ways easily done, for so very little attention has
been paid to this great truth, that even medical science as yet can do
very little towards calming nervous disorders. In most cases the trouble
lies in the presence, or unthinking heedless influence, of other people;
and, secondly, in the absence of interesting minor occupations or arts,
such as keep the mind busy, yet not over-excited or too deeply absorbed.
An important element in such cases is to interest deeply the patient in
himself as a vicious subject to be subdued by his own exertions. No one
who has _never_ had the gout severely can form any conception of the
terribly arrogant irritability which accompanies it. I say _arrogant_,
because it is independent of any voluntary action of the mind. I have
often felt it raging in me, and laughed at it, as if it were a chained
wild beast, and conversed with perfect serenity. Unfortunately, even our
dearest friends, generally women, cannot, to save their very lives and
souls, refrain from having frequent piquant scenes with such tempting
subjects; while, on the other hand, the subjects are often led by mere
vanity into exhibiting themselves as something peculiar. Altogether, I
believe that where there is no deeply seated hereditary or congenital
defect, or no displacement or injury from violence or disease, there is
always a cure to be hoped for, or at least possible; but this cure
depends in many cases so very much upon the wisdom and patience of
friends and physicians, that it is only remarkable that we find so many
recoveries as we do. Where the patient and friends are all really
persons of superior intelligence, almost miraculous cures may be
effected. But unfortunately, if it be not born in us, it requires a
great deal of genius to acquire properly the real _dolce far niente_.

From Paris we went to Spa in the Ardennes. In this very beautiful place,
in a picturesque land of legends, I felt calmer and more relieved. I
think it was there that for the first time I got an inkling that my name
was becoming known in Europe. There was a beautiful young English lady
whom I occasionally met in an artist's studio, who one day asked me with
some interest whom the Leland could be of whom one heard sometimes--"he
writes books, I think." I told her that I had a brother who had written
two or three clever works, and she agreed with me that he must be the
man; still she inclined to think that the name was not Henry, but
C