it is really not somuch the food which makes the trouble as the attitude we take toward itand the way we test it. 

All the contractions which are made by our fussing about food interferewith our circulation; the interference with our circulation makes usliable to take cold, and it is safe to say that more than half thecolds that women have are caused principally by wrong eating. Somewhatakin to grandmother's looking for her spectacles when all the time theyare pushed to the top of her head is the way women fuss about theireating and then wonder why it is that they cannot seem to stand drafts. 

There is no doubt but that our food should be thoroughly masticatedbefore it goes into our stomachs. There is no doubt but that the firstprocess of digestion should be in our mouths. The relish which we getfor our food by masticating it properly is greater and also helpstoward digesting it truly. All this cannot be over-emphasized if it istaken in the right way. But there is an extreme which perhaps has notbeen thought of and for which happily I have an example that willillustrate what I want to prove. I know a woman who was, so to speak, daft on the subject of health. She attended to all points of healthwith such minute detail that she seemed to have lost all idea of why weshould be healthy. One of her ways of over-emphasizing the road tohealth was a very careful mastication of her food. She chewed andchewed and chewed and chewed, and the result was that she so strainedher stomach with her chewing that she brought on severe indigestion, simply as a result of an overactive effort toward digestion. This wascertainly a case of "vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, andfalls on the other. " And it was not unique. 

The over-emphasis of "What shall I eat? How much shall I eat? How oftenshall I eat? When shall I eat? How shall I eat?"--all extreme attentionto these questions is just as liable to bring chronic indigestion as areckless neglect of them altogether is liable to upset a good, strongstomach and keep it upset. The woman who chewed herself intoindigestion fussed herself into it, too, by constantly talking aboutwhat was not healthful to eat. Her breakfast, which she took alone, wasfor a time the dryest-looking meal I ever saw. It was enough to takeaway any one's healthy relish just to look at it, if he was notforewarned. 

Now our relish is one of our most blessed gifts. When we relish ourfood our stomachs can digest it wholesomely. When we do not ourstomachs will not produce the secretions necessary to the mostwholesome digestion. Constant fussing about our food takes away ourrelish. A gluttonous dwelling upon our food takes away our relish. Relish is a delicate gift, and as we respect it truly, as we do notdegrade it to selfish ends nor kill it with selfish fastidiousness, itgrows upon us and is in its place like any other fine perception, andis as greatly useful to the health of our bodies as our keener anddeeper perceptions are useful to the health of our minds. 

Then there is the question of being sure that our stomachs are wellrested before we give them any work to do, and being sure that we arequiet enough after eating to give our stomachs the best opportunity tobegin their work. Here again one extreme is just as harmful as theother. I knew a woman who had what might be called the fixed idea ofhealth, who always used to sit bolt upright in a high-backed chair forhalf an hour after dinner, and refuse to speak or to be spoken to inorder that "digestion might start in properly. " If I had been herstomach I should have said: "Madam, when you have got through giving meyour especial attention I will begin my work--which, by the way, is notyour work but mine!" And, virtually, that is what her stomach did say. Sitting bolt upright and consciously waiting for your food to begindigestion is an over-attention to what is none of your business, whichcontracts your brain, contracts your stomach and stops its work. 

Our business is only to fulfill the conditions rightly. The Frenchworkmen do that when they sit quietly after a meal talking of theirvarious interests. Any one can fulfill the conditions properly bykeeping a little quiet, having some pleasant chat, reading a brightstory or taking life easy in any quiet way for half an hour. Or, ifwork must begin directly after eating, begin it quietly. But thisfeeling that it is our business to attend to the working functions ofour stomachs is officious and harmful. We must fulfill the conditionsand then forget our stomachs. If our stomachs remind us of themselvesby some misbehavior we must seek for the cause and remedy it, but weshould not on any account feel that the cause is necessarily in thefood we have eaten. It may be, and probably often is, entirely back ofthat. A quick, sharp resistance to something that is said will oftencause indigestion. In that case we must stop resisting and not blamethe food. A dog was once made to swallow a little bullet with his foodand then an X-ray was thrown on to his stomach in order that theprocess of digestion might be watched by means of the bullet. When thedog was made angry the bullet stopped, which meant that the digestionstopped; when the dog was over-excited in any way digestion stopped. When he was calmed down it went on again. 

There are many reasons why we should learn to meet life without uselessresistance, and the health of our stomachs is not the least. 

It would surprise most people if they could know how much unnecessarystrain they put on their stomachs by eating too much. A nervous invalidhad a very large appetite. She was helped twice, sometimes three times, to meat and vegetables at dinner. She thought that what she deemed hervery healthy appetite was a great blessing to her, and often remarkedupon it, as also upon her idea that so much good, nourishing food mustbe helping to make her well. And yet she wondered why she did not gainfaster. 

Now the truth of the matter was that this invalid had a nervousappetite. Not only did she not need one third of the food she ate, butindeed the other two thirds was doing her positive harm. The tax whichshe put upon her stomach to digest so much food drained her nervesevery day, and of course robbed her brain, so that she ate and ate andwept and wept with nervous depression. When it was suggested to her bya friend who understood nerves that she would get better very muchfaster if she would eat very much less she made a rule to take only onehelping of anything, no matter how much she might feel that she wantedanother. Very soon she began to gain enough to see for herself that shehad been keeping herself ill with overeating, and it was not many daysbefore she did not want a second helping. 

Nervous appetites are not uncommon even among women who considerthemselves pretty well. Probably there are not five in a hundred amongall the well-fed men and women in this country who would not be morehealthy if they ate less. 

Then there are food notions to be looked out for and out of which anyone can relax by giving a little intelligent attention to the task. 

"I do not like eggs. I am tired of them. " "Dear, dear me! I ate so muchice cream that it made me ill, and it has made me ill to think of itever since. "

Relax, drop the contraction, pretend you had never tasted ice creambefore, and try to eat a little--not for the sake of the ice cream, butfor the sake of getting that knot out of your stomach. 

"But, " you will say, "can every one eat everything?"

"Yes, " the answer is, "everything that is really good, wholesome foodis all right for anybody to eat. "

But you say: "Won't you allow for difference of tastes?"

And the answer to that is: "Of course we can like some foods more thanothers, but there is a radical difference between unprejudicedpreferences and prejudiced dislikes. "

Our stomachs are all right if we will but fulfill their most simpleconditions and then leave them alone. If we treat them right they willtell us what is good for them and what is not good for them, and if wewill only pay attention, obey them as a matter of course withoutcomment and then forget them, there need be no more fuss about food andvery much less nervous irritability. 

CHAPTER XVII

_Take Care of Your Stomach_

WE all know that we have a great deal to do. Some of us have to workall day to earn our bread and butter and then work a good part of thenight to make our clothes. Some of us have to stand all day behind acounter. Some of us have to sit all day and sew for others, and allnight to sew for ourselves and our children. Most of us have to do workthat is necessary or work that is self-imposed. Many of us feel busywithout really being busy at all. But how many of us realize that whilewe are doing work outside, our bodies themselves have good, steady workto do inside. 

Our lungs have to take oxygen from the air and give it to our blood;our blood has to carry it all through our bodies and take away thewaste by means of the steady pumping of our hearts. Our stomachs mustdigest the food put into them, give the nourishment in it to the blood, and see that the waste is cast off. 

All this work is wholesome and good, and goes on steadily, giving ushealth and strength and new power; but if we, through mismanagement, make heart or lungs or stomach work harder than they should, then theymust rob us of power to accomplish what we give them to do, and weblame them, instead of blaming ourselves for being hard and unjusttaskmasters. 

The strain in a stomach necessary to the digesting of too much food, orthe wrong kind of food, makes itself felt in strain all through thewhole system. 

I knew a woman whose conscience was troubling her very greatly. She wassure she had done many very selfish things for which there was noexcuse, and that she herself was greatly to blame for other people'stroubles. This was a very acute attack of conscience, accompanied by avery severe stomach ache. The doctor was called in and gave her anemetic. She threw a large amount of undigested food from her stomach, and after that relief the weight on her conscience was lifted entirelyand she had nothing more to blame herself with than any ordinary, wholesome woman must have to look out for every day of her life. 

This is a true story and should be practically useful to readers whoneed it. This woman's stomach had been given too much to do. It workedhard to do its work well, and had to rob the brain and nervous systemin the effort. This effort brought strain to the whole brain, which wasmade evident in the region of the conscience. It might have come out insome other form. It might have appeared in irritability. It might evenhave shown itself in downright ugliness. 

Whatever the effects are, whether exaggerated conscience, exaggeratedanxiety, or irritability, the immediate cause of the trouble in suchcases as I refer to is in the fact that the stomach has been given toomuch to do. 

We give the stomach too much to do if we put a great deal of food intoit when it is tired. We give it too much to do if we put into it thewrong kind of food. We give it too much to do if we insist upon workinghard ourselves, either with body or brain, directly after a hearty meal. 

No matter how busy we are we can protect our stomachs against each andall of these three causes of trouble. 

If a woman is very tired her stomach must necessarily be very tiredalso. If she can remember that at such times even though she may bevery hungry, her body is better nourished if she takes slowly a cup ofhot milk, and waits until she is more rested before taking solid food, than if she ate a hearty meal. It will save a strain, and perhapseventually severe illness. 

If it is possible to rest and do absolutely nothing for half an hourbefore a meal, and for half an hour after that insures the best workfor our digestion. If one is pretty well, and cannot spare the halfhour, ten or fifteen minutes will do, unless there is a great deal offatigue to be conquered. 

If it is necessary to work right up to mealtime, let up a little beforestopping. As the time for dinner approaches do not work quite so hard;the work will not lose; in the end it will gain--and when you beginwork again begin lightly, and get into the thick of it gradually. Thatgives your stomach a good chance. 

If possible get a long rest before the last meal, and if your day isvery busy, it is better to have the heartiest meal at the end of it, totake a good rest afterward and then a walk in the fresh air, which maybe long or short, according to what other work you have to do oraccording to how tired you are. 

I know many women will say: "But I am tired all the time; if I waitedto rest before I ate, I should starve. "

The answer to that is "protect your stomach as well as you can. If youcannot rest before and after each meal try to arrange some way by whichyou can get rid of a little fatigue. "

If you do this with attention and interest you will find gradually thatyou are less tired all the time, and as you keep on steadily toward theright path, you may be surprised some day to discover that you are onlytired half the time, and perhaps even reach the place where the tiredfeeling will be the exception. 

It takes a good while to get our misused stomachs into wholesome ways, but if we are persistent and intelligent we can surely do it, and therelief to the overstrained stomach--as I have said--means relief to thewhole body. 

Resting before and after meals amounts to very little, however, if weeat food that is not nourishing. 

Some people are so far out of the normal way of eating that they havelost a wholesome sense of what is good for them, and live in a chronicstate of disordered stomach, which means a chronic state of disorderednerves and disposition. If such persons could for one minute literallyexperience the freedom of a woman whose body was truly and thoroughlynourished, the contrast from the abnormal to the normal would make themdizzy. If, however, they stayed in the normal place long enough to getover the dizziness, the freedom of health would be so great a delightthat food that was not nourishing would be nauseous to them. 

Most of us are near enough the normal to know the food that is best forus, through experience of suffering from food which is not best for us, as well as through good natural instinct. 

If we would learn from the normal working of the involuntary action ofour organs, it might help us greatly toward working more wholesomely inall our voluntary actions. 

If every woman who reads this article would study not to interfere withthe most healthy action of her own stomach, her reward after a fewweeks' persistent care would be not only a greater power for work, buta greater power for good, healthy, recuperative rest. 

CHAPTER XVIII

_About Faces_

WATCH the faces as you walk along the street! If you get the habit ofnoticing, your observations will grow keener. It is surprising to seehow seldom we find a really quiet face. I do not mean that there shouldbe no lines in the face. We are here in this world at school and wecannot have any real schooling unless we have real experiences. Wecannot have real experiences without suffering, and suffering whichcomes from the discipline of life and results in character leaves linesin our faces. It is the lines made by unnecessary strain to which Irefer. 

Strange to say the unquiet faces come mostly from shallow feeling. Usually the deeper the feeling the less strain there is on the face. Aface may look troubled, it may be full of pain, without a touch of thatstrain which comes from shallow worry or excitement. 

The strained expression takes character out of the face, it weakens it, and certainly it detracts greatly from whatever natural beauty theremay have been to begin with. The expression which comes from pain orany suffering well borne gives character to the face and adds to itsreal beauty as well as its strength. 

To remove the strained expression we must remove the strain behind;therefore the hardest work we have to do is below the surface. Thesurface work is comparatively easy. 

I know a woman whose face is quiet and placid. The lines are reallybeautiful, but they are always the same. This woman used to watchherself in the glass until she had her face as quiet and free fromlines as she could get it--she used even to arrange the corners of hermouth with her fingers until they had just the right droop. 

Then she observed carefully how her face felt with that placidexpression and studied to keep it always with that feeling, until byand by her features were fixed and now the placid face is always there, for she has established in her brain an automatic vigilance over itthat will not allow the muscles once to get "out of drawing. "

What kind of an old woman this acquaintance of mine will make I do notknow. I am curious to see her--but now she certainly is a mostremarkable hypocrite. The strain in behind the mask of a face which shehas made for herself must be something frightful. And indeed I believeit is, for she is ill most of the time--and what could keep one innervous illness more entirely than this deep interior strain which isnecessary to such external appearance of placidity. 

There comes to my mind at once a very comical illustration of somethingquite akin to this although at first thought it seems almost thereverse. A woman who constantly talked of the preeminency of mind overmatter, and the impossibility of being moved by external circumstancesto any one who believed as she did--this woman I saw very angry. 

She was sitting with her face drawn in a hundred cross lines and allaskew with her anger. She had been spouting and sputtering what shecalled her righteous indignation for some minutes, when after a briefpause and with the angry expression still on her face she exclaimed:"Well, I don't care, it's all peace within. "

I doubt if my masked lady would ever have declared to herself or to anyone else that "it was all peace within. " The angry woman was--withoutdoubt--the deeper hypocrite, but the masked woman had become rigid inher hypocrisy. I do not know which was the weaker of the two, probablythe one who was deceiving herself. 

But to return to those drawn, strained lines we see on the people aboutus. They do not come from hard work or deep thought. They come fromunnecessary contractions about the work. If we use our willsconsistently and steadily to drop such contractions, the result is amore quiet and restful way of living, and so quieter and moreattractive faces. 

This unquietness comes especially in the eyes. It is a rare thing tosee a really quiet eye; and very pleasant and beautiful it is when wedo see it. And the more we see and observe the unquiet eyes and theunquiet faces the better worth while it seems to work to have ours morequiet, but not to put on a mask, or be in any other way a hypocrite. 

The exercise described in a previous chapter will help to bring a quietface. We must drop our heads with a sense of letting every strain goout of our faces, and then let our heads carry our bodies down as faras possible, dropping strain all the time, and while rising slowly wemust take the same care to drop all strain. 

In taking the long breath, we must inhale without effort, and exhale soeasily that it seems as if the breath went out of itself, like theballoons that children blow up and then watch them shrink as the airleaves them. 

Five minutes a day is very little time to spend to get a quiet face, but just that five minutes--if followed consistently--will make us somuch more sensitive to the unquiet that we will sooner or later turnaway from it as by a natural instinct. 

CHAPTER XIX

_About Voices_

I KNEW an old German--a wonderful teacher of the speaking voice--whosaid "the ancients believed that the soul of the man is here"--pointingto the pit of his stomach. "I do not know, " and he shrugged hisshoulders with expressive interest, "it may be and it may not be--but Iknow the soul of the voice is here--and you Americans--you squeeze thelife out of the word in your throat and it is born dead. "

That old artist spoke the truth--we Americans--most of us--do squeezethe life out of our words and they are born dead. We squeeze the lifeout by the strain which runs all through us and reflects itselfespecially in our voices. Our throats are tense and closed; ourstomachs are tense and strained; with many of us the word is deadbefore it is born. 

Watch people talking in a very noisy place; hear how they scream at thetop of their lungs to get above the noise. Think of the amount ofnervous force they use in their efforts to be heard. 

Now really when we are in the midst of a great noise and want to beheard, what we have to do is to pitch our voices on a different keyfrom the noise about us. We can be heard as well, and better, if wepitch our voices on a lower key than if we pitch them on a higher key;and to pitch your voice on a low key requires very much less effortthan to strain to a high one. 

I can imagine talking with some one for half an hour in a noisyfactory--for instance--and being more rested at the end of the halfhour than at the beginning. Because to pitch your voice low you mustdrop some superfluous tension and dropping superfluous tension isalways restful. 

I beg any or all of my readers to try this experiment the next timethey have to talk with a friend in a noisy street. At first the habitof screaming above the noise of the wheels is strong on us and it seemsimpossible that we should be heard if we speak below it. It isdifficult to pitch our voices low and keep them there. But if wepersist until we have formed a new habit, the change is delightful. 

There is one other difficulty in the way; whoever is listening to usmay be in the habit of hearing a voice at high tension and so find itdifficult at first to adjust his ear to the lower voice and will inconsequence insist that the lower tone cannot be heard as easily. 

It seems curious that our ears can be so much engaged in expectingscreaming that they cannot without a positive effort of the mindreadjust in order to listen to a lower tone. But it is so. And, therefore, we must remember that to be thoroughly successful inspeaking intelligently below the noise we must beg our listeners tochange the habit of their ears as we ourselves must change the pitch ofour voices. 

The result both to speaker and listener is worth the effort ten timesover. 

As we habitually lower the pitch of our voices our words ceasegradually to be "born dead. " With a low-pitched voice everythingpertaining to the voice is more open and flexible and can react moreimmediately to whatever may be in our minds to express. 

Moreover, the voice itself may react back again upon our dispositions. If a woman gets excited in an argument, especially if she loses hertemper, her voice will be raised higher and higher until it reachesalmost a shriek. And to hear two women "argue" sometimes it may betruly said that we are listening to a "caterwauling. " That is the onlyword that will describe it. 

But if one of these women is sensitive enough to know she is beginningto strain in her argument and will lower her voice and persist inkeeping it lowered the effect upon herself and the other woman will putthe "caterwauling" out of the question. 

"Caterwauling" is an ugly word. It describes an ugly sound. If you haveever found yourself in the past aiding and abetting such an ugly soundin argument with another--say to yourself "caterwauling, ""caterwauling, " "I have been 'caterwauling' with Jane Smith, or MariaJones, " or whoever it may be, and that will bring out in such clearrelief the ugliness of the word and the sound that you will turnearnestly toward a more quiet way of speaking. 

The next time you start on the strain of an argument and your voicebegins to go up, up, up--something will whisper in your ear"caterwauling" and you will at once, in self-defense, lower your voiceor stop speaking altogether. 

It is good to call ugly things by their ugliest names. It helps us tosee them in their true light and makes us more earnest in our effortsto get away from them altogether. 

I was once a guest at a large reception and the noise of talking seemedto be a roar, when suddenly an elderly man got up on a chair and called"silence, " and having obtained silence he said, "it has been suggestedthat every one in this room should speak in a lower tone of voice. "

The response was immediate. Every one went on talking with the sameinterest only in a lower tone of voice with a result that was bothdelightful and soothing. 

I say every one--there were perhaps half a dozen whom I observed wholooked and I have no doubt said "how impudent. " So it was "impudent" ifyou chose to take it so--but most of the people did not choose to takeit so and so brought a more quiet atmosphere and a happy change of tone. 

Theophile Gautier said that the voice was nearer the soul than anyother expressive part of us. It is certainly a very striking indicatorof the state of the soul. If we accustom ourselves to listen to thevoices of those about us we detect more and more clearly variousqualities of the man or the woman in the voice, and if we growsensitive to the strain in our own voices and drop it at once when itis perceived, we feel a proportionate gain. 

I knew of a blind doctor who habitually told character by the tone ofthe voice, and men and women often went to him to have their charactersdescribed as one would go to a palmist. 

Once a woman spoke to him earnestly for that purpose and he replied, "Madam, your voice has been so much cultivated that there is nothing ofyou in it--I cannot tell your real character at all. " The only way tocultivate a voice is to open it to its best possibilities--not to teachits owner to pose or to imitate a beautiful tone until it has acquiredthe beautiful tone habit. Such tones are always artificial and theunreality in them can be easily detected by a quick ear. 

Most great singers are arrant hypocrites. There is nothing ofthemselves in their tone. The trouble is to have a really beautifulvoice one must have a really beautiful soul behind it. 

If you drop the tension of your voice in an argument for the sake ofgetting a clearer mind and meeting your opponent without resistance, your voice helps your mind and your mind helps your voice. 

They act and react upon one another with mutual benefit. If you loweryour voice in general for the sake of being more quiet, and so moreagreeable and useful to those about you, then again the mental or moraleffort and the physical effort help one another. 

It adds greatly to a woman's attraction and to her use to have a low, quiet voice--and if any reader is persisting in the effort to get fiveminutes absolute quiet in every day let her finish the exercise bysaying something in a quiet, restful tone of voice. 

It will make her more sensitive to her unrestful tones outside, and sohelp her to improve them. 

CHAPTER XX

_About Frights_

HERE are two true stories and a remarkable contrast. A nerve specialistwas called to see a young girl who had had nervous prostration for twoyears. The physician was told before seeing the patient that theillness had started through fright occasioned by the patient's wakingand discovering a burglar in her room. 

Almost the moment the doctor entered the sick room, he was accostedwith: "Doctor, do you know what made me ill? It was frightful. " Thenfollowed a minute description of her sudden awakening and seeing theman at her bureau drawers. 

This story had been lived over and over by the young girl and herfriends for two years, until the strain in her brain caused by therepetition of the impression of fright was so intense that no skill nortact seemed able to remove it. She simply would not let it go, and shenever got really well. 

Now, see the contrast. Another young woman had a similar burglarexperience, and for several nights after she woke with a start at thesame hour. For the first two or three nights she lay and shivered untilshe shivered herself to sleep. 

Then she noticed how tightened up she was in every muscle when shewoke, and she bethought herself that she would put her mind on relaxingher muscles and getting rid of the tension in her nerves. She did thispersistently, so that when she woke with the burglar fright it was atonce a reminder to relax. 

After a little she got the impression that she woke in order to relaxand it was only a very little while before she succeeded so well thatshe did not wake until it was time to get up in the morning. 

The burglar impression not only left her entirely, but left her withthe habit of dropping all contractions before she went to sleep, andher nerves are stronger and more normal in consequence. 

The two girls had each a very sensitive, nervous temperament, and thecontrast in their behavior was simply a matter of intelligence. 

This same nerve specialist received a patient once who was positivelyblatant in her complaint of a nervous shock. "Doctor, I have had ahorrible nervous shock. It was horrible. I do not see how I can everget over it. "

Then she told it and brought the horrors out in weird, over-vividcolors. It was horrible, but she was increasing the horrors by the wayin which she dwelt on it. 

Finally, when she paused long enough to give the doctor an opportunityto speak, he said, very quietly: "Madam, will you kindly say to me, asgently as you can, 'I have had a severe nervous shock. '" She looked athim without a gleam of understanding and repeated the words quietly: "Ihave had a severe nervous shock. "

In spite of herself she felt the contrast in her own brain. Thehabitual blatancy was slightly checked. The doctor then tried toimpress upon her the fact that she was constantly increasing the strainof the shock by the way she spoke of it and the way she thought of it, and that she was really keeping herself ill. 

Gradually, as she learned to relax the nervous tension caused by theshock, a true intelligence about it all dawned upon her; the over-vividcolors faded, and she got well. She was surprised herself at therapidity with which she got well, but she seemed to understand theprocess and to be moderately grateful for it. 

If she had had a more sensitive temperament she would have appreciatedit all the more keenly; but if she had had a more sensitive temperamentshe would not have been blatant about her shock. 

CHAPTER XXI

_Contrariness_

I KNOW a woman who says that if she wants to get her father's consentto anything, she not only appears not to care whether he consents ornot, but pretends that her wishes are exactly opposite to what theyreally are. She says it never fails; the decision has always been madein opposition to her expressed desires, and according to her realwishes. In other words, she has learned how to manage her father. 

This example is not unique. Many of us see friends managing otherfriends in that same way. The only thing which can interfere with suchastute management is the difficulty that a man may have in concealinghis own will in order to accomplish what he desires. Wilfulness is suchan impulsive quantity that it will rush ahead in spite of us and spoileverything when we feel that there is danger of our not getting our ownway. Or, if we have succeeded in getting our own way by what might becalled the "contrary method, " we may be led into an expression ofsatisfaction which will throw light on the falseness of our previousattitude and destroy the confidence of the friend whom we weretactfully influencing. 

To work the "contrary method" to perfection requires a careful controlup to the finish and beyond it. In order never to be found out, we haveto be so consistent in our behavior that we gradually get trained intonothing but a common every-day hypocrite, and the process which goes onbehind hypocrisy must necessarily be a process of decay. Beside that, the keenest hypocrite that ever lived can only deceive others up to acertain limit. 

But what is one to do when a friend can only be reached by the"contrary method"? What is one to do when if, for instance, you want afriend to read a book, you know that the way to prevent his reading itis to mention your desire? If you want a friend to see a play and in aforgetful mood mention the fact that you feel sure the play woulddelight him, you know as soon as the words are out of your mouth youhave put the chance of his seeing the play entirely out of thequestion? What is one to do when something needs mending in the house, and you know that to mention the need to the man of the house would beto delay the repair just so much longer? How are our contrary-mindedfriends to be met if we cannot pretend we do not want what we do wantin order to get their cooperation and consent?

No one could deliberately plan to be a hypocrite understanding what ahypocrite really is. A hypocrite is a sham--a sham has nothing solid tostand on. No one really respects a sham, and the most intelligent, themost tactful hypocrite that ever lived is nothing but a sham, --_false_and a sham!

Beside, no one can manage another by the process of sham and hypocrisywithout sooner or later being found out, and when he is found out, allhis power is gone. 

The trouble with the contrary-minded is they have an established habitof resistance. Sometimes the habit is entirely inherited, and has neverbeen seen or acknowledged. Sometimes it has an inherited foundation, with a cultivated superstructure. 

Either way it is a problem for those who have to deal with it, --untilthey understand. The "contrary method" does not solve the problem; itis only a makeshift; it never does any real work, or accomplishes anyreal end. It is not even lastingly intelligent. 

The first necessity in dealing truly with these people is _not to beafraid of their resistances. _ The second necessity, which is so nearthe first that the two really belong side by side, is _never to meettheir resistances with resistances of our own. _

If we combat another man's resistance, it only increases his tension. No matter how wrong he may be, and how right we are, meeting resistancewith resistance only breeds trouble. Two minds can act and react uponone another in that way until they come to a lock which not only makeslasting enemies of those who should have been and could be alwaysfriends, but the contention locks up strain in each man's brain whichcan never be removed without pain, and a new awakening to the commonsense of human intercourse. 

If we want a friend to read a book, to go a journey, or to do somethingwhich is more important for his own good than either, and we know thatto suggest our desire would be to rouse his resistance, the only way isto catch him in the best mood we can, say what we have to say, give ourown preference, and at the same time feel and express a willingness tobe refused. Every man is a free agent, and we have no right not torespect his freedom, even if he uses that freedom to stand in his ownlight or in ours. If he is standing in our light and refuses to move, we can move out of his shadow, even though we may have to give up ourmost cherished desire in order to do so. 

If he is standing in his own light, and refuses to move, we can suggestor advise and do whatever in us lies to make the common sense of ouropinion clear; but if he still persists in standing in his own light, it is his business, not ours. 

It requires the cultivation of a strong will to put a request before afriend which we know will be resisted, and to yield to that resistanceso that it meets no antagonism in us. But when it is done, and donethoroughly, consistently, and intelligently, the other man's resistancereacts back upon himself, and he finds himself out as he never could inany other way. Having found himself out, unless his mulishness isalmost past sanity, he begins to reject his habit of resistance of hisown accord. 

In dealing with the contrary minded, the "contrary method" works solong as it is not discovered; and the danger of its being discovered isalways imminent. The upright, direct method is according to thehonorable laws of human intercourse, and brings always better resultsin the end, even though there may be some immediate failures in theprocess. 

To adjust ourselves rightly to another nature and go with it to a goodend, along the lines of least resistance, is of course the best meansof a real acquaintance, but to allow ourselves to manage a fellow-beingis an indignity to the man and worse than an indignity to the mind whois willing to do the managing. 

Our humanity is in our freedom. Our freedom is in our humanity. Whenone, man tries to manage another, he is putting that other in theattitude of a beast. The man who is allowing himself to be managed isclassing himself with the beasts. 

Although this is a fact so evident on the base of it that it needsneither explanation nor enlargement, there is hardly a day passes thatsome one does not say to some one, "You cannot manage me in that way, "and the answer should be, "Why should you want to be managed in anyway; and why should I want to insult you by trying to manage you atall?"

The girl and her father might have been intelligent friends by thistime, if the practice of the "contrary method" had not tainted the girlwith habitual hypocrisy, and cultivated in the father the warped mindwhich results from the habit of resistance, and blind weakness whichcomes from the false idea that he is always having his own way. 

If we want an open brain and a good, freely working nervous system, wemust respect our own freedom and the freedom of other people, --for onlyas individuals stand alone can they really influence one another to anygood end. 

It is curious to see how the men of habitual resistance pridethemselves on being in bondage to no one, not knowing that the fear ofsuch bondage is what makes them resist, and the fear of beinginfluenced by another is one of the most painful forms of bondage inwhich a man can be. 

The men who are slaves to this fear do not stop even to consider thequestion. They resist and refuse a request at once, for fear thatpausing for consideration would open them to the danger of appearing toyield to the will of another. 

When we are quite as willing to yield to another as to refuse him, thenwe are free, and can give any question that is placed before usintelligent consideration, and decide according to our best judgment. No amount of willfulness can force a man to any action or attitude ofmind if he is willing to yield to the willful pressure if it seems tohim best. 

The worse bondage of man to man is the bondage of fear. 

CHAPTER XXII

_How to Sew Easily_

IT is a common saying that we should let our heads save our heels, butfew of us know the depth of it or the freedom and health that can comefrom obedience to it. 

For one thing we get into ruts. If a woman grows tired sewing she takesit for granted that she must always be tired. Sometimes she frets andcomplains, which only adds to her fatigue. 

Sometimes she goes on living in a dogged state of overtiredness untilthere comes a "last straw" which brings on some organic disease, andstill another "straw" which kills her altogether. 

We, none of us, seem to realize that our heads can save not only ourheels, but our hearts, and our lungs, our spines and our brains--indeedour whole nervous systems. 

Men and women sometimes seem to prefer to go on working--chronicallytired--getting no joy from life whatever, rather than to take thetrouble to think enough to gain the habit of working restfully. 

Sometimes, to be sure, they are so tired that the little extra exertionof the brain required to learn to get rid of the fatigue seems too muchfor them. 

It seems easier to work in a rut of strain and discomfort than to makethe effort to get out of the rut--even though they know that by doingso they will not only be better themselves, but will do their workbetter. 

Now really the action of the brain which is needed to help one to workrestfully is quite distinct from the action which does the work, and alittle effort of the brain in a new direction rests and refreshes thepart of the brain which is drudging along day after day, and not onlythat, but when one has gained the habit of working more easily life ishappier and more worth while. If once we could become convinced of thatfact it would be a simple matter for the head to learn to save theheels and for the whole body to be more vigorous in consequence. 

Take sewing, for instance: If a woman must sew all day long withoutcessation and she can appreciate that ten or fifteen minutes taken outof the day once in the morning and once in the afternoon is going tosave fatigue and help her to do her sewing better, doesn't it seemsimply a lack of common sense if she is not willing to take that halfhour and use it for its right purpose? Or, if she is employed withothers, is it not a lack of common sense combined with cruelty in heremployer if he will not permit the use of fifteen minutes twice a dayto help his employees to do their work better and to keep more healthyin the process of working?

It seems to me that all most of us need is to have our attention drawnto the facts in such cases as this and then we shall be willing andanxious to correct the mistakes. 

First, we do not know, and, secondly, we do not think, intelligently. It is within our reach to do both. 

Let me put the facts about healthy sewing in numerical order:--

First--A woman should never sew nor be allowed to sew in bad air. Themore or less cramped attitude of the chest in sewing makes itespecially necessary that the lungs should be well supplied withoxygen, else the blood will lose vitality, the appetite will go and thenerves will be straining to bring the muscles up to work which theycould do quite easily if they were receiving the right amount ofnourishment from air and food. 

Second--When our work gives our muscles a tendency steadily in onedirection we must aim to counteract that tendency by using exerciseswith a will to pull them in the opposite way. 

If a man writes constantly, to stop writing half a dozen times a dayand stretch the fingers of his hand wide apart and let them relax backslowly will help him so that he need not be afraid of writer'sparalysis. 

Now a woman's tendency in sewing is to have her chest contracted andsettled down on her stomach, and her head bent forward. Let her stopeven twice a day, lift her chest off her stomach, see that the liftingof her chest takes her shoulders back, let her head gently fall back, take a long quiet breath in that attitude, then bring the head upslowly, take some long quiet breaths like gentle sighs, gradually letthe lungs settle back into their habitual state of breathing, and thentry the exercise again. 

If this exercise is repeated three times in succession with quiet care, its effect will be very evident in the refreshment felt when a womanbegins sewing again. 

At the very most it can only take two minutes to go through the wholeexercise and be ready to repeat it. 

That will mean six minutes for the three successive times. 

Six minutes can easily be made up by the renewed vigor that comes fromthe long breath and change of attitude. Stopping for the exercise threetimes a day will only take eighteen--or at the most twenty-minutes outof the day's work and it will put much more than that into the work innew power. 

Third--We must remember that we need not sew in a badly crampedposition. Of course the exercises will help us out of the habituallycramped attitude, but we cannot expect them to help us so much unlesswe make an effort while sewing to be as little cramped as possible. 

The exercises give us a new standard of erectness, and that newstandard will make us sensitive to the wrong attitude. 

We will constantly notice when our chests get cramped and settled downon our stomachs and by expanding them and lifting them, even as we sew, the healthy attitude will get to be second nature. 

Fourth--We must sew with our hands and our arms, not with our spines, the backs of our necks, or our legs. The unnecessary strain she putsinto her sewing makes a woman more tired than anything else. To avoidthis she must get sensitive to the strain, and every time she perceivesit drop it; consciously, with a decided use of her will, until she hasestablished the habit of working without strain. The gentle raising ofthe head to the erect position after the breathing exercise will letout a great deal of strain, and so make us more sensitive to its returnwhen we begin to sew, and the more sensitive we get to it the sooner wecan drop it. 

I think I hear a woman say, "I have neither the time nor the strengthto attend to all this. " My answer is, such exercise will save time andstrength in the end. 

CHAPTER XXIII

_Do not Hurry_

HOW can any one do anything well while in a constant state of rush? Howcan any one see anything clearly while in a constant state of rush? Howcan any one expect to keep healthy and strong while in a constant stateof rush?

But most of my readers may say, "I am not in a constant state ofrush--I only hurry now and then when I need to hurry. "

The answer to that is "Prove it, prove it. " Study yourself a little, and see whether you find yourself chronically in a hurry or not. 

If you will observe yourself carefully with a desire to find the hurrytendency, and to find it thoroughly, in order to eliminate it, you willbe surprised to see how much of it there is in you. 

The trouble is that all our standards are low, and to raise ourstandards we must drop that which interferes with the most wholesomeway of living. 

As we get rid of all the grosser forms of hurry we find in ourselvesother hurry habits that are finer and more subtle, and gradually ourstandards of quiet, deliberate ways get higher; we become moresensitive to hurry, and a hurried way of doing things grows more andmore disagreeable to us. 

Watch the women coming out of a factory in the dinner hour or at sixo'clock. They are almost tumbling over each other in their hurry to getaway. They are putting on their jackets, pushing in their hatpins, andrunning along as if their dinner were running away from them. 

Something akin to that same attitude of rush we can see in any largecity when the clerks come out of the shops, for their luncheon hour, orwhen the work of the day is over. 

If we were to calculate in round numbers the amount of time saved bythis rush to get away from the shop, we should find three minutes, probably the maximum--and if we balance that against the loss to bodyand mind which is incurred, we should find the three minutes' gainquite overweighted by the loss of many hours, perhaps days, because ofthe illness which must be the result of such habitual contraction. 

It is safe to predict when we see a woman rushing away from factory orshop that she is not going to "let up" on that rate of speed until sheis back again at work. Indeed, having once started brain and body withsuch an exaggerated impetus, it is not possible to quiet down without adirect and decided use of the will, and how is that decided action tobe taken if the brain is so befogged with the habit of hurry that itknows no better standard?

One of the girls from a large factory came rushing up to the kind, motherly head of the boarding house the other day saying:--

"It is abominable that I should be kept waiting so long for my dinner. I have had my first course and here I have been waiting twenty minutesfor my dessert. "

The woman addressed looked up quietly to the clock and saw that it wasten minutes past twelve. 

"What time did you come in?" she said. "At twelve o'clock. "

"And you have had your first course?"

"Yes. "

"And waited twenty minutes for your dessert?"

"Yes!" (snappishly). 

"How can that be when you came in at twelve o'clock, and it is now onlyten minutes past?"

Of course there was nothing to say in answer, but whether the girl tookit to heart and so raised her standard of quiet one little bit, I donot know. 

One can deposit a fearful amount of strain in the brain with only a fewmoments' impatience. 

I use the word "fearful" advisedly, for when the strain is oncedeposited it is not easily removed, especially when every day and everymoment of every day is adding to the strain. 

The strain of hurry makes contractions in brain and body with which itis impossible to work freely and easily or to accomplish as much asmight be done without such contractions. 

The strain of hurry befogs the brain so that it is impossible for it toexpand to an unprejudiced point of view. 

The strain of hurry so contracts the whole nervous and muscular systemsthat the body can take neither the nourishment of food nor of fresh airas it should. 

There are many women who work for a living, and women who do not workfor a living, who feel hurried from morning until they go to bed atnight, and they must, perforce, hurry to sleep and hurry awake. 

Often the day seems so full, and one is so pressed for time that it isimpossible to get in all there is to do, and yet a little quietthinking will show that the important things can be easily put into twothirds of the day, and the remaining third is free for rest, or play, or both. 

Then again, there is real delight in quietly fitting one thing in afteranother when the day must be full, and the result at the end of the dayis only healthy fatigue from which a good night's rest will refresh usentirely. 

There is one thing that is very evident--a feeling of hurry retards ourwork, it does not hasten it, and the more quietly we can do what isbefore us, the more quickly and vigorously we do it. 

The first necessity is to find ourselves out--to find out for a factwhen we do hurry, and how we hurry, and how we have the sense of hurrywith us all the time. Having willingly, and gladly, found ourselvesout, the remedy is straight before us. 

Nature is on the side of leisure and will come to our aid with higherstandards of quiet, the possibilities of which are always in everyone's brain, if we only look to find them. 

To sit five minutes quietly taking long breaths to get a sense ofleisure every day will be of very great help--and then when we findourselves hurrying, let us stop and recall the best quiet we know--thatneed only take a few seconds, and the gain is sure to follow. 

_Festina lente_ (hasten slowly) should be in the back of our brains allday and every day. 

 "'T is haste makes waste, the sage avers, And instances are far too plenty; Whene'er the hasty impulse stirs, Put on the brake, Festina Lente. "

CHAPTER XXIV

_The Care of an Invalid_

TO take really good care of one who is ill requires not only knowledgebut intelligent patience and immeasurable tact. 

A little knowledge will go a great way, and we do not need to betrained nurses in order to help our friends to bear their illnessespatiently and quietly and to adjust things about them so that they areenabled to get well faster because of the care we give them. 

Sometimes if we have only fifteen minutes in the morning and fifteenminutes at night to be with a sick friend, we can so arrange things forthe day and for the night that we will have left behind us a directlycurative influence because our invalid feels cared for in the best way, and has confidence enough to follow the suggestions we have given. 

More depends upon the spirit with which we approach an invalid thananything else. 

A trained nurse who has graduated at the head of her class and hasexecutive ability, who knows exactly what to do and when to do it, mayyet bring such a spirit of self-importance and bustle that everythingshe does for the invalid's ease, comfort, and recuperation iscounteracted by the unrestful "professional" spirit with which the workis done. 

On the other hand, a woman who has only a slight knowledge of nursingcan bring so restful and unobtrusive an atmosphere with her that theinvalid gains from her very presence. 

Overwhelming kindness is not only tiresome and often annoying, but aserious drag on one who is ill. 

People who are so busy doing kindnesses seldom consult the invalid'spreferences at all. They are too full of their own selfish kindlinessand self-importance. 

I remember a woman who was suffering intensely from neuralgia in herface. A friend, proud of the idea of caring for her and giving up herown pleasure to stay in the darkened room and keep the sufferer's facebathed in hot water, made such a rustling back and forth with herskirts in getting the water that the strain of the constant noise andmovement not only counteracted any relief that might have come from theheat, but it increased the pain and made the nervous condition of thepatient much worse. 

So it is with a hundred and one little "kindnesses" that people try todo for others when they are ill. 

They talk to amuse them when the invalids would give all in their powerto have a little quiet. 

They sit like lumps and say nothing when a little light, easy chattingmight divert the invalid's attention and so start up a gentlecirculation which would tend directly toward health. 

Or, they talk and are entertaining for a while in a very helpful way, but not knowing when to stop, finally make the patient so tired thatthey undo all the good of the first fifteen minutes. 

They flood the room with light, "to make it look pleasant, " when theinvalid longs for the rest of a darkened room; or they draw the shadeswhen the patient longs for the cheerfulness of sunlight. 

They fuss and move about to do this or that and the other "kindness"when the sick person longs for absolute quiet. 

They shower attentions when the first thing that is desired is to belet alone. One secret of the whole trouble in this oppressive care ofthe sick is that this sort of caretaker is interested more to pleaseherself and feel the satisfaction of her own benefactions than she isto really please the friend for whom she is caring. Another trouble iscommon ignorance. Some women would gladly sacrifice anything to help afriend to get well; they would give their time and their strengthgladly and count it as nothing, but they do not know how to care forthe sick. Often such people are sadly discouraged because they see thatthey are only bringing discomfort where, with all their hearts, theydesire to bring comfort. The first necessity in the right care for thesick is to be quiet and cheerful. The next is to aim, withoutdisturbing the invalid, to get as true an idea as possible of thecondition necessary to help the patient to get well. The third is tobring about those conditions with the least possible amount of friction. 

Find out what the invalid likes and how she likes it by observation andnot by questions. 

Sometimes, of course, a question must be asked. If we receive asnappish answer, let us not resent it, but blame the illness and begrateful if, along with the snappishness, we find out what suits ourpatient best. 

If we see her increasing her pain by contracting and giving all herattention to complaining, we cannot help her by telling her that thatsort of thing is not going to make her well. But we can soothe her in away that will enable her to see it for herself. 

Often the right suggestion, no matter how good it is, will only annoythe patient and send her farther on in the wrong path; but if given insome gentle roundabout way, so that she feels that she has discoveredfor herself what you have been trying to tell her, it will work wonderstoward her recovery. 

If you want to care for the sick in a way that will truly help themtoward recovery, you must observe and study, --study and observe, andnever resent their irritability. 

See that they have the right amount of air; that they have the rightnourishment at the right intervals. Let them have things their own way, and done in their own way so far as is possible without interferingwith what is necessary to their health. 

Remember that there are times when it is better to risk deferringrecovery a little rather than force upon an invalid what is not wanted, especially when it is evident that resistance will be harmful. 

Quiet, cheerfulness, light, air, nourishment, orderly surroundings, andto be let judiciously alone; those are the conditions which the amateurnurse must further, according to her own judgment and, her knowledge ofthe friend she is nursing. 

For this purpose she must, as I have said, study and observe, andobserve and study. 

I do not mean necessarily to do all this when she is "off duty, " but toso concentrate when she is attending to the wants of her friend thatevery moment and every thought will be used to the best gain of thepatient herself, and not toward our ideas of her best gain. 

A little careful effort of this kind will open a new and interestingvista to the nurse as well as the patient. 

CHAPTER XXV

_The Habit of Illness_

IT is surprising how many invalids there are who have got well and donot know it! When you feel ill and days drag on with one ill feelingfollowing another, it is not a pleasant thing to be told that you arequite well. Who could be expected to believe it? I should like to knowhow many men and women there are who will read this article, who arewell and do not know it; and how many of such men and women will takethe hint I want to give them and turn honestly toward findingthemselves out in a way that will enable them to discover andacknowledge the truth?

Nerves form habits. They actually form habits in themselves. If a womanhas had an organic trouble which has caused certain forms of nervousdiscomfort, when the organic trouble is cured the nerves are apt to goon for a time with the same uncomfortable feelings because during theperiod of illness they had formed the habit of such discomfort. Then isthe time when the will must be used to overcome such habits. Thetrouble is that when the doctor tells these victims of nervous habitthat they are really well they will not believe him. "How can I bewell, " they say, "when I suffer just as I did while I was ill?" If thenthe doctor is fortunate enough to convince them of the fact that it isonly the nervous habit formed from their illness which causes them tosuffer, and that they can rouse their wills to overcome intelligentlythis habit, then they can be well in a few weeks when they might havebeen apparently ill for many months--or perhaps even years. 

Nerves form the habit of being tired. A woman can get very muchoverfatigued at one time and have the impression of the fatigue sostrongly on her nerves that the next time she is only a little tiredshe will believe she is very tired, and so her life will go until thehabit of being tired has been formed in her nerves and she believesthat she is tired all the time--whereas if the truth were known shemight easily feel rested all the time. 

It is often very difficult to overcome the habit which the nerves formas a result of an attack of nervous prostration. It is equally hard toconvince any one getting out of such an illness that the habit of hisnerves tries to make him believe he cannot do a little more everyday--when he really can, and would be better for it. Many cases ofnervous prostration which last for years might be cured in as manymonths if the truth about nerve habits were recognized and acted upon. 

Nerves can form bad habits and they can form good habits, but of allthe bad habits formed by nerves perhaps the very worst is the habit ofbeing ill. These bad habits of illness engender an unwillingness to letgo of them. They seem so real. "I do not want to suffer like this, " Ihear an invalid say; "if it were merely a habit don't you think I wouldthrow it off in a minute?"

I knew a young physician who had made somewhat of a local reputation inthe care of nerves, and a man living in a far-distant country, who hadbeen for some time a chronic invalid, happened by accident to hear ofhim. My friend was surprised to receive a letter from this man, offering to pay him the full amount of all fees he would earn in onemonth and as much more as he might ask if he would spend that time inthe house with him and attempt his cure. 

Always interested in new phases of nerves, and having no serious caseon hand himself at the time, he assented and went with great intereston this long journey to, as he hoped, cure one man. When he arrived hefound his patient most charming. He listened attentively to the accountof his years of illness, inquired of others in the house with him, andthen went to bed and to sleep. In the morning he woke with a sense ofunexplained depression. In searching about for the cause he went overhis interviews of the day before and found a doubt in his mind which hewould hardly acknowledge; but by the end of the next day he said tohimself: "What a fool I was to come so far without a more completeknowledge of what I was coming to! This man has been well for years anddoes not know it. It is the old habit of his illness that is on him;the illness itself must have left him ten years ago. "

The next day--the first thing after breakfast--he took a long walk inorder to make up his mind what to do, and finally decided that he hadengaged to stay one month and must keep to his promise. It would not doto tell the invalid the truth--the poor man would not believe it. Hewas self-willed and self-centered, and his pains and discomforts, whichcame simply from old habits of illness, were as real to him as if theyhad been genuine. Several physicians had emphasized his belief that hewas ill. One doctor--so my friend was told--who saw clearly the truthof the case, ventured to hint at it and was at once discharged. Myfriend knew all these difficulties and, when he made up his mind thatthe only right thing for him to do was to stay, he found himselfintensely interested in trying to approach his patient with so muchdelicacy that he could finally convince him of the truth; and I amhappy to say that his efforts were to a great degree successful. Thepatient was awakened to the fact that, if he tried, he could be a wellman. He never got so far as to see that he really was a well man whowas allowing old habits to keep him ill; but he got enough of a new andhealthy point of view to improve greatly and to feel a hearty sense ofgratitude toward the man who had enlightened him. The long habit ofillness had dulled his brain too much for him to appreciate the wholetruth about himself. 

The only way that such an invalid's brain can be enlightened is bygoing to work very gently and leading him to the light--never bycombating. This young physician whom I mention was successful onlythrough making friends with his patient and leading him gradually toappear to discover for himself the fact which all the time thephysician was really telling him. The only way to help others is tohelp them to help themselves, and this is especially the truth withnerves. 

If you, my friend, are so fortunate as to find out that your illness ismore a habit of illness than illness itself, do not expect to break thehabit at once. Go about it slowly and with common sense. A habit can bebroken sooner than it can be formed, but even then it cannot be brokenimmediately. First recognize that your uncomfortable feelings whetherof eyes, nose, stomach, back of neck, top of head, or whatever it maybe, are mere habits, and then go about gradually but steadily ignoringthem. When once you find that your own healthy self can assert itselfand realize that you are stronger than your habits, these habits ofillness will weaken and finally disappear altogether. 

The moment an illness gets hold of one, the illness has the floor, soto speak, and the temptation is to consider it the master of thesituation--and yielding to this temptation is the most effectual way ofbeginning to establish the habits which the illness has started, andmakes it more difficult to know when one is well. On the other hand itis clearly possible to yield completely to an illness and let Naturetake its course, and at the same time to take a mental attitude ofwholesomeness toward it which will deprive the illness of much of itspower. Nature always tends toward health; so we have the working ofnatural law entirely on our side. If the attitude of a man's mind ishealthy, when he gets well he is well. He is not bothered long with thehabits of his illness, for he has never allowed them to gain any holdupon him. He has neutralized the effect of the would be habits in thebeginning so that they could not get a firm hold. We can counteract badhabits with good ones any time that we want to if we only go to work inthe right way and are intelligently persistent. 

It would be funny if it were not sad to hear a man say, "Well, you knowI had such and such an illness years ago and I never really recoveredfrom the effects of it, " and to know at the same time that he had kepthimself in the effects of it, or rather the habits of his nerves hadkept him there, and he had been either ignorant or unwilling to use hiswill to throw off those habits and gain the habits of health which wereready and waiting. 

People who cheerfully turn their hearts and minds toward health have somuch, so very much, in their favor. 

Of course, there are laws of health to be learned and carefullyfollowed in the work of throwing off habits of illness. We must rest;take food that is nourishing, exercise, plenty of sleep and freshair--yet always with the sense that the illness is only something toget rid of, and our own healthy attitude toward the illness is of thegreatest importance. 

Sometimes a man can go right ahead with his work, allow an illness torun its course, and get well without interrupting his work in theleast, because of his strong aim toward health which keeps his illnesssubordinate. But this is not often the case. An illness, even though itbe treated as subordinate, must be respected more or less according toits nature. But when that is done normally no bad habits will be leftbehind. 

I know a young girl who was ill with strained nerves that showedthemselves in weak eyes and a contracted stomach. She is wellnow--entirely well--but whenever she gets a little tired the old habitsof eyes and stomach assert themselves, and she holds firmly on to them, whereas each time of getting overtired might be an opportunity to breakup these evil habits by a right amount of rest and a healthy amount ofignoring. 

This matter of habit is a very painful thing when it is supported byinherited tendencies. If a young person overdoes and gets pulled downwith fatigue the fatigue expresses itself in the weakest part of hisbody. It may be in the stomach and consequently appear as indigestion;it may be in the head and so bring about severe headaches, and it maybe in both stomach and head. 

If it is known that such tendencies are inherited the first thoughtthat almost inevitably comes to the mind is: "My father always hadheadaches and my grandfather, too. Of course, I must expect them nowfor the rest of my life. " That thought interpreted rightly is: "Mygrandfather formed the headache habit, my father inherited the habitand clinched it--now, of course, I must expect to inherit it, and Iwill do my best to see if I cannot hold on to the habit as well as theydid--even better, because I can add my own hold to that which I haveinherited from both my ancestors. "

Now, of course, a habit of illness, whether it be of the head, stomach, or of both, is much more difficult to discard when it is inherited thanwhen it is first acquired in a personal illness of our own; but, because it is difficult, it is none the less possible to discard it, and when the work has been accomplished the strength gained from thesteady, intelligent effort fully compensates for the difficulty of thetask. 

One must not get impatient with a bad habit in one's self; it has acertain power while it lasts, and can acquire a very strong hold. Little by little it must be dealt with--patiently and steadily. Sometimes it seems almost as if such habits had intelligence--for themore you ignore them the more rampant they become, and there is aRubicon to cross, in the process of ignoring which, when once passed, makes the work of gaining freedom easier; for when the backbone of thehabit is broken it weakens and seems to fade away of itself, and weawaken some fine morning and it has gone--really gone. 

Many persons are in a prison of bad habits simply because they do notknow how to get out--not because they do not want to get out. If wewant to help a friend out of the habit of illness it is most importantfirst to be sure that it is a habit, and then to remember that asuggestion is seldom responded to unless it is given with generoussympathy and love. Indeed, when a suggestion is given with lack ofsympathy or with contempt the tendency is to make the invalid turnpainfully away from the speaker and hug her bad habits more closely toherself. What we can do, however, is to throw out a suggestion here andthere which may lead such a one to discover the truth for herself;then, if she comes to you with sincere interest in her discovery, don'tsay: "Yes, I have thought so for some time. " Keep yourself out of it, except in so far as you can give aid which is really wanted, andaccepted and used. 

Beware of saying or doing anything to or for any one which will onlyrouse resentment and serve to push deeper into the brain an impressionalready made by a mistaken conviction. More than half of the functionaland nervous illnesses in the world are caused by bad habit, eitherformed or inherited. 

Happy are those who discover the fact for themselves and, with theintelligence born from such discovery, work with patient insight untilthey have freed themselves from bondage. Happy are those who feelwilling to change any mistaken conviction or prejudice and to recognizeit as a sin against the truth. 

CHAPTER XXVI

_What is It that Makes Me so Nervous?_

THE two main reasons why women are nervous are, first, that they do nottake intelligent care of their bodies, and secondly, that they do notgovern their emotions. 

I know a woman who prefers to make herself genuinely miserable ratherthan take food normally, to eat it normally, and to exercise in thefresh air. 

"Everybody is against me, " she says; and if you answer her, "My dear, you are acting against yourself by keeping your stomach on a steadystrain with too much unmasticated, unhealthy, undigested food, " sheturns a woe-begone face on you and asks how you can be "so material. ""Nobody loves me; nobody is kind to me. Everybody neglects me, " shesays. 

And when you answer, "How can any one love you when you are alwayswhining and complaining? How can any one be kind to you when you resentand resist every friendly attention because it does not suit yourespecial taste? Indeed, how can you expect anything from any one whenyou are giving nothing yourself?" She replies, "But I am so nervous. I suffer. Why don't they sympathize?"

"My dear child, would you sympathize with a woman who went down intothe cellar and cried because she was so cold, when fresh air and warmsunshine were waiting for her outside?"

This very woman herself is cold all the time. She piles covers overherself at night so that the weight alone would be enough to make herill. She sleeps with the heat turned on in her room. She complains allday of cold when not complaining of other things. She puts such astrain on her stomach that it takes all of her vitality to look afterher food; therefore she has no vitality left with which to resist thecold. Of course she resists the idea of a good brisk walk in the freshair, and yet, if she took the walk and enjoyed it, it would start upher circulation, give her blood more oxygen, and help her stomach to gothrough all its useless labor better. 

When a woman disobeys all the laws of nervous health how can she expectnot to have her nerves rebel? Nerves in themselves are exquisitelysensitive--with a direct tendency toward health. 

"Don't give me such unnecessary work, " the stomach cries. "Don't stuffme full of the wrong things. Don't put a bulk of food into me, but chewyour food, so that I shall not have to do my own work and yours, too, when the food gets down here. "

And there is the poor stomach, a big nervous centre in closecommunication with the brain, protesting and protesting, and its ownerinterprets all these protestations into: "I am so unhappy. I have towork so much harder than I ought. Nobody loves me. Oh, why am I sonervous?"

The blood also cries out: "Give me more oxygen. I cannot help the lungsor the stomach or the brain to do their work properly unless you takeexercise in the fresh air that will feed me truly and send me over thebody with good, wholesome vigor. "

Now there is another thing that is sadly evident about the young womanwho will not take fresh air, nor eat the right food, nor masticateproperly the food that she does eat. When she goes out for a walk sheseems to fight the fresh air; she walks along full of resistance andcontraction, and tightens all her muscles so that she moves as if shewere tied together with ropes. The expression of her face is one ofmiserable strain and endurance; the tone of her voice is full ofcomplaint. In eating either she takes her food with the appearance ofhungry grabbing, or she refuses it with a fastidious scorn. Any nervouswoman who really wants to find herself out, in order to get well andstrong, and contented and happy, will see in this description areflection of herself, even though it may be an exaggerated reflection. 

Did you ever see a tired, hungry baby fight his food? His mother triesto put the bottle to his mouth, and the baby cries and cries, and turnshis head away, and brandishes his little arms about, as if his motherwere offering him something bitter. Then, finally, when his mothersucceeds in getting him to open his mouth and take the food it makesyou smile all over to see the contrast: he looks so quiet andcontented, and you can see his whole little body expand withsatisfaction. 

It is just the same inherited tendency in a nervous woman that makesher either consciously or unconsciously fight exercise and fresh air, fight good food and eating it rightly, fight everything that iswholesome and strengthening and quieting to her nerves, and cling withpainful tenacity to everything that is contracting and weakening, andproductive of chronic strain. 

There is another thing that a woman fights: she fights rest. Who hasnot seen a tired woman work harder and harder, when she was tired, until she has worn herself to a state of nervous irritability andfinally has to succumb for want of strength? Who has not seen this sametired woman, the moment she gets back a little grain of strength, useit up again at once instead of waiting until she had paid back herprincipal and could use only the interest of her strength while keepinga good balance in reserve?

"I wish my mother would not do so many unnecessary things, " said ananxious daughter. 

A few days after this the mother came in tired, and, with a fagged lookon her face and a fagged tone in her voice, said: "Before I sit down Imust go and see poor Mrs. Robinson. I have just heard that she has beentaken ill with nervous prostration. Poor thing! Why couldn't she havetaken care of herself?"

"But, mother, " her daughter answered, "I have been to see Mrs. Robinson, and taken her some flowers, and told her how sorry you wouldbe to hear that she was ill. "

"My dear, " said the fagged mother with a slight tone of irritation inher voice, "that was very good of you, but of course that was not mygoing, and if I should let to-day pass without going to see her, when Ihave just heard of her illness, it would be unfriendly and unneighborlyand I should not forgive myself. "

"But, mother, you are tired; you do need to rest so much. "

"My dear, " said the mother with an air of conscious virtue, "I am nevertoo tired to do a neighborly kindness. "

When she left the house her daughter burst into tears and let out thestrain which had been accumulating for weeks. 

Finally, when she had let down enough to feel a relief, a funny littlesmile came through the tears. 

"There is one nervously worn-out woman gone to comfort and lift upanother nervously worn-out woman--if that is not the blind leading theblind then I don't know. I wonder how long it will be before mamma, too, is in the ditch?"

This same story could be reversed with the mother in the daughter'splace, and the daughter in the mother's. And, indeed, we see slightillustrations of it, in one way or the other, in many families andamong many friends. 

This, then, is the first answer to any woman's question, "Why am I sonervous?" Because you do not use common sense in taking exercise, freshair, nourishment, and rest. 

Nature tends toward health. Your whole physical organism tends towardhealth. If you once find yourself out and begin to be sensible you willfind a great, vigorous power carrying you along, and you will besurprised to see how fast you gain. It may be some time before Naturegets her own way with you entirely, because when one has been off thetrack for long it must take time to readjust; but when we begin to gowith the laws of health, instead of against them, we get into a healthycurrent and gain faster than would have seemed possible when we wereoutside of it, habitually trying to oppose the stream. 

The second reason why women are nervous is that they do not governtheir emotions. Very often it is the strain of unpleasant emotions thatkeeps women nervous, and when we come really to understand we find thatthe strain is there because the woman does not get her own way. She hasnot money enough. 

She has to live with some one she dislikes. She feels that people donot like her and are neglectful of her. She believes that she has toomuch work to do. She wishes that she had more beauty in her life. 

Sometimes a woman is entirely conscious of when or why she fails to gether own way; then she knows what she is fretting about, and she mayeven know that the fretting is a strain that keeps her tired andnervously irritated. Sometimes a woman is entirely unconscious of whatit is that is keeping her in a chronic state of nervous irritability. Ihave seen a woman express herself as entirely resigned to the verycircumstance or person that she was unconsciously resisting so fiercelythat her resistance kept her ill half of the time. In such cases thestrain is double. First, there is the strain of the person orcircumstance chronically resisted and secondly, there is the strain ofthe pose of saintly resignation. It is bad enough to pose to otherpeople, but when we pose to other people and to ourselves too thestrain is twice as bad. 

Imagine a nerve specialist saying to his patient, "My dear madam, youreally must stop being a hypocrite. You have not the nervous strengthto spare for it. " In most cases, I fear, the woman would turn on himindignantly and go home to be more of a hypocrite than ever, and somore nervously ill. 

I have seen a woman cry and make no end of trouble because she had tohave a certain relative live in the house with her, simply because herrelative "got on her nerves. " Then, after the relative had left thehouse, this same woman cried and still kept on making no end of troublebecause she thought she had done wrong in sending "Cousin Sophia" away;and the poor, innocent, uncomplaining victim was brought back again. Yet it never seemed to occur to the nervous woman that "Cousin Sophia"was harmless, and that her trouble came entirely from the way in whichshe constantly resented and resisted little unpolished ways. 

I do not know how many times "Cousin Sophia" may be sent off andbrought back again; nor how many times other things in my nervousfriend's life may have to be pulled to pieces and then put togetheragain, for she has not yet discovered that the cause of the nervoustrouble is entirely in herself, and that if she would stop resisting"Cousin Sophia's" innocent peculiarities, stop resisting other variousphases of her life that do not suit her, and begin to use her will toyield where she has always resisted, her load would be steadily andhappily lifted. 

The nervous strain of doing right is very painful; especially sobecause most women who are under this strain do not really care aboutdoing right at all. I have seen a woman quibble and talk and worryabout what she believed to be a matter of right and wrong in a fewcents, and then neglect for months to pay a poor man a certain largeamount of money which he had honestly earned, and which she knew heneeded. 

The nervous conscience is really no conscience at all. I have seen awoman worry over what she owed to a certain other woman in the way ofkindness, and go to a great deal of trouble to make her kindnesscomplete; and then, on the same day, show such hard, unfeeling crueltytoward another friend that she wounded her deeply, and that without aregret. 

A nervous woman's emotions are constantly side-tracking her away fromthe main cause of her difficulty, and so keeping her nervous. A nervouswoman's desire to get her own way--and strained rebellion at notgetting her own way--bedazzles or befogs her brain so that her nervestwist off into all sorts of emotions which have nothing whatever to dowith the main cause. The woman with the troublesome relative wants tobe considered good and kind and generous. The woman with the nervousmoney conscience wants to be considered upright and just in herdealings with others. All women with various expressions of nervousconscience want to ease their consciences for the sake of their owncomfort--not in the least for the sake of doing right. 

I write first of the nervous hypocrite because in her case the nervousstrain is deeper in and more difficult to find. To watch such a womanis like seeing her in a terrible nightmare, which she steadily"sugar-coats" by her complacent belief in her own goodness. If, among athousand nervous "saints" who may read these words, one is therebyenabled to find herself out, they are worth the pains of writing manytimes over. The nervous hypocrites who do not find themselves out getsicker and sicker, until finally they seem to be of no use except todiscipline those who have the care of them. 

The greatest trouble comes through the befogging emotions. A womanbegins to feel a nervous strain, and that strain results in excitingemotions; these emotions again breed more emotions until she becomes asimmering mass of exciting and painful emotions which can be aroused toa boiling point at any moment by anything or any one who may touch asensitive point. When a woman's emotions are aroused, and she isallowing herself to be governed by them, reason is out of the question, and any one who imagines that a woman can be made to understand commonsense in a state like that will find himself entirely mistaken. 

The only cure is for the woman herself to learn first how entirelyimpervious to common sense she is when she is in the midst of anemotional nerve storm, so that she will say, "Don't try to talk to menow; I am not reasonable, wait until I get quiet. " Then, if she will gooff by herself and drop her emotions, and also the strain behind heremotions, she will often come to a good, clear judgment without outsidehelp; or, if not, she will come to the point where she will be readyand grateful to receive help from a clearer mind than her own. 

"For goodness' sake, don't tell that to Alice, " a young fellow said ofhis sister. "She will have fits first, and then indigestion andinsomnia for six weeks. " The lad was not a nerve specialist; neitherwas he interested in nerves--except to get away from them; but he spoketruly from common sense and his own experience with his sister. 

The point is, to drop the emotions and face the facts. If nervous womenwould see the necessity for that, and would practice it, it would besurprising to see how their nerves would improve. 

I once knew a woman who discovered that her emotions were running awaywith her and making her nervously ill. She at once went to work with awill, and every time something happened to rouse this great emotionalwave she would deliberately force herself to relax and relax until thewave had passed over her and she could see things in a sensible light. When she was unable to go off by herself and lie down to relax, shewould walk with her mind bent on making her feet feel heavy. When youdrop the tension of the emotion, the emotion has nothing to hold on toand it must go. 

I knew another woman who did not know how to relax; so, to get freefrom this emotional excitement, she would turn her attention at once tofigures, to her personal accounts or even to saying the multiplicationtable. The steady concentration of her mind on dry figures and on"getting her sums right" left the rest of her brain free to drop itsexcitement and get into a normal state again. 

Again it is sometimes owing to the pleasant emotions which some womenindulge in to such an extreme that they are made ill. How many timeshave we heard of women who were "worn to a shred" by the delight of anopera, or a concert, or an exciting play? If these women only knew it, their pleasure would be far keener if they would let the enjoyment passthrough them, instead of tightening up in their nerves and trying tohold on to it. 

Nature in us always tends toward health, and toward pleasantsensations. If we relax out of painful emotions we find good judgmentand happy instincts behind them. If we relax so that pleasant emotionscan pass over our nerves they leave a deposit of happy sensationbehind, which only adds to the store that Nature has provided for us. 

To sum up: The two main reasons why women are nervous are that they donot take intelligent care of their bodies, and that they do not governtheir emotions; but back of these reasons is the fact that they wanttheir own way altogether too much. Even if a woman's own way is right, she has no business to push for it selfishly. If any woman thinks, "Icould take intelligent care of my own body if I did not have to work sohard, or have this or that interference, " let her go to work with hermind well armed to do what she can, and she will soon find that thereare many ways in which she can improve in the normal care of her body, in spite of all the work and all the interferences. 

To adapt an old saying, the women who are overworked and clogged withreal interferences should aim to be healthy; and, if they cannot behealthy, then they should be as healthy as they can. 

CHAPTER XXVII

_Positive and Negative Effort_

DID you ever have the grip? If you ever have you may know how truly itis named and how it does actually grip you so that it seems as if therewere nothing else in the world at the time--it appears to entirelypossess you. As the Irishman says, the grip is "the disease that lastsfur a week and it takes yer six weeks ter get over it. " That is becauseit has possessed you so thoroughly that it must be routed out of everylittle fiber in your body before you are yourself again, and there arehidden corners where it lurks and hides, and it often has to beactually pulled out of them. Now it has been already recognized that ifwe relax and do not resist a severe cold it leaves us open so that ournatural circulation carries away the cold much more quickly than if weallowed ourselves to be full of resistance to the discomfort and theconsequent physical contraction that impeded the circulation and holdsthe cold in our system. 

My point is this--that it is comparatively easy to relax out of a cold. We can do it with only a negative effort, but to relax so that naturein her steady and unswerving tendency toward health can lift us out ofthe grip is quite another matter. When we feel ourselves entirely inthe power of such a monster as that is at its worst, it is only by avery strong and positive effort of the will that we can yield so thatnature can guide us into health, and we do not need the six weeks ofgetting well. 

In order to gain this positive sense of yielding away from the diseaserather than of letting it hold us, we must do what seems at the timethe impossible--we must refuse to give our attention to the pain ordiscomfort and insist upon giving our attention entirely to yieldingout of the contractions which the painful discomforts cause. In otherwords, we must give up resisting the grip. It is the same with anyother disease or any pain. If we have the toothache and give all ourattention to the toothache, it inevitably makes it worse; but if wegive our attention to yielding out of the toothache contractions, iteases the pain even though it may be that only the dentist can stop it. Once I had an ulcerated tooth which lasted for a week. I had to yieldso steadily to do my work during the day and to be able to sleep at allat night that it not only made the pain bearable, but when the toothgot well I was surprised to find how many habitual contractions I haddropped and how much more freedom of action I had before my tooth beganto ulcerate. I should not wish to have another ulcerated tooth in orderthat I might gain more freedom, but I should wish to take every pain ofbody and mind so truly that when the pain was over I should have gainedgreater freedom than I had before it began. 

You see it is the same with every pain and with every disease. Naturetends toward health and if we make the disease simply a reminder toyield--and to yield more deeply--and to put our positive effort there, we are opening the way for nature to do her best work. If our entireattention is given to yielding and we give no attention whatever to thepain, except as a reminder to yield, the result seems wonderful. Itseems wonderful because so few of us have the habit of giving ourentire attention to gaining our real freedom. 

With most of us, the disease or discomfort is positive, and our effortagainst it is negative or no effort at all. A negative effort probablyprotects us from worse evil, but that is all; it does not seem to methat it can ever take us ahead, whereas a positive effort, whilesometimes we seem to move upward in very slow stages, often takes us ingreat strides out of the enemy's country. 

If we have the measles, the whooping cough, scarlet fever--even moreserious diseases--and make the disease negative and our effort to freeourselves from it positive, the result is one thousand times worthwhile. And where the children have the measles and the whooping cough, and do not know how to help nature, the mothers can be positive for thechildren and make their measles and whooping cough negative. Thepositive attitude of a mother toward her sick child puts impatience ordespair out of the question. 

Do not think that I believe one can be positive all at once. We mustwork hard and insist over and over again before we can attain thepositive attitude and having attained it, we have to lose it and gainit again, lose it and gain it again, many times before we get the habitof making all difficulties of mind and body negative, and our healthyattitude toward conquering them positive. 

I said "difficulties of mind and body. " I might better have said"difficulties of body, mind and character, " or even character alone, for, after all, when you come to sift things down, it is the characterthat is at the root of all human life. 

I know a woman who is constantly complaining. Every morning she has aseries of pains to tell of, and her complaints spout out of her in ahalf-irritated, whining tone as naturally as she breathes. Over andover you think when you listen to her how useful all those pains ofhers would be if she took them as a reminder to yield and in yieldingto do her work better. But if one should venture to suggest such apossibility, it would only increase the complaints by one more--that ofhaving unsympathetic friends and being misunderstood. "Nobodyunderstands me--nobody understands me. " How often we hear thatcomplaint. How often in hearing it we make the mental question, "Do youunderstand yourself?"

You see the greatest impediment to our understanding ourselves is ourunwillingness to see what is not good in ourselves. It is easy enoughin a self-righteous attitude of what we believe to be humility to findfault with ourselves, but quite another thing when others find faultwith us. When we are giving our attention to discomforts and pains in away to give them positive power, and some one suggests that we mightchange our aim, then the resistance and resentment that are roused inus are very indicative of just where we are in our character. 

Another strong indication of allowing our weaknesses and faults to bepositive and our effort against them negative is the destructive habitof giving excuses. If fault is found with us and there is justice init, it does not make the slightest difference how many things we havedone that are good, or how much better we do than some one elsedoes--the positive way is to say "thank you" in spirit and in words, and to aim directly toward freeing ourselves from the fault. Howridiculous it would seem if when we were told that we had a smooch onour left cheek, we were to insist vehemently upon the cleanliness ofour right cheek, or our forehead, or our hands, instead of beinggrateful that our attention should be called to the smooch and takingsoap and water and at once washing it off. Or how equally absurd itwould be if we went into long explanations as to how the smooch wouldnot have been there if it had not been for so and so, and so and so, orso and so, --and then with all our excuses and explanations andprotestations, we let the smooch stay--and never really wash it off. 

And yet this is not an exaggeration of what most of us do when ourattention is called to defects of character. When we excuse and explainand tell how clean the other side of our face is, we are puttingourselves positively on the side of the smooch. So we are puttingourselves entirely on the side of the illness or the pain or theoppression of difficult circumstances when we give excuses or resist orpretend not to see fault in ourselves, or when we confess faults andare contented about them, or when we give all our attention to what isdisagreeable and no attention to the normal way of gaining our healthor our freedom. 

Then all these expressions of self or of illness are to us positive, and our efforts against them only negative. In such cases, of course, the self possesses us as surely as the grip possesses us when wesuccumb entirely to all its horrors and make no positive effort toyield out of it. And the possession of the self is much worse, muchdeeper, much more subtle. When possessed with selfishness, we arelaying up in our subconsciousness any number of self-seeking motiveswhich come to the surface disguised and compel us to make impulsive andoften foolish efforts to gain our own ends. The self is every dayproving to be the enemy of the man or woman whom it possesses. 

God leaves us free to obey Him or to choose our own selfish way, and inHis infinite Providence He is constantly showing us that our ownselfish way leads to death and obedience to Him leads to life. That is, that only in obedience to Him do we find our real freedom. He isconstantly showering us with a tender generosity and kindness thatseems inconceivable, and sometimes it seems as if more often than notwe were refusing to see. Indeed we blind ourselves by making all painsof body and faults of soul positive and our efforts against themnegative. 

If we had a disagreeable habit which we wanted to conquer and asked afriend to remind us with a pinch every time he saw the habit, wouldn'tit seem very strange if when he pinched us, according to agreement, wejumped and turned on him, rubbing our arm with indignation that heshould have pinched? Or would it not be even funnier if we made thepinch merely a reminder to go on with the habit?

The Lord is pinching us in that way all the time, and we respond bybeing indignant at or complaining at our fate, or reply by going moredeeply into our weaknesses of character by allowing them to be positiveand the pinches only to emphasize them to us. 

One trouble is that we do not recognize that there is an agreementbetween us and the Lord, or that we recognize and then forget it; andyet there should be--there is--more than an agreement, there is acovenant. And the Lord is steadily, unswervingly doing His part, and weare constantly failing in ours. The Lord in His loving kindnesspinches--that is, reminds us--and we in our stupid selfishness do notuse His reminders. 

As an example of making our faults positive and our effort to conquerthem negative, one very common form is found in a woman I know, who hastimes of informing her friends quite seriously and with apparent regretof her very wrong attitudes of mind. She tells how selfish she is andshe gives examples of the absolute selfishness of her thoughts when sheis appearing to do unselfish things. She tells of her efforts to dobetter and confesses what she believes to be the absolute futility ofher effort. At first I was quite taken in by these confessions, andattracted by what seemed to be a clear understanding of herself and herown motives, but after a little longer acquaintance with her, made thediscovery, which was at first surprising to me, that her confessions ofevil came just as much from conceit as if she had been standing at themirror admiring her own beauty. Selfish satisfaction is often foundquite as much in mental attitudes of grief as in sensations of joy. Finally this woman has recognized for herself the conceit in hercontemplation of her faults, and that she has not only allowed them tobe positive while her attitude against them is negative; she hasactually nursed them and been positive herself with their positiveness. Her attitude against them was therefore more than ordinarily negative. 

The more common way of being negative while we allow our various formsof selfishness to positively govern us is, first in bewailing aweakness seriously, but constantly looking at it and weeping over it, and in that way suggesting it over and over to our brains so that weare really hypnotizing ourselves with the fault and enforcing itsexpression when we think we are in the effort to conquer it. Such isour negative attitude. 

Now if we are convinced that evil in ourselves has no power unless wegive it power, that is the first step toward making our effortspositive and so negativing the evil. If we are convinced that evil inourselves has not only no power but no importance unless we give itpower, that is a step still farther in advance. The next step is torefuse to submit to it and refuse to resist it. That means a positiveyielding away from it and a positive attention to doing our work aswell as we can do it, whatever that work may be. 

There is one way in which people suffer intensely through beingnegative and allowing their temptations to be positive, and that is inthe question of inherited evil. "How can I ever amount to anything withsuch inheritances? If you could see my father and what he is, and knowthat I am his daughter, you would easily appreciate why I have no hopefor myself, " said a young woman, and she was perfectly sincere inbelieving that because of her inherited temptations her life must beworthless. It took time and gentle, intelligent reasoning to convinceher that not only are no inherited forms of selfishness ours unless byindulging we make them ours, but that, through knowing ourinheritances, we are forewarned and forearmed, and the strength we gainfrom positive effort to free ourselves fully compensates us for what wehave suffered in oppression from them. Such is the loving kindness ofour Creator. 

This woman of whom I am writing awoke to the true meaning of the storyof the man who asked, before he went with the Lord Jesus Christ, firstto go back and bury his father. The Lord answered, "Let the dead burytheir dead, and come thou and follow me. " When we feel that we must bebound down by our inheritances, we are surely not letting the dead burytheir dead. 

And so let us study the whole question more carefully and learn thenecessity of letting all that is sickness and all that is evil benegative to us and our efforts to conquer it be positive; in that waythe illness and the evil become less than negative, --they gradually areremoved and disappear. 

Why, in the mere matter of being tired, if we refuse to let theimpression of the fatigue be positive to us, and insist upon beingpositive ourselves in giving attention to the fact that now we aregoing to rest, we get rested in half the time, --in much less than halfthe time. Some people carry chronic fatigue with them because of theirsteady attention to fatigue. 

"I am tired, yes, but _I am going to get rested!"_ That is the sensibleattitude of mind. 

Nature tends toward health. As we realize that and give our attentionto it positively, we come to admire and love the healthy working of thelaws of nature, and to feel the vigor of interest in trying to obeythem intelligently. Nature's laws are God's laws, and God's laws tendtoward the health of the spirit in all matters of the spirit as surelyas they tend toward health of body in all natural things. That is atruth that as we work to obey we grow to see and to love with deepeningreverence, and then indeed we find that God's laws are all positive, and that the workings of self are only negative. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

_Human Dust_

WHEN we face the matter squarely and give it careful thought, it seemsto appear very plainly that the one thing most flagrantly in the way ofthe people of to-day living according to plain common sense--spiritualcommon sense as well as material--is the fact that we are all living ina chronic state of excitement. It is easy to prove this fact by seeinghow soon most of us suffer from ennui when "there is not anything goingon. " It seems now as if the average man or woman whom we see would findit quite impossible to stop and do nothing--for an hour or more. "But, "some one will say, "why should I stop and do nothing when I am as busyas I can be all day long, and have my time very happily full?" Or someone else may say, "How can I stop and do nothing when I am nearly crazywith work and must feel that it is being accomplished?"

Now the answer to that is, "Certainly you should not stop and donothing when you are busy and happily busy;" or, "Although your workwill go better if you do not get 'crazy' about it, there is no need ofinterrupting it or delaying it by stopping to do nothing--but _youshould be able to stop and do nothing, _ and to do it quietly andcontentedly at any time when it might be required of you. "

No man, woman, or child knows the power, the very great power, for workand play--there is with one who has in the background always theability to stop and do nothing. 

If we observe enough, carefully enough, and quietly enough, to getsensitive to it, we can see how every one about us is living inexcitement. I have seen women with nothing important to do come down tobreakfast in excitement, give their orders for the day as if they wereabout running for a fire; and the standard of all those about them isso low that no one notices what a human dust is stirred up by all thisflutter over nothing. 

A man told me not long ago that he got tired out for the day in walkingto his office with a friend, because they both talked so intensely. Andthat is not an unusual experience. This chronic state of strain andexcitement in everyday matters makes a mental atmosphere which is akinto what the material atmosphere would be if we were persistentlykicking up a dust in the road every step we took. Every one seems to bestirring up his own especial and peculiar dust and adding it to everyone else's especial and peculiar dust. 

We are all mentally, morally and spiritually sneezing or choking withour own dust and the dust of other people. How is it possible for us toget any clear, all-round view of life so long as the dust stirringhabit is on us? So far from being able to enlarge our horizon, we canget no horizon at all, and so no perspective until this human dust islaid. And there is just this one thing about it, that is a delight tothink of: When we know how to live so that our own dust is laid, thatvery habit of life keeps us clear from the dust of other people. Notonly that, but when we are free from dust ourselves, the dust that theother men are stirring up about us does not interfere with our view ofthem. We see the men through their dust and we see how the dust withwhich they are surrounding themselves befogs them and impedes theirprogress. From the place of no dust you can distinguish dust and seethrough it. From the place of dust you cannot distinguish anythingclearly. Therefore, if one wishes to learn the standards of livingaccording to plain common sense, for body, mind, and spirit, and toapply the principles of such standards practically to their every-daylife, the first absolute necessity is to get quiet and to stay quietlong enough to lay the dust. 

You may know the laws of right eating, of right breathing, of exercise, and rest--but in this dust of excitement in daily life such knowledgehelps one very little. You constantly forget, and forget, and forget. Or, if in a moment of forced acknowledgment to the need of betterliving, you make up your mind that you will live according to sensiblelaws of hygiene, you go along pretty well for a few weeks, perhaps evenmonths, and then as you feel better physically, you get whirled offinto the excitement again, and before you know it you are in the dustwith the rest of the world, and all because you had no background foryour good resolutions. You never had found and you did not understandquiet. 

Did you ever see a wise mother come into a noisy nursery where perhapsher own children were playing excitedly with several little companions, who had been invited in to spend a rainy afternoon? The mother sees allthe children in a great state of excitement over their play, and two orthree of them disagreeing over some foolish little matter, with theirbrains in such a state that the nursery is thick with infantile humandust. What does the wise mother do? Add dust of her own by scolding andfretting and fuming over the noise that the children are making? No--noindeed. She first gets all the children's attention in any happy wayshe can, one or two at a time, and then when she has their individualattention to a small degree, she gets their united attention byinviting their interest in being so quiet that they "can hear a pindrop. " The children get keenly interested in listening. The first timethey do not hear the pin drop because Johnnie or Mollie moved a little. Mother talks with interest of what a very delightful thing it is to befor a little while so quiet that we can hear a pin drop. The secondtime something interferes, and the third time the children have becomeso well focused on listening that the little delicate sound is hearddistinctly, and they beg mother to try and see if they cannot hear itagain. By this time the dust is laid in the nursery, and by changingthe games a little, or telling them a story first, the mother is ableto leave a nursery full of quiet, happy children. 

Now if we, who would like to live happily and keep well, according toplain common sense, can put ourselves with intelligent humility in theplace of these little children and study to be quiet, we will beworking for that background which is never failing in its possibilitiesof increasing light and warmth and the expanse of outlook. 

First with regard to a quiet body. Indigestion makes us unquiet, therefore we must eat only wholesome food, and not too much of it, andwe must eat it quietly. Poor breathing and poor blood makes us unquiet, therefore we should learn to expand our lungs to their full extent inthe fresh air and give the blood plenty of oxygen. Breathing also has adirect effect on the circulation and the brain, and when we breathequietly and rhythmically, we are quieting the movement of our blood aswell as opening the channels so that it can flow without interruption. We are also quieting our brain and so our whole nervous system. 

Lack of exercise makes us unquiet, because exercise supplies the bloodmore fully with oxygen and prevents it from flowing sluggishly, asluggish circulation straining the nervous system. It is thereforeimportant to take regular exercise. 

Want of rest especially makes us unquiet; therefore we should attend toit that we get--as far as possible--what rest we need, and take all therest we get in the best way. We cannot expect to fulfill theseconditions all at once, but we can aim steadily to do so, and bygetting every day a stronger focus and a steadier aim we can gain sogreatly in fulfilling the standards of a healthy mind in a healthybody, and so much of our individual dust will be laid, that I mayfairly promise a happy astonishment at the view of life which will openbefore us, and the power for use and enjoyment that will come. 

Let us see now how we would begin practically, having made up our mindsto do all in our power to lay the dust and get a quiet background. Wemust begin in what may seem a very small way. It seems to be always thesmall beginnings that lead to large and solidly lasting results. Notonly that, but when we begin in the small way and the right way toreach any goal, we can find no short cuts and no seven-league boots. 

We must take every step and take it decidedly in order to really getthere. We must place one brick and then another, exactly, and placeevery brick--to make a house that will stand. 

But now for our first step toward laying the dust. Let us take half anhour every day and do nothing in it. For the first ten minutes we willprobably be wretched, for the next ten minutes we may be more wretched, but for the last five minutes we will get a sense of quiet and at firstthe dust, although not laid, will cease to whirl. And then--aninteresting fact--what seems to us quiet in the beginning of ourattempt, will seem like noise and whirlwinds, after we have gonefurther along. Some one may easily say that it is absurd to take halfan hour a day to do nothing in. Or that "Nature abhors a vacuum, andhow is it possible to do nothing? Our minds will be thinking of orworking on something. "

In answer to this, I might say with the Irishman, "Be aisy, but if youcan't be aisy, be as aisy as you can!" Do nothing as well as you can. When you begin thinking of anything, drop it. When you feel restlessand as if you could not keep still another minute, relax and makeyourself keep still. I should take many days of this insistence upondoing nothing and dropping everything from my mind before taking thenext step. For to drop everything from one's mind, for half an hour isnot by any means an easy matter. Our minds are full of interests, fullof resistances. With some of us, our minds are full of resentment. Andwhat we have to promise ourselves to do is for that one-half hour a dayto take nothing into consideration. If something comes up that we areworrying about, refuse to consider it. If some resentment to a personor a circumstance comes to mind, refuse to consider it. 

I know all this is easier to say than to do, but remember, please, thatit is only for half an hour every day-only half an hour. Refuse toconsider anything for half an hour. Having learned to sit still, or liestill, and think of nothing with a moderate degree of success, and withmost people the success can only be moderate at best, the next step isto think quietly of taking long, gentle, easy breaths for half an hour. A long breath and then a rest, two long breaths and then a rest. Onecan quiet and soothe oneself inside quite wonderfully with the study oflong gentle breaths. But it must be a study. We must study to begininhaling gently, to change to the exhalation with equal delicacy, andto keep the same gentle, delicate pressure throughout, each time tryingto make the breath a little longer. 

After we have had many days of the gentle, long breaths at intervalsfor half an hour, then we can breathe rhythmically (inhale countingfive or ten, exhale counting five or ten), steadily for half an hour, trying all the time to have the breath more quiet, gentle and steady, drawing it in and letting it out with always decreasing effort. It iswonderful when we discover how little effort we really need to take afull and vigorous breath. This half hour's breathing exercise every daywill help us to the habit of breathing rhythmically all the time, and asteady rhythmic breath is a great physical help toward a quiet mind. 

We can mingle with the deep breathing simple exercises of lifting eacharm slowly and heavily from the shoulder, and then letting it drop adead weight, and pausing while we feel conscious of our arms restingwithout tension in the lap or on the couch. 

But all this has been with relation to the body, and it is the mentaland moral dust of which I am writing. The physical work for quiet isonly helpful as it makes the body a better instrument for the mind andfor the will. A quiet body is of no use if it contains an unquiet mindwhich is going to pull it out of shape or start it up in agitation atthe least provocation. In such a case, the quiet body in its passivestate is only a more responsive instrument to the mind that wants toraise a dust. One--and the most helpful way of quieting the mind--isthrough a steady effort at concentration. One can concentrate; on doingnothing--that is, on sitting quietly in a chair or lying quietly on thebed or the floor. Be quiet, keep quiet, be quiet, keep quiet. That isthe form of concentration, that is the way of learning to do nothing toadvantage. Then we concentrate on the quiet breathing, to have itgentle, steady, and without strain. In the beginning we must take careto concentrate without strain, and without emotion, use our mindsquietly, as one might watch a bird who was very near, to see what itwill do next, and with care not to frighten it away. 

These are the great secrets of true strengthening concentration. Thefirst is dropping everything that interferes. The second is working toconcentrate easily without emotion. They are really one and the same. If we work to drop everything that interferes, we are so constantlyrelaxing in order to concentrate that the very process drops strain bitby bit, little by little. 

An unquiet mind, however, full of worries, anxieties, resistances, resentments, and full of all varieties of agitation, going over andover things to try to work out problems that are not in human hands, orcomplaining and fretting and puzzling because help seems to be out ofhuman power, such a mind which is befogged and begrimed by theagitation of its own dust is not a cause in itself--it is an effect. The cause is the reaching and grasping, the unreasonable insistence onits own way of kicking, dust-raising self-will at the back of the mind. 

A quiet will, a will that can remain quiet through all emergencies, isnot a self-will. It is the self that raises the dust--the self thatwants, and strains to get its own way, and turns and twists and writhesif it does not get its own way. 

God's will is quiet. We see it in the growth of the trees and theflowers. We see it in the movement of the planets of the Universe. Wesee God's mind in the wonderful laws of natural science. Most of all wesee and feel, when we get quiet ourselves, God's love in every thingand every one. 

If we want the dust laid, we must work to get our bodies quiet. We mustdrop all that interferes with quiet in our minds, and we must give upwanting our own way. We must believe that God's way is immeasurablybeyond us and that if we work quietly to obey Him, He will reveal to usHis way in so far as we need to know it, and will prepare us for andguide us to His uses. 

The most perfect example we have of a quiet mind in a quiet body, guided by the Divine Will, is in the character of the Lord JesusChrist. As we study His words and His works, we realize the power andthe delicacy of His human life, and we realize--as far as we arecapable of realizing--the absolute clearness of the atmosphere aboutHim. We see and feel that atmosphere to be full of quiet--Divine HumanLove. 

There is no suffering, no temptation, that any man or woman ever had orever will have that He did not meet in Himself and conquer. Therefore, if we mean to begin the work in ourselves of finding the quiet whichwill lay our own dust from the very first, if we have the end in ourminds of truer obedience and loving trust, we can, even in the simplebeginning of learning to do nothing quietly, find an essence of lifewhich eventually we will learn always to recognize and to love, and toknow that it is not ourselves, but it is from the Heavenly Father ofourselves. 

Some of us cannot get that motive to begin with; some of us will, if webegin at all, work only for relief, or because we recognize that thereis more power without dust than with it, but no one of us is ever safefrom clouds of dust unless at the back of all our work there is thedesire to give up all self-will for the sake of obeying and of trustingthe Divine Will more and more perfectly as time goes on. If we arecontent to work thoroughly and to gain slowly, not to be pulled down bymistakes or discouragements, but to learn from them, we are sure to begrateful for the new light and warmth and power for use that will cometo us, increasing day by day. 

CHAPTER XXIX

_Plain Every-day Common Sense_

PLAIN common sense! When we come to sift everything down which willenable us to live wholesome, steady, every-day, interesting lives, plain common sense seems to be the first and the simplest need. In theworking out of any problem, whether it be in science or in art or inplain everyday living, we are told to go from the circumference to thecenter, from the known to the unknown, from simplest facts to thosewhich would otherwise seem complex. And whether the life we are livingis quiet and commonplace, or whether it is full of change andadventure, to be of the greatest and most permanent use, a life musthave as its habitual background plain every-day common sense. 

When we stop and think a while, the lack of this important quality isquite glaring, and every one who has his attention called to it andrecognizes that lack enough to be interested to supply it in his ownlife, is doing more good toward bringing plain common sense into theworld at large than we can well appreciate. For instance, it is only afact of plain common sense that we should keep rested, and yet how manyof us do? How many readers of this article will smile or sneer, or beirritated when they read the above, and say, "It is all very well totalk of keeping rested. How is it possible with all I have to do? orwith all the care I have? or with all I have to worry me?"

Now that is just the point--the answer to that question, "How is itpossible?" So very few of us know how to do it, and if "how to keeprested though busy" were regularly taught in all schools in thiscountry, so far from making the children self-conscious andover-careful of themselves, it would lay up in their brains ideas ofplain common sense which would be stocked safely there for use when, astheir lives grew more maturely busy, they would find the right habitsformed, enabling them to keep busy and at the same time to keep quietand rested. What a wonderful difference it would eventually make in thewholesomeness of the manners and customs of this entire nation. Andthat difference would come from giving the children now a half hour'sinstruction in the plain common sense of keeping well rested, and inseeing that such instruction was entirely and only practical. 

It has often seemed to me that the tendency of education in the presentday is more toward giving information than it is in preparing the mindto receive and use interesting and useful information of all kinds:that is, in helping the mind to attract what it needs; to absorb whatit attracts, and digest what it absorbs as thoroughly as any goodhealthy stomach ever digested the food it needed to supply the bodywith strength. The root of such cultivation, it seems to me, is inteaching the practical use and application of all that is studied. Tobe sure, there is much more of that than there was fifty years ago, butyou have only to put to the test the minds of young graduates to seehow much more of such work is needed, and how much more intelligent thetraining of the young mind may be, even now. 

Take, for instance, the subject of ethics. How many boys and girls gohome and are more useful in their families, more thoughtful andconsiderate for all about them, for their study of ethics in school?And yet the study of ethics has no other use than this. If the mindabsorbed and digested the true principles of ethics, so that the heartfelt moved to use them, it might--it probably would--make a greatchange in the lives of the boys and girls who studied it--a change thatwould surprise and delight their parents and friends. 

If the science of keeping rested were given in schools in the way that, in most cases, the science of ethics seems to be given now, the idea ofrest would lie in an indigestible lump on the minds of the students, and instead of being absorbed, digested and carried out in their dailylives, would be evaporated little by little into the air, or vomitedoff the mind in various jokes about it, and other expressions thatwould prove the children knew nothing of what they were being taught. 

But again, I am glad to repeat--if instruction, _practical_instruction, were given every day in the schools on how to form thehabit of keeping rested, it would have a wonderful effect upon thewhole country, not to mention where in many individual cases it wouldactually prevent the breaking out of hereditary disease. 

Nature always tends toward health; so strongly, so habitually doesnature tend toward health that it seems at times as if the working ofnatural laws pushed some people into health in spite of chronicantagonism they seem to have against health--one might even say inspite of the wilful refusal of health. 

When one's body is kept rested, nature is constantly throwing off germsof disease, constantly working, and working most actively, to protectthe body from anything that would interfere with its perfect health. When one's body is not rested, nature works just as hard, but the tiredbody--through its various forms of tension that impede the circulation, prevent the healthy absorption of food and oxygen, and clog the way sothat impurities cannot be carried off--interferes with nature's workand thus makes it impossible for her to keep the machine well oiled. When we are tired, the very fact of being tired makes us more tired, unless we rest properly. 

A great deal--it seems to me more than one-half--of the fatigue in theworld comes from the need of an intelligent understanding of how tokeep rested. The more that lack of intelligence is allowed to grow, theworse it is going to be for the health of the nation. We have less ofthat plain common sense than our grandfathers and grandmothers. Theyhad less than their fathers and mothers. We need more than ourancestors, because life is more complicated now, than it was then. Wecan get more if we will, because there is more real understanding ofthe science of hygiene than our fathers and mothers had before us. Ourneed now is to use _practically_ the information which a fewindividuals are able to give us, and especially to teach such practicaluse to our children. 

Let us find out how we would actually go to work to keep rested, andtake the information of plain common sense and use it. 

To keep rested we must not overwork our body inside or outside. We mustkeep it in an equilibrium of action and rest. 

We overwork our body inside when we eat the wrong food and when we eattoo much or not enough of the right food, for then the stomach has morethan its share of work to do, and as the effort to do it well robs thebrain and the whole nervous system, so, of course, the rest of the bodyhas not its rightful supply of energy and the natural result is greatfatigue. 

We overwork our body inside when we do not give it its due amount offresh air. The blood needs the oxygen to supply itself and the nervesand muscles with power to do their work. When the oxygen is notsupplied to the blood, the machinery of the body has to work with somuch less power than really belongs to it, that there is great strainin the effort to do its work properly, and the effect is, of course, fatigue. 

In either of the above cases, both with an overworked stomach and anoverworked heart and lungs, the complaint is very apt to be, "Why am Iso tired when I have done nothing to get tired?" The answer is, "No, you have done nothing outside with your muscles, but the heart andlungs and the stomach are delicate and exquisite instruments. You haveoverworked them all, and such overwork is the more fatiguing inproportion to what is done than any other form, except overwork of thebrain. " And the overtired stomach and heart and lungs tire the brain, of course. 

Of the work that is given to the brain itself to overtire it we mustspeak later. So much now for that which prevents the body from keepingrested inside, in the finer working of its machinery. 

It is easy to find out what and how to eat. A very little carefulthought will show us that. It is only the plain common sense of eatingwe need. It is easy to see that we must not eat on a tired stomach, andif we have to do so, we must eat much less than we ordinarily would, and eat it more slowly. So much good advice is already given about whatand how to eat, I need say nothing here, and even without that advice, which in itself is so truly valuable, most of us could have plaincommon sense about our own food if we would use our minds intelligentlyabout it, and eat only what we know to be nourishing to us. That can bedone without fussing. Fussing about food contracts the stomach, andprevents free digestion almost as much as eating indigestible food. 

Then again, if we deny ourselves that which we want and know is bad forus, and eat only that which we know to be nourishing, it increases thedelicacy of our relish. We do not lose relish by refusing to eat toomuch candy. We gain it. Human pigs lose their most delicate relishentirely, and they lose much--very much more--than that. 

Unfortunately with most people, there is not the relish for fresh airthat there is for food. Very few people want fresh air selfishly; theselfish tendency of most people is to cut it off for fear of takingcold. And yet the difference felt in health, in keeping rested, in easeof mind, is as great between no fresh air and plenty of fresh air as itis between the wrong kind of food and enough (and not too much) of theright kind of food. 

Why does not the comfort of the body appeal to us as strongly throughthe supply of air given to the lungs as through that of food given tothe stomach? The right supply of fresh air has such wonderful power tokeep us rested!

Practical teaching to the children here would, among other things, givethem training which would open their lungs and enable them to take inwith every breath the full amount of oxygen needed toward keeping themrested. There are so many cells in the lungs of most people, made toreceive oxygen, which never receive one bit of the food they are hungryfor. 

There is much more, of course, very much more, to say about the workingof the machinery of the inside of the body and about the plain commonsense needed to keep it well and rested, but I have said enough for nowto start a thoughtful mind to work. 

Now for keeping the body well rested from the outside. It is all sowell arranged for us--the night given us to sleep in, a good long dayof work and a long night of rest; so the time for rest and the time forwork are equalized and it is so happily arranged that out of thetwenty-four hours in the day, when we are well, we need only eighthours' sleep. So well does nature work and so truly that she can makeup for us in eight hours' sleep what fuel we lose in sixteen hours ofactivity. 

Only one-third of the time do we need to sleep, and we have the othertwo-thirds for work and play. This regular sleep is a strong force inour aim to keep rested. Therefore, the plain common sense of that is tofind out how to go to sleep naturally, how to get all the rest out ofsleep that nature would give us, and so to wake refreshed and ready forthe day. 

To go to sleep naturally we must learn how to drop all the tension ofthe day and literally _drop_ to sleep like a baby. _Let go intosleep_--there is a host of meaning in that expression. When we do that, nature can revive and refresh and renew us. Renew our vitality, bringus so much more brain power for the day, all that we need for our workand our play; or almost all--for there are many little rests during theday, little openings for rest that we need to take, and that we canteach ourselves to take as a matter of course. We can sit restfully ateach one of our three meals. Eat restfully and quietly, and so makeeach meal not only a means of getting nourishment, but of getting restas well. There is all the difference of illness and health in taking ameal with strain and a sense of rush and pressure of work, and intaking it as if to eat that one meal were the only thing we had to doin the day. Better to eat a little nourishing food and eat it quietlyand at leisure than a large meal of the same food with a sense of rush. This is a very important factor in keeping rested. 

Then there are the many expected and unexpected times in the day whenwe can take rest and so _keep rested. _ If we have to wait we can sitquietly. Whatever we are doing we can make use of the between times torest. Each man can find his own "between times. " If we make real use ofthem, intelligent use, they not only help us to keep rested, they helpus to do our work better, if we will but watch for them and use them. 

Now the body is only a servant, and in all I have written above, I haveonly written of the servant. How can a servant keep well and rested ifthe master drives him to such an extent that he is brought into astate, not where he won't go, but where he can't go, and must thereforedrop? It is the intelligent master, who is a true disciple of plaincommon sense, who will train his servant, the body, in the way ofresting, eating and breathing, in order to fit it for the maximum ofwork at the minimum of energy. But if you obey every external law forthe health and strength of the body, and obey it implicitly, and to theletter, with all possible intelligence, you cannot keep it healthy ifthe mind that owns the body is pulling it and twisting it, and_twanging_ on its delicate machinery with a flood of resentment andresistance; and the spirit behind the mind is eager, wretched, andunhappy, because it does not get its own way, or elated with aninflamed egoism because it is getting its own way. 

All plain common sense in the way of health for the body falls deadunless followed up closely with plain common sense for the health ofthe mind; and then again, although when there is "a healthy mind in ahealthy body, " the health appears far more permanent than when a mindfull of personal resistance tries to keep its body healthy, even thathappy combination cannot be really permanent unless there is found backof it a healthy spirit. 

But of the plain common sense of the spirit there is more to be said atanother time. 

With regard to the mind, let us look and see not only that it is notsensible to allow it to remain full of resistance, but is it notpositively stupid?

What an important factor it should be in the education of children toteach them the plain common sense needed to keep the mind healthy--toteach them the uselessness of a mental resistance, and thewholesomeness of a clean mind. 

If a child worries about his lessons, he is resisting the possibilityof failing in his class; let him learn that the worry _interferes_ withhis getting his lesson. Teach him how to drop the worry, and he willfind not only that he gets the lesson in less time, but his mind isclearer to remember it. 

By following the same laws, children could be taught that a feeling ofrush and hurry only impedes their progress. The rushed feelingsometimes comes from a nervous unquiet which is inherited, and shouldbe trained out of the child. 

But alas! alas! how can a mother or a father train a child to livecommon sensibly without useless resistance when neither the mother northe father can do that same themselves. It is not too late for anymother or father to learn, and if each will have the humility toconfess to the child that they are learning and help the child to learnwith them, no child would or could take advantage of that and as thechildren are trained rightly, what a start they can give their ownchildren when they grow up--and what a gain there might be from onegeneration to another! Will it ever come? Surely we hope so. 

CHAPTER XXX

_A Summing Up_

GIVE up resentment, give up unhealthy resistance. 

If circumstances, or persons, arouse either resentment or resistance inus, let us ignore the circumstances or persons until we have quietedourselves. Freedom does not come from merely yielding out of resentmentor unhealthy resistance, it comes also from the strong and steady focuson such yielding. _Concentration and relaxation are just as necessaryone to another to give stability to the nerves of a man--as thecentrifugal and centripetal forces are necessary to give stability tothe Earth. _

As the habit of healthy concentration and relaxation grows within us, our perception clears so that we see what is right to do, and are giventhe power to do it. As our freedom from bondage to our fellowmenbecomes established, our relation to our fellowmen grows happier, morepenetrating and more full of life, and later we come to understand thatat root it is ourselves--our own resentment and resistance--to which wehave been in bondage, --circumstances or other people have had _really_nothing to do with it. When we have made that discovery, and aresteadily acting upon it, we are free indeed, and with this new libertythere grows a clear sense and conviction of a wise, loving Power which, while leaving us our own free will, is always tenderly guiding us. 

No one ever really believed anything without experiencing it. We maythink we believe all sorts of beautiful truths, but how can any truthbe really ours unless we have proved it by living? We do not fullybelieve it until it runs in our blood--that is--we must see a truthwith our minds, love it with our hearts and live it over and over againin our lives before it is ours. 

If the reader will think over this little book--he will see that everychapter has healthy yielding at the root of it. It is a constantrepetition of the same principle applied to the commonplacecircumstances of life, and if the reader will take this principle intohis mind, and work practically to live it in his life, he will find thelove for it growing in his heart, and with it a living conviction thatwhen truly applied, it always works. 

Some one once described the difference between good breeding and badbreeding as that between a man who works as a matter of course toconquer his limitations--and a man to whom his limitations areinevitable. 

There is spiritual good breeding and natural good breeding. The firstcomes from the achievement of personal character--the second is bornwith us--to use or misuse as we prefer. 

It is a happy thing to realize that our freedom from bondage tocircumstances, and our loving, intelligent freedom from other people, is the true spiritual good breeding which gives vitality to everyaction of our lives, and brings us into more real and closer touch withour fellow-men. Courtesy is alive when it has genuine love of all humannature at the root of it--it is dead when it is merely a matter of goodform. 

In so far as I know, the habit of such freedom and good breeding cannotbe steadily sustained without an absolute, conscious dependence uponthe Lord God Almighty.