n sell my life now to an annuity-office for twenty years'
purchase or more, and they will share a dividend upon it. Well, if ever
I do insure my life, I hope that by _me_ they will lose money, for, like
every body else in this world, I have a great many things to do before I
die. There was but one man I ever heard of who could lie down and die,
saying, "Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace." I have no warning
yet, no screw is loose in this complex mechanism; and yet, this very
day, a chimney-pot may fall on my head, and put an end to all my
calculations.

It is right that the precarious tenure of our existence should not be
wholly forgotten, but certainly was never intended that it should be
borne on the mind, for, if we had ever in our memory that we may die
this very hour, what a check there would be to all energy, and
enterprise, and industry. Who would speculate with the anticipation of
large returns upon some future day, if he did not calculate upon living
to receive them? We should all stop to say _Cui bono_? If it were not
that our hopes support us, not only support us in all reasonable, but
even unreasonable calculations, the world would be at a stand-still.
No, no! we have our duty to perform towards our God; but we are also
enjoined to perform our duty towards our neighbour. The uncertainty of
life is to be remembered as a check to our worldly passions, but not as
a drag-chain to our worldly career.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

En route, August, 1837.
There is a great art in packing property, and in it our profession are
fortunately adepts. A midshipman, for instance, contrives to put every
thing at the bottom of his chest. No very easy matter to pack up and
arrange a carriage full of children, two birds, and a spaniel puppy--in
all, twelve living beings with all their appendages, down to the birds
and dogs' tails. As for packing up a dog, that is impossible; the best
way is to pack it off. Canary birds travel very well in the carriage
lamps, in the summer time, when they are not lighted; and I mention this
as a hint to those who travel with such indispensable appendages;
independent of their being out of the way, their appearance behind the
glass is a source of great amusement to those who are standing by where
you change horses.

Stopped at Saint Frond, and asked what was to be seen. Nothing here but
churches and monks. One of the little gi