So let us not get to pitying ourselves—­we are pretty well circumstanced for the alternation of work and play, even in our state of partial development.  It is for us to use the opportunity already afforded us; and, speaking by and large, ought we not to deserve more by using, without waste or worse than waste, what we already have?  Is there not sound philosophy in the legend which Mr. Lewis tells us was inscribed on the headboard of Jack King, deceased:  “Life ain’t in holding a good hand, but in playing a poor hand well”?

My suggestion of one or two months’ outing in addition to our fifty-two Sundays and several holidays is to those who have poured out in brain-work and nervous strain more than the system can possibly replenish except by a period devoted exclusively to the manufacture of force to replace that which has been unnaturally expended.  There are men who toil night and day.  Mostly they are young men establishing their business or getting their “start.”

I know many young men who work twelve and even fourteen hours every day, and keep it up the year round.  One of the greatest merchants of my acquaintance worked from five o’clock in the morning until twelve and one o’clock at night, and then slept in his little store.  He was just building up his business.  We all know men who literally will not stop work while awake, and when their task is near them.  Such men must go away from their business and let Nature work on them awhile.

Have your doctor look you over every six months, no matter how well you feel—­or oftener, if he thinks best.  Have your regular physician.  Pick out a good one, and, especially, a man congenial to yourself.  Make him your friend as well as medical adviser.  The true doctor is a marvelous person.

How astonishing the accurate knowledge of the accomplished physician!  How miracle-like the dainty and beneficent skill of the modern surgeon.  The peculiar ability of a great diagnostician amounts to divination.  And he, whom Nature has fitted for this noble profession, is endowed with a sympathy for you and an intuitive understanding of you very much akin to the peculiar sixth sense of woman—­that strange power by which she “knows and understands.”

Consult your doctor, therefore.  Be careful of medicines he does not prescribe.  The most innocent drug is a veiled force, a compound of hidden powers—­the system a delicate intricacy whose condition may be different every day.  The neurosis of our American life is seducing too many of our best and busiest men to the use of chemicals, mixtures, nostrums, pick-me-ups, etc., which make nerves and brain utter brave falsehoods of a strength that is not theirs.

Your doctor won’t let you do this—­he will stay your unconsciously suicidal hand.  If your machinery is out of order, he will tell you so, and do what is necessary to repair it.  He will comfort and reassure you, too, and administer to the mind a medicine as potent as powder or liquid.  But you will get no false sympathy from him.  If you have nothing the matter with you, yet think you have, your doctor will take you by the collar of your coat, stand you on your feet, and bid you be a man.  So don’t dose yourself.  Be a faithful guardian of the treasures Nature gave you.