rch to the drawing room, and again I
talk to some one lady for half an hour and then must go home! It may be
only half-past ten o'clock, but I have no choice. Away I must go. I say
good-night. I have eaten a huge dinner; I have talked to one man and
three ladies; I have drunk a great deal of wine and my head is very
tired.

"Nineteen other people have had the same experience, and it has cost my
host from five hundred to a thousand francs--or, as you say here, from
one hundred to two hundred dollars. And why has he spent this sum of
money? Pardon me, my friend, if I say that it could be disbursed to much
better advantage. Should my host come to Florence I should not _dare_ to
ask him to dinner, for we cannot afford to have these elaborate
functions. If he came to my house he would have to dine _en famille_.
Here you feast every night in the winter. Why? Every day is not a feast
day!"

I devote space and time to this subject commensurate with what seems to
me to be its importance. Dining out is the metropolitan form of social
entertainment for the well-to-do. I go to such affairs at least one
hundred nights each year. That is a large proportion of my whole life
and at least one-half of all the time at my disposal for recreation. So
far as I can see, it is totally useless and a severe drain on one's
nervous centers. It has sapped and is sapping my vitality. During the
winter I am constantly tired. My head aches a large part of the time. I
can do only a half--and on some days only a third--as much work as I
could at thirty-five.

I wake with a thin, fine line of pain over my right eye, and a heavy
head. A strong cup of coffee sets me up and I feel better; but as the
morning wears on, especially if I am nervous, the weariness in my head
returns. By luncheon time I am cross and upset. Often by six o'clock I
have a severe sick headache. When I do not have a headache I am usually
depressed; my brain feels like a lump of lead. And I know precisely the
cause: It is that I do not give my nerve-centers sufficient rest. If I
could spend the evenings--or half of them--quietly I should be well
enough; but after I am tired out by a day's work I come home only to
array myself to go out to saw social wood.

I never get rested! My head gets heavier and heavier and finally gives
way. There is no immediate cause. It is the fact that my nervous system
gets more and more tired without any adequate relief. The feeling of
complete restedne