above narrated? and I have no doubt that a fair amount of comfort is
necessary to the exercise of the Christian virtues. I am not at all sure
that pilgrims prayed any better because they had peas in their shoes, and
it is well known that soldiers fight best when they are well fed. A
certain amount of comfort and pleasure is good for us, and is refreshing
to body and spirit. Such things, for instance, as the bath in the
morning; the cup of warm tea or coffee for breakfast; the glass of beer
or wine and variety of food at dinner; the rest or nap in the arm-chair
or sofa; an occasional novel; the pipe before going to bed; the change of
dress; music or light reading in the evening; even the night-cap
recommended by Mr. Banting; games of chance or skill; dancing;--surely
such things may renovate, soothe, and render more elastic and vigorous
both body and mind.

While, therefore, I have admitted fully that we all require "sweetness
and light," that some indulgence is necessary for the renovation of our
wearied souls and bodies; yet it very often will happen that the thing in
which we desire to indulge does not tend at all in this direction, or it
may be that, although a moderate indulgence does so tend, an immoderate
use has precisely the reverse effect. My subject, therefore, divides
itself, firstly, into a consideration of those luxuries which are _per
se_ deleterious, and those which are so only by excessive use.

I suppose you will not be surprised to hear that I think we are in
danger, in the upper and middle classes at all events, of going far
beyond the point where pleasures and indulgences tend to the improvement
of body and mind. Surely there are many of us who can remember when the
habits of our fathers were less luxurious than they are now. In a
leading article in a newspaper not long ago the writer said, "All classes
without exception spend too much on what may be called luxuries. A very