Don't put a bulk of food into me, but chew your food, so that I shall not have to do my own work and yours, too, when the food gets down here." And there is the poor stomach, a big nervous centre in close communication with the brain, protesting and protesting, and its owner interprets all these protestations into: "I am so unhappy.

I have to work so much harder than I ought.

Nobody loves me.

Oh, why am I so nervous ?" The blood also cries out: "Give me more oxygen.

I cannot help the lungs or the stomach or the brain to do their work properly unless you take exercise in the fresh air that will feed me truly and send me over the body with good, wholesome vigor." Now there is another thing that is sadly evident about the young woman who will not take fresh air, nor eat the right food, nor masticate properly the food that she does eat.