joyment from new
clothes. Now strike this joy out of your childhood, out of your youth.
I must confess, that I can take pleasure for weeks in a well-fitting
garment, as often as I put it on. What are you smiling at?" the
physician interrupted himself.

"I am thinking of a theological friend," answered Eric. "How he would
be astonished, if any one should say to him, that the fall, which
brought with it the consciousness of nakedness, has become the very
foundation of all the enjoyment that comes from weaving, making, and
sewing clothes."

The doctor smiled too, but he stuck to his subject, and went on,--

"Food and clothes are of the greatest importance, but the third most
important thing is sleep; it is the regulator of life. Air,
nourishment, and sleep are the three fundamental conditions of
vegetative life. I believe, captain, that I know something about you
already, but I cannot pronounce a full verdict upon you, until I have
seen you sleep. Our nineteenth century sleeps poorly; our education,
our labor, and our politics ought to be so arranged that people can
once more get better sleep. I should like to be able to write a history
of sleep, showing how different nations and different ages have slept;
that would lay bare to us the deepest roots of all the manifestations
of civilization. As far as regards Roland, there is in him a strange
blending of temperaments from the father's and the mother's
constitution."

The doctor pictured out the muscular organization of Sonnenkamp, and
the struggle he was obliged to make every moment with his violent
natural tendencies. "A certain indomitable energy in him always enters
a disclaimer against his mildness, which is at once seen to be a result
of self-compulsion and of voluntary effort. He is a suppressed
pugilist, and he has in fact, as he once himself boasted in an
unguarded moment, an iron fist. The old Germans must have possessed
this stalwart force, who, with their naked arms, overthrew and crushed
the mail-clad Romans."

The physician laughed, and he could hardly succeed in narrating how,
when he first saw Sonnenkamp, he always looked for the club which
seemed to belong to such a man's hand. When he behaved in a friendly
way, then it seemed always as if he said. Be quiet, I won't hurt you.
And moreover, Sonnenkamp had a heart-disease, according to all
pathologic signs, and he was obliged, therefore, to guard against every
agitating emotion.

He cautioned Eric, p