What it was that was actually the matter with us, we none of us could be sure of; but the unanimous opinion was that it--whatever it was--had been brought on by overwork.
"What we want is rest," said Harris.
"Rest and a complete change," said George.

"The overstrain upon our brains has produced a general depression throughout the system.

Change of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the mental equilibrium." George has a cousin, who is usually described in the charge-sheet as a medical student, so that he naturally has a somewhat family-physicianary way of putting things.
I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny week among its drowsy lanes--some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world--some quaint-perched eyrie on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound far-off and faint.
Harris said he thought it would be humpy.

He said he knew the sort of place I meant; where everybody went to bed at eight o'clock, and you couldn't get a _Referee_ for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to get your baccy.
"No," said Harris, "if you want rest and change, you can't beat a sea trip." I objected to the sea trip strongly.

A sea trip does you good when you are going to have a couple of months of it, but, for a week, it is wicked.
You start on Monday with the idea implanted in your bosom that you are going to enjoy yourself.