hence deaths from consumption among the remaining two-thirds cannot be attributed, by any fair inference, to the direct influence of the climate.  This still leaves a fourth of the whole number of deaths from this scourge to fall on those who “are to the manner born.”  This is a very trifling percentage, and might be waived as not being a fraction sufficiently important to merit much attention; but we may frankly admit that these cases appear here, and are the result of a want of a perfect equability in the climate, and to this extent it must be held answerable.  We might, however, conclude that even this final fraction could be accounted for in the hereditary taint, but we forbear, as we likewise do to claim entire exemption here from this complaint.  No climate, perhaps, in any portion of the whole habitable earth, could be found to be utterly exempt.  Then, too, consumption is to general debility a natural sequence, almost as much as flame is to powder when exploded; and as there are likely in all climates, however favorable, to be found worn-out and exhausted humanity, why, there must be expected untimely deaths culminating in this disease.

The curability of consumption is now a settled question.  Every medical student has either seen for himself or been assured by his professor that post mortem examinations have disclosed this truth beyond all cavil.  Numerous cases might be cited where, at an early period in life, tubercles had formed, and by-and-by, probably in consequence of a change in the habits of life, these disappeared, leaving naught but old cicatrices as evidence of their previous diseased condition.  These tubercular deposits must have disposed of themselves in one of three ways:  first, they might soften down and be expectorated; second, they might soften and be absorbed; or, thirdly, they might become calcined and remain as inert foreign material.  In many cases all these processes might unite in the removal, and a long life follow, as is well known in some instances to be true.

An eminent instance in point occurs to us as we write, and which is worthy of citation in these pages.  The lamented Rev. Jeremiah Day, once President of Yale College, when a young man, had “consumption,” and was expected to die, but by a rigid observance of the laws of health, and self-imposition of stated exercise of a vigorous nature in the open air, he, by these means and without much of travel, restored his debilitated frame and healed the diseased lungs, and died at the rare age of ninety-five, having lived a life of uncommon usefulness and activity.  He could not have accomplished his restoration without many and daily sacrifices compared with the lot of his fellow-men.  A post mortem showed plainly that both apices of the lungs had been diseased.

There are many cases, of which no knowledge exists outside of a small circle, of restored health, though with impaired power of respiration and consequent endurance of great hardships, which latter, of course, must be entirely avoided by those thus situated.  There is, too, even greater liability to a fresh attack than with persons who have never been afflicted, but the vigilance necessary to maintain health fortifies against its repetition.