Late suppers are inimical to health in the morning. They create restless nights, or, if the nights be not restless quite, the sleep is not refreshing. The stomach ought to sleep as well as other organs; and if it does not, depend upon it that it will not be fit for its duties next morning. Badly ventilated rooms. Sleeping in a room where there is not an abundance of fresh air is poisoning to the blood. The carbonic is not burned off therefrom, and dulness and lethargy are the result. You awake in the morning feeling your sleep has done you little good, feeling you would like just another hour. Believe me, if you slept as long thus as Rip Van Winkle, you would feel precisely the same when you opened your eyes. Want of exercise and neglect of the bath also destroy the appetite for the morning meal. And medicines will not make up for want of obedience to Nature’s laws. But if you return to these with heart and soul, then a mixture of infusion of quassia, say a tablespoonful, with ten drops of dilute phosphoric acid, and twenty of the compound tincture of bark, may be taken with great benefit, a quarter of an hour before breakfast and dinner. See, then, to your appetite as well as clothing, especially in cold, inclement weather, and may you never have those bitter, regretful words to utter—“I wish I had.” THE INHERITANCE OF A GOOD NAME. BY LOUISA MENZIES. CHAPTER III. THE CALLING IN LIFE CHOSEN. As Eveline had said, what seemed an accident determined Mark’s choice of an occupation. A cousin of his mother’s came to spend a few days at the rectory. He had recently lost a very promising son, and was much softened and saddened by his trouble, and in his saddened mood his thoughts turned to his cousin James, whom he remembered a bright and cheery lad, very much his own junior. He knew that there were two lads at Rosenhurst, one the son of his cousin James, the other of his widowed cousin Margaret, and he thought with interest of him who bore his own name, and wondered whether he in any way resembled his lost Edward—whether he was a true Echlin, like his father, earnest, teachable, and faithful. Miles Echlin was the head of a publishing house, holding a high position in London, and by the death of his son, not only he himself but the business had experienced an irreparable loss. He wanted comfort, he wanted help, and in this saddened mood he came down to Rosenhurst Rectory. Lady Elgitha, fully alive to the fact that many sons of noble houses were at the present time engaged in commerce, was at some trouble to be civil to him, and schooled her son to proper behaviour; but outward civility did not impose on the keen-sighted man of business, and before he had been twelve hours at the rectory he was convinced that Gilbert was indolent, opinionated, and selfish.