Some may ask as to whether good work has not been done by those crippled by ill-health. Undoubtedly it has been done, yet as a rule it has been by those endowed with talents which enabled them to carry out their work in seclusion--writers, poets, composers and so forth--not by those compelled to take their place among the rank and file in the busy world of men and things. Too often in the latter case they have fallen behind and been submerged. Even if success has been their lot, it has been at such a cost to mind and body alike as to make it scarcely worth the while. Yet even those who have been in the fortunate position of being able to exercise their talents in solitude, far from the madding crowd, have betrayed the influence of their infirmities in the nature of their works. Schubert and Chopin both wrote exquisite music, yet their weak state of health still reveals itself in the melancholy strain which pervades their compositions. The same is characteristic of some of the writers and poets. Robert Louis Stevenson is the great exception. But the disease which attacked him in his young days, and dogged his steps mercilessly to the end of his life, was one that is oftentimes, strangely enough, characterised by buoyancy and enthusiasm, in marked contrast to the prevailing depression of the confirmed dyspeptic, of which Carlyle was such a marked example. Yet what chiefly enabled Stevenson to keep up the vigour and inimitable style of his writing to the day of his death was the unremitting care which he took in order to regulate his life in such a way as to preserve his energies and keep his mental powers intact to the very end. That last broken sentence, the most pathetic ever written, in _Weir of Hermiston_, is more than an expression of his great genius; it is a lasting tribute to the vigilance with which he safeguarded such strength as he possessed. It is a lasting reproach to those who have been gifted with robust health, and by their own heedlessness have lost what is man’s most priceless possession. People may disregard the laws of health and appear for a time to go unscathed. But the day of retribution will come, and outraged Nature assert itself. Sooner or later the inevitable penalty must be paid. CHAPTER V. REWARDS AND PENALTIES. [Sidenote: The health-seeker.] Some people expect health, as others expect riches, to fall into their lap. Either because they do not know, or do not care, they prefer to leave their health to look after itself. They call it trusting to Nature. And when they see other people studying the best way to be strong and well, they call them cranks and faddists.