After all, that advice of mine, which is thought to have benefited you so greatly, was simply that which Dr. Abernethy used to give his patients:  “Don’t come to me,—­go buy a skipping-rope.”  If you can only guard against excesses, and keep the skipping-rope in operation, there are yet hopes for you.  Only remember that it is equally important to preserve health as to attain it, and it needs much the same regimen.  Do not be like that Lord Russell in Spence’s Anecdotes, who only went hunting for the sake of an appetite, and who, the moment he felt any sensation of vitality in the epigastrium, used to turn short round, exclaiming, “I have found it!” and ride home from the finest chase.  It was the same Lord Russell, by the way, who, when he met a beggar and was implored to give him something, because he was almost famished with hunger, called him a happy dog, and envied him too much to relieve him.  From some recent remarks of your boarding-house hostess, my friend, I am led to suppose that you are now almost as well off, in point of appetite, as if you were a beggar; and I wish to keep you so.

How much the spirits rise with health!  A family of children is a very different sight to a healthy man and to a dyspeptic.  What pleasure you now take in yours!  You are going to live more in their manner and for their sakes, henceforward, you tell me.  You are to enter upon business again, but in a more moderate way; you are to live in a pleasant little suburban cottage, with fresh air, a horse-railroad, and good schools.  For I am startled to find that your interest In your offspring, like that of most American parents, culminates in the school-room.  This important matter you have neglected long enough, you think, foolishly absorbed in making money for them.  Now they shall have money enough, to be sure, but wisdom in plenty.  Angelina shall walk in silk attire, and knowledge have to spare.  To which school shall you send her? you ask me, with something of the old careworn expression, pulling six different prospectuses from your pocket.  Put them away, Dolorosus; I know the needs of Angelina, and I can answer instantly.  Send the girl, for the present at least, to that school whose daily hours of session are the shortest, and whose recess-times and vacations are of the most formidable length.

No, anxious parent, I am not joking.  I am more anxious for your children than you are.  On the faith of an ex-teacher and ex-school-committee-man,—­for what respectable middle-aged American man but has passed through both these spheres of uncomfortable usefulness?—­I am terribly in earnest.  Upon this point asserted,—­that the merit of an American school, at least so far as Angelina is concerned, is in inverse ratio to the time given to study,—­I will lay down incontrovertible propositions.