Invalids who propose wintering abroad will, of course, consult their medical adviser with a view to selecting a locality suited as far as possible to their respective cases. With such counsels I do not interfere. The persons in whom I take a more special interest, or at least to whom I can speak more freely, are those who, advanced in life, stand in need of a remission of ordinary pursuits, along with that salutary re-invigoration of constitution which may be brought about by a change from a cold and moist to a dry and buoyant atmosphere—from a peculiarly variable, to a comparatively steady, climate—from a cloudy to a brilliant sky—from dinginess to sunshine. As to how many are swept away by refraining from taking a step of this kind, let the authoritative statistics concerning the mortality of the late severe winter testify. When any man on the shady side of middle life has the fortitude to look around to note the number of his old and valued friends, he is shocked to find how meagre is the list. One after another has disappeared, from no other perceptible cause than that their physical powers, originally vigorous, had succumbed in the feverish, and we might almost say, insane, battle of life. Too long and too diligently have they stuck to their professional pursuits, or been fascinated by the allurements of society, taking relaxation only by fits and starts, and seemingly under the impression that they have still a long career before them. Having realised a fair competence, they might very well ask themselves why they should continue to toil, to speculate, and to rack their brains, when a life of comparative ease and reflection would in all respects be more becoming. This is exactly the question, however, which they never put. The upshot is well known. Through sundry real or imaginary entanglements, their day of safety is past. A cold, foggy, drizzly November finishes them; and at about two o’clock on a wintry afternoon, they are, in all the pomp of hearse and carriages, decorously conducted to the burying-ground. That is why people advanced in life have so few old acquaintances about them. They had forgot that Death is always busy laying about him with his scythe, and that the art of long living consists pretty much in knowing how to keep out of his way.