M.—No; she won’t bathe hardly ever, and as for taking an injection, she would die first. P.—No, mother; I do bathe two or three times a week; but then it chills me and makes me tremble so, I don’t get over it all day. D.—But don’t chill yourself, use the water milder; but take your bath every morning, or at least some time during the day. You cannot be as clean as you should be in a dusty city like this, unless you wash the body every day. M.—The rest of us take a cold bath every morning, and it does us a great deal of good; we would not do without it on any account. D.—How much does your daughter walk every day? P.—Walk! why! mother won’t let me walk. I only go to school and come back, that’s all. D.—You only go to school and back. Let’s see how far that is; about a quarter of a mile there, and a quarter of a mile back. Then you walk a half mile each day. M.—She sometimes goes up and down stairs dusting off the furniture in the house. D.—That is all very good, so far as it goes. Does she ever make bread? M.—No; we get the bread at the baker’s. D.—And rather poor stuff at that. Does she ever wash? M.—Well, no; the servants attend to that. She has too many studies you know, doctor, for that, and then— D.—How is the patient’s appetite? P.—Not very good; sometimes I eat a great deal too much, but the most of the time I relish nothing. I am often wanting what I cannot get; and food always distresses me, gives me acid stomach and heart-burn, and so on. M.—Yes; she likes chalk, charcoal, slate pencils, vinegar, and all such things. She has always an appetite for these. D.—This is a morbid, diseased appetite. Do not blame her, she cannot help that; if you or I had just such an appetite, and felt in all respects as she does, we would very likely gratify it to as great an extent. How does the patient sleep? M.—Not very well; the bed is never right; sometimes we put on a feather bed, and then she gets fidgety and says she cannot sleep; then again we put the hair mattress over the feather bed; but this is either hard, rough, or uneven—there is always some kink in her head about the bed; it’s never right. D.—Does she have her window open? M.—No; she’s afraid of taking cold. D.—What kind of pillow does she sleep on? M.—Feather pillow, of course. D.—_Of course_—a great many people are getting to sleep on hair pillows—and some on harder ones even, such as palm leaf, corn husks, straw, etc.; and some young ladies won’t have any pillow at all; it makes them crooked not to lie straight. For my own part, I like to have one pillow, stuffed with hair, moss, corn husks, or straw—something that is clean, without smell, and cool. One pillow, and one only, that is just thick enough, so that when I lie upon the side, as I think persons who can ought, it is just comfortable. There is a great deal of truth in the old maxim, “keep the feet warm and the head cool!” M.—I had not thought of that; I suppose the head does keep warm enough of itself.