The strength of a chain lies in its weakest link, and the measure of man’s strength is that of the weak point in his constitution. He may have the frame and muscle of a Sandow, but if he has a faulty valve in his heart, it is by that, and not by his muscular development, that his strength must be gauged. Even supposing that every organ in his body is sound, and he is possessed of great powers of endurance, he cannot be called strong if he is impairing his digestion by careless habits of eating and drinking, or endangering his nervous system by habitually keeping late hours and burning the candle at both ends, or laying up gout in store for himself by gourmandising or want of exercise.

No matter whether the weak spot be in the man’s own system or in his mode of life, Nature will find it out as surely as the arrow found the heel of Achilles. It is on his weak points that he must stand or fall; it is in these that the strain will manifest itself, in other words, that the breakdown will appear.

The aim of this book has been to prevent matters ever reaching this stage, to arrest them at the outset. No sign, of all those I have indicated as pointing towards a breakdown, should be neglected. The time to take heed is when any man or woman finds that their powers of work are failing them, their nerves easily upset, or their minds assailed by an unreasonable dread of the future, or that in one or other of various ways they are not the people they were. It is better to slow down at the first danger signal than to run past one after another until we are pulled up with a crash.

The first thing, therefore, is to find out the weak points; take care of these, and the strong ones will look after themselves. The man who taps the wheels of railway carriages does so in order to detect flaws; he passes by the sound wheels with indifference. And there is a simple way in which people may find out in which particulars they are going wrong. If they have taken the trouble to wade through this book, they may have noticed that certain paragraphs or chapters attracted their attention. It does not follow that they agreed with them, or thought them important at the time. It may be that they said (provided they were of the male gender) that they were “all nonsense,” or that it was “a precious lot of fuss about nothing.”

It does not matter what they said or thought. The point is that they said or thought something. For the fact that they did so was proof that the piece of writing in question forced itself upon their notice, and must therefore have had some special application to their own case; and if this has been so, let them pay particular heed to those paragraphs, or pages or chapters, whichever they may have been.

If the advice given is not in accordance with their own feelings, that fact does not detract from its value. Many of us, in looking back, have to acknowledge that most of the warnings and counsels which have proved of the greatest benefit in the long run, were unpalatable at the time. They were distasteful simply because we knew in our inmost hearts that we stood in need of them. Otherwise we should not have paid sufficient attention to them even to feel any resentment on the subject. There is a lot of meaning in the saying, “Greater truth, greater libel.”

Especially does this apply to the question of exercise and rest. It is not hard, as a rule, to convince people that they are committing errors of diet, or getting too little fresh air; but it is very different when we come to deal with these other matters. Few people like to be told that they should take more exercise, or rouse themselves to show more interest in things outside their ordinary routine of work. It sounds like an accusation of indolence.

Yet such resentment is slight compared with that of the men or women who have to be warned that they are wasting their energies by restlessness and worry or lack of recreation. These strenuous natures are apt to take umbrage at the fact of their work being interfered with. They do not realise that what we wish is that they may be enabled to do better work and more of it in the end.

When a medical man sees a patient he has to do more than diagnose the disease. Often it happens that before he can find out what is the matter, and certainly before he can treat it efficiently, he must discover what type of man or woman he is dealing with. Any coachman will tell you that before he can drive a horse well he must get to know the animal itself. For some are restless and excitable and need the curb, whilst others are lazy and require the use of the whip. And for all who wish to guide themselves in matters of health it is of the first importance that they should know their own temperaments.

It is said that people are always the last to hear any gossip or scandal about themselves. It is equally true that they are usually the last to observe any change in their health or dispositions. A person may be growing thinner, paler, and more tired looking, and yet be unaware of the fact. Much more does this apply to all the nervous symptoms and other peculiarities which denote that he is on the down-grade and gliding towards a breakdown. Yet if any such signs are pointed out to him by others, either by a medical man or some candid friend, the best thing he can do is to give full consideration to their opinion. Let health be preserved while it can. The day may come when it will be lost never to be regained.

Throughout this book we have laid stress on the influence of the body on the mind, and the importance of attending to its various functions in order to keep the nervous system healthy. Yet we must not overlook the other fact, viz. that we are gifted with a certain, even if limited, amount of control over the mind itself.

Some writers have told us, and quite rightly too, that we can cultivate a brighter outlook on the future. We are recommended to persuade ourselves that there is no season in the whole year so acceptable as the one that is just commencing—no beauty like that of spring, no glory like that of summer, no time so welcome as autumn with its dying splendours. And when winter comes we can look forward to the delights of the cosy fireside, so much more sociable than the long, garish days of summer. Instead of which, too many of us dread the heat and the cold and a good many other things, that are never so bad when they come as we think they are going to be.

A little calm philosophy undoubtedly goes a long way towards negotiating many of the difficulties and anxieties with which we are all confronted at times. Yet it is impossible to acquire a cheerful, philosophical frame of mind unless the body, with its nervous system and various organs, is in a healthy condition. After all, the chief thing is to attend to its requirements.

When all is said and done, we come back to the elementary rules of health. It is around these that the whole question of breakdowns hinges. On the observance of them depend both the prevention and cure of this condition. If they were always carried out, this dire calamity would rarely, if ever, happen. When once it has loomed ahead there is only one thing to be done. The man or woman who sees it threatening them must retrace their steps and get back to the place where they took the wrong turning. They must work their way back until they have regained the health and vigour, which they once enjoyed but forfeited through their neglect of those laws.

And this needs a vast amount of patience and perseverance. It is easier to slide down than to climb up again, and people may find their progress marred by many a set-back. Yet a backward step in an upward climb does not mean that we have rolled to the bottom of the hill again. Many a man is discouraged when, after months of patient striving, he finds one day that his symptoms have returned—his nervousness, his inability to tackle his work, his feeling of langour and debility, or whatever else it may be. He thinks that all his efforts have been of no avail, and that he might as well give up.

He need not lose heart, it is but a temporary lapse. In a few days he will find himself climbing up once more. And if he holds on bravely he will one day reach the summit, and enjoy to the full the health and strength and energy of his earlier years. He will then have obtained his reward in the possession of that treasure which is greater than wealth or fame.

We cannot do better than conclude with words penned by a discerning writer more than two centuries ago:—

“Health is that which makes your meat and drink both savoury and pleasant. It is that which makes your bed easy and your sleep refreshing; that revives your strength with the rising sun, and makes you rejoice to behold the light of another day. Health is that which fills up the uneven parts of your body, making it plump and comely; which makes your mind fertile, and preserves the vigour, verdure, and beauty of your youth. ’Tis that which makes the soul take delight in her mansion, and adorns your face with glowing colours. Good health takes no notice of heart, lungs, stomach or nerves. Indeed, it does not know that there are such things.”

The most wonderful feature of perfect health is its blissful unconsciousness.

THE END.

Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith Ltd., 11 Quay Street.