of all the bodies we use up during our life-
times? If we are none the worse for their
flying away in carbonic acid and other things
without ceremony, what good can we expect
from having a fuss made about the body we
leave behind us, which is put into the earth?
However, you are wanting to know what
becomes of the water and carbonic acid which
have been made by the oxygen of the blood
burning up the old materials of our frame.
The dark blood of the veins absorbs this
carbonic acid and water, as the blood of the
arteries does oxygen,—only, they say, it does
so by means of a salt in it, called phosphate
of soda. Then the dark blood goes back to
the lungs, and in them it parts with its
carbonic acid and water, which escapes as breath.
As fast as we breathe out, carbonic acid and
water leave the blood; as fast as we breathe
in, oxygen enters it. The oxygen is sent out
in the arteries to make the rubbish of the
body into gas and vapour, so that the veins
may bring it back and get rid of it. The
burning of rubbish by oxygen throughout
our frames is the fire by which our
animal heat is kept up. At least this is
what most philosophers think; though doctors
differ a little on this point, as on most others,
I hear. Professor Liebig says, that our carbon
is mostly prepared for burning by being first
extracted from the blood sent to it—(which
contains much of the rubbish of the system
dissolved)—in the form of bile, and is then
re-absorbed into the blood, and burnt. He
reckons that a grown-up man consumes about
fourteen ounces of carbon a-day. Fourteen
ounces of charcoal a-day, or eight pounds two
ounces a-week, would keep up a tolerable
fire."

"I had no idea we were such extensive
charcoal-burners," said Mr. Bagges. " They
say we each eat our peck of dirt before
we die—but we must burn bushels of
charcoal."

"And so," continued Harry, " the Professor
calculates that we burn quite enough fuel to
account for our heat. I should rather think,
myself, it had something to do with it—
shouldn't you?"

"Eh ? " said Mr. Bagges; " it makes one
rather nervous to think that one is burning
all over—throughout one's very blood—in this
kind of way."

"It is very awful!" said Mrs. Wilkinson.

"If true. But in that case, shouldn't we
be liable to inflame occasionally?" objected
her husband.

"It is said," answered Harry, " that
spontaneous combustion does happen sometimes;
particularly in great spirit drinkers. I don't
see why it should not, if the system were to
become too inflammable. Drinking alcohol
would be likely to load the constitution with
carbon, which would be fuel for the fire, at
any rate."

"The deuce! " exclaimed Mr. Bagges, pushing
his brandy-and- water from him. " We
had better take care how we indulge in
combustibles."

"At all events," said Harry, " it must be
bad to have too much fuel in us. It must
choke the fire I should think, if it did not
cause inflammation; which Dr. Truepenny says
it does, meaning, by inflammation, gout, and
so on, you know, uncle."

"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Bagges.

"Taking in too much fuel, I dare say you
know, uncle, means eating and drinking to
excess," continued Harry. " The best remedy,
the doctor says, for overstuffing is exercise.
A person who uses great bodily exertion, can
eat and drink more without suffering from it
than one who leads an inactive life; a fox-
hunter, for instance, in comparison with an
alderman. Want of exercise and too much
nourishment must make a man either fat or
ill. If the extra hydrogen and carbon are
not burnt out, or otherwise got rid of, they
turn to blubber, or cause some disturbance in
the system, intended by Nature to throw them
off, which is called a disease. Walking, riding,
running, increase the breathing—as well as
the perspiration—and make us burn away
our carbon and hydrogen in proportion.
Dr. Truepenny declares that if people would
only take in as much fuel as is requisite to
keep up a good fire, his profession would be
ruined."

"The good old advice—Baillie's, eh?—or
Abernethy's—live upon sixpence a day, and
earn it," Mr. Bagges observed.

"Well, and then, uncle, in hot weather the
appetite is naturally weaker than it is in cold
—less heat is required, and therefore less food.
So in hot climates; and the chief reason, says
the doctor, why people ruin their health in
India is their spurring and goading their
stomachs to crave what is not good for them,
by spices and the like. Fruits and vegetables
are the proper things to eat in such countries,
because they contain little carbon compared
to flesh, and they are the diet of the natives
of those parts of the world. Whereas food
with much carbon in it, meat, or even mere
fat or oil, which is hardly anything else than
carbon and hydrogen, are proper in very cold
regions, where heat from within is required to
supply the want of it without. That is why
the Laplander is able, as I said he does, to
devour train-oil. And Dr. Truepenny says
that it may be all very well for Mr. M'Gregor
to drink raw whiskey at deer-stalkhig in the
Highlands, but if Major Campbell combines
that beverage with the diversion of tiger-
hunting in the East Indies, habitually, the
chances are that the Major will come home
with a diseased liver."

"Upon my word, sir, the whole art of
preserving health appears to consist in keeping
up a moderate fire within us," observed Mr.
Bagges.

" Just so, uncle, according to my friend the
Doctor. 'Adjust the fuel,' he says, 'to the
draught—he means the oxygen; keep the