As for his nervous system, there will be no comparison. There is no tonic in the whole world for jaded nerves like an abundant supply of pure, fresh air. And if sunshine can be obtained at the same time so much the better, for the effect of direct sunlight on the body is simply remarkable. Some years ago a new form of holiday was started in the shape of trips to the Sahara, for the benefit of those suffering from brain-fag. The success which attended them was due largely to the free supply of sunshine, not merely to the fact of the patients being away from their work and ordinary surroundings. Many of them had tried rest cures elsewhere without any good result. It was only when they spent weeks in some oasis, with the sunlight pouring down on them from morning till night, that their nervous systems recovered themselves. Yet these people should never have had brain-fag if they had only carried out the rules we are about to lay down. Most of us are not in a position to go to the Sahara, but we can get at home, if not such a flood of sunshine, at any rate enough fresh air, in conjunction with other precautions as to diet and so forth, to prevent our systems ever getting into such a state as to make a trip of this sort, with its outlay of time and money, a necessity. Apart from sunshine, fresh air has a potent influence on health. We all pine for fine holidays, and no doubt they do us more good, in addition to being more enjoyable, than wet ones. Yet it is amazing how much better people look after even a rainy holiday at the seaside or country. The rest from the worries of business and so forth has something to do with it, but I firmly believe that half the benefit is due to the fact that when people are on a holiday they spend the greater part of their time in the open air. A friend once remarked to me that he always began to feel nervous and worried as soon as he got back home. He wondered if the district agreed with him. I asked him what sort of life he led when he was in the country. And he replied that he pottered about outside all the time. If it was wet, he put on a mackintosh and went out just the same. Yet he owned up that he never thought of doing such a thing at home. Two men were walking down a street in the West of London on a winter’s afternoon. The one was plodding along wearily with his eyes fixed on the pavement and lines of care on his face. The other held himself erect, walking with easy strides, and looking around with genial eyes that seemed to find an interest in everything they saw. His breezy manner and the glow of health in his cheeks were a marked contrast to the look of weariness and pallor on the face of his companion. Yet these two were brothers, brought up in the same way and under the same conditions. The one had applied himself to the law, finally settling down in London, amazed that his brother should be content to bury himself in the heart of the country.