Thus, again, I realized that I was alone, indeed in a new kind of solitude, and must pursue the rest of my way in life by a more or less individual research as to how to keep well and at the top of my condition. In a word, I must henceforth, for the most part, be my own doctor. All of those I consulted agreed that I must eat moderately, slowly, oftener, less at a time, sleep regularly, cultivate the open air, exercise till fatigue came and then promptly stop, be cheerful, and avoid “nerves,” worry, and all excesses. But with these commonplaces the agreement ceased. One said I needed change, as if, indeed, I was not getting it with a vengeance. One suggested Fletcherizing, while another thought this bad for the large intestine, which needed more coarse material to stimulate its action. One thought there was great virtue in cold, another in warm baths. Two prescribed a diet, while another said, “Eat what you like, with discretion.” One suggested thyroid extract and perhaps Brown-Sequard’s testicular juices, and there seemed to be a more general agreement that a man is as old, not as his heart and arteries as was once thought, but as his endocrine glands. One would give chief attention to the colon and recommended Metchnikoff’s tablets. One prescribed Sanford Bennett’s exercises which made him an athlete at seventy-two. Rubbing or self-massage on rising and retiring was commended. Battle Creek advises bowel movements not only daily but oftener, while others insist that constipation should and normally does increase with old age. Pavlovists, especially Sternberg in his writings, would have us trust appetite implicitly, believing that it always points true as the needle to the pole to the nutritive needs of both sick and well and that it gives the sole momentum to all the digestive processes, even down to the very end of the alimentary canal; while others prescribe everything chemically, calculating to a nicety the proportions of carbohydrates, fats, calories, and the rest, with no reference to gustatory inclination.