in
in the effort to do its work properly, and the effect is, of course,
fatigue.

In either of the above cases, both with an overworked stomach and an
overworked heart and lungs, the complaint is very apt to be, "Why am I
so tired when I have done nothing to get tired?" The answer is, "No,
you have done nothing outside with your muscles, but the heart and
lungs and the stomach are delicate and exquisite instruments. You have
overworked them all, and such overwork is the more fatiguing in
proportion to what is done than any other form, except overwork of the
brain." And the overtired stomach and heart and lungs tire the brain,
of course.

Of the work that is given to the brain itself to overtire it we must
speak later. So much now for that which prevents the body from keeping
rested inside, in the finer working of its machinery.

It is easy to find out what and how to eat. A very little careful
thought will show us that. It is only the plain common sense of eating
we need. It is easy to see that we must not eat on a tired stomach, and
if we have to do so, we must eat much less than we ordinarily would,
and eat it more slowly. So much good advice is already given about what
and how to eat, I need say nothing here, and even without that advice,
which in itself is so truly valuable, most of us could have plain
common sense about our own food if we would use our minds intelligently
about it, and eat only what we know to be nourishing to us. That can be
done without fussing. Fussing about food contracts the stomach, and
prevents free digestion almost as much as eating indigestible food.

Then again, if we deny ourselves that which we want and know is bad for
us, and eat only that which we know to be nourishing, it increases the
delicacy of our relish. We do not lose relish by refusing to eat too
much candy. We gain it. Human pigs lose their most delicate relish
entirely, and they lose much--very much more--than that.

Unfortunately with most people, there is not the relish for fresh air
that there is for food. Very few people want fresh air selfishly; the
selfish tendency of most people is to cut it off for fear of taking
cold. And yet the difference felt in health, in keeping rested, in ease
of mind, is as great between no fresh air and plenty of fresh air as it
is between the wrong kind of food and enough (and not too much) of the
right kind of food.

Why does not the comfort of the body appeal to us as strongly thro