As there are many causes of disease, there must be many ways of cure.  No one system can regulate the disturbances of the complex machinery of the human frame.

Dr. Franklin subjected himself to what was denominated the air bath, as a remedial agent.  Others believed in the direct action of the sun, placing themselves beneath glass cupolas to receive it; while still later we have the water-cure, which is thought by many to heal all diseases.  These are right in combination, but no one will cure alone.

Does the strong man, with steady nerves, compact muscle, and perfect arterial circulation, need the same remedy when ill, as a less vigorous person, one whose hourly suffering is from a diseased nervous organization?

One member of a family argues that because he can bathe in ice water, another, with more feeble circulation, can do the same, and realize the same results.  One man will take no medicine, another swallow scarcely anything else, and thus we find extremes following each other.

One ideaism in this direction is as much to be avoided as in any other.  The man of good sense says, “I will take whatever is required to restore the balance of my system.”

Of mental disorders we know little.  Asylums for their treatment have multiplied in our midst, but few of the thousands of educated physicians are qualified to minister to a mind diseased.  Past modes will not do for to-day.  Our conditions are not the same.  Our lives are faster, our needs greater.  Our grand-parents lived in the age of muscle; we exist in the nerve period, and have new demands, both in our mental and physical structure.

And new light will come in answer to the demand.  The eye of clairvoyance is already penetrating beyond science, and traversing the world of causes.

Eagerly Florence broke the seal of her first letter from Hugh.  He had arrived safely, and wafted over the sea his own and Dawn’s love and remembrance.

“Dawn desires to go to Germany, first,” he wrote, “and as I have business with parties in Berlin, I shall gratify her wish.  I thought, all along, how much I wished you were with us, but since writing I feel different.  I need you at home to express myself to, when I am overflowing with thought.  If you were at my side, when I am seeing all these things, we should both have the feast together, and be done.  Now, in rehearsing it to you, I enjoy it over again.  Very much we shall have to talk about, when we meet again.  How I would like to transmit to your mind the vivid impressions of my own, when I first put my foot on the soil of England; but such things are not possible, and sometime I hope you will be here yourself, and feel the thrill of the old world under your feet.”

This portion of the long and interesting letter so refreshed her, that Miss Evans, when she came in after tea, guessed at once the cause of the sparkling eye that greeted her.

“Letters are wonderful tonics,” said Mr. Temple, laughingly, as he glanced toward Florence.