It is a well-known fact, established long, long ago, that all such plagues as cholera, for instance, or typhoid fever, are caused by germs of disease afloat in the air, or in the water, and through these media introduced into the human system. These germs are ferments so strong, poisons so powerful, that if they once succeed in gaining ingress to the blood, hardly can all the skill of medicine destroy them or render them innocuous. Yet we daily hear of medical men and nurses walking about in the midst of plague and pestilence, but coming through the outbreak all unscathed. We can only account for this by believing that these individuals have well-kept up systems, that the lungs are constantly so healthy, and the surface of their bronchial tubes so smooth and pure, that the disease germs can find neither food nor foothold therein or thereon. Now the two great enemies to the health of the delicate during the spring months are cold and damp, and just as often as not they both attack one at the same time. Nor is it the delicate in constitution alone who have to fear the evil influence of these foes to life and comfort, for strong men and women, too, must be careful. If I were to ask any of my older readers what she considered the cold and damp of spring were most likely to give rise to in the shape of illnesses, the answer would almost certainly be, “Colds and coughs.” So far she would be right, but there is another ailment very prevalent at this time, and too often the result of exposure to the weather, namely, fits of indigestion. The sufferer feels chilly and not over well in the evening; perhaps she retires early, has a restless night, and awakens in the morning with disagreeable headache and complete loss of appetite. There may even be nausea and sickness. These symptoms are generally put down to a chill caught, or to a bilious attack, and the patient—for patient she must be now for a few days at all events—tries to think back what she has been eating. This kind of self-examination is usually somewhat unsatisfactory, and it would be better were she to ask herself, “Where and when did I expose myself to cold and damp _on an empty stomach_?” You notice I have italicised the last words, because I want you to get a firm grasp of the fact that when the system is, for the time being, weak and below par, with no food pouring into the blood, it is ten times more liable just then to become the victim of unhealthful influences. A little attack like that which I have mentioned is best got rid of by confinement for a day or two to the house, on a sofa, in an easy chair, but not in bed if possible, by diet of an easily-digested and nourishing kind, by a mild aperient and warm bath at bedtime, with, if it be deemed needful, about ten grains of Dover’s powder, while before being again exposed to this weather, a warmer woollen garment should be worn next to the skin.