ther significant fact: letter after letter from the front says, "We are all very fit." The average "fitness" in the trenches is, broadly speaking, higher than that of training camps at home, especially of those where little or no supervision is exercised as to strong drink. How plainly this shows that hardness, even of an extreme character, braces up the body; softness and self-indulgence enfeeble it.
S. Paul affords a wonderful illustration of this; obviously a man of very delicate health, frequently ill (probably this was the thorn in the flesh), yet accomplishing vast labours, and, in addition, buffeting his own flesh lest it should get the upper hand.
Here, then, we reach the first great principle in the discipline of the body. It must not have its own way, or it will infallibly assert its sway over the man's real self.
That is what happens in the case of the habitual drunkard or the slave of lust. That which at first is a temptation, perfectly capable of being resisted, becomes at last what the
