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