action; we go faster and faster as the years go by, speeding our
machinery to the utmost. Bent forms, prematurely gray hair, restlessness
and discontent, are characteristic of our age and people. We earn our
bread, but cannot digest it; and our over-stimulated nerves soon become
irritated, and touchiness follows,--so fatal to a business man, and so
annoying in society.

"It is not work that kills men," says Beecher; "it is worry. Work is
healthy; you can hardly put more on a man than he can bear. But worry is
rust upon the blade. It is not movement that destroys the machinery, but
friction."

It is not so much the great sorrows, the great burdens, the great
hardships, the great calamities, that cloud over the sunshine of life,
as the little petty vexations, insignificant anxieties and fear, the
little daily dyings, which render our lives unhappy, and destroy our
mental elasticity, without advancing our life-work one inch. "Anxiety
never yet bridged any chasm."

"What," asks Dr. George W. Jacoby, in an "Evening Post" interview, "is
the ultimate physical effect of worry? Why, the same as that of a fatal
bullet-wound or sword-thrust. Worry kills as surely, though not so
quickly, as ever gun or dagger did, and more people have died in the
last century from sheer worry than have been killed in battle."

Dr. Jacoby is one of the foremost of American brain doctors. "The
investigations of the neurologists," he says, "have laid bare no secret
of Nature in recent years more startling and interesting than the
discovery that worry kills." This is the final, up-to-date word. "Not
only is it known," resumes the great neurologist, counting off his