it gives him of arriving there.  That this danger is not imaginary too many are able to testify.—­Few scenes in Rabelais are more exquisitely ludicrous than that in which he pictures the monk Panurge in a storm at sea.  The oily ecclesiastic is terrified as only a combination of hypocrite and coward can be; and, in the extremity of his craven distress, he fancies that any situation on shore, no matter how despicable, would be paradise.  So at length he whines, “Oh that I were on dry land, and somebody kicking me!” In a similar manner—­similar, save that farce deepens to tragedy—­many a man in America of opulent mental outfit, but with only a poor wreck of a body to bear the precious cargo, must often have been tempted to cry, “Oh that I had a sound digestion, and were some part of a dunce!” In truth, we are a nation of health-hunters, betraying the want by the search.  It were to be wished that an accurate computation could be made how much money has been paid in the United States, within a score of years, for patent medicines.  It would buy up a kingdom of respectable dimensions.  So eager is this health-hunger, that it bites at bare hooks.  The “advertising man” of Arnold’s Globules offers his services as nostrum-puffer-general, and appeals to past success as proof of his abilities in this line.  But Arnold’s Globules will sell no whit the worse.  Is the amiable Mr. Knox right, after all?  Doubtless, we answer, the American organization is more easily disordered than the English,—­just as a railway-train running at forty miles an hour is more liable to accident than one proceeding at twenty.  Besides, Americans have not learned to live as these new circumstances require.  The New Man is a clipper-ship, that can run out of sight of land while one of the old bluff-bowed, round-ribbed craft is creeping out of port; but, from the very nature of his superiorities, he is apt to be shorter-lived, and more likely to spring a leak in the strain of a storm.  He demands nicer navigation.  It will not do for him to beat over sand-bars.  Yet dinner-pilotage in this country is reckless and unscientific to a degree.  The land is full of wrecks hopelessly snagged upon indigestible diet.  As yet, it is difficult to obtain a hearing for precaution.  Men answer you out of their past experience,—­much like a headstrong personage who was about to attempt crossing a river in a boat sure to sink.  “You will drown, if you go in that thing,” said a bystander.  “Never was drowned yet,” was the prompt retort; and pushing off, he soon lost the opportunity to repeat that boast!  But this resistance is constantly becoming less.  Meantime, numbers of foreseeing men are waking up, or are already awakened, to the importance of recreation and physical culture,—­members of the clerical profession, to the credit of the craft be it said, taking the lead.  Messrs. Beecher, Bellows, and Hale plead the cause of amusements; the author of “Saints and their Bodies” celebrates the uses and urges the need of athletic sports; gymnasia