They end in sighs, and perhaps tears. They have worn soft clothing and lived on delicate fare. "A little, but nice," satisfies them, of clothing, food, society, books, &c.; but that which they do have must be nice.

Their thoughts centre too much, therefore, on themselves. repeat, they are not gluttonous, vain, sensual, or avaricious, in the worst sense of those terms; and yet they care, practically, but very little for any body but themselves and their own circle of dear friends.

Constitutionally, they are formed for benevolence-for laboring for others. They were not framed by the plastic hand of the great Creator for a life of selfishness, of that refined sort which now so largely prevails. They were spoiled by education. I will say even more than this. A benevolent life- such a life as our Savior would direct them to follow, were he on earth

a life of going about and doing good—is the very life which even now, spoiled as they are by education, will save them from speedy and certain destruction. The gospel is adapted to all mankind; but if it were adapted to none else, it is so to the consumptive.

What a pity it is, some may say, that this fatal disease should so often fasten itself upon the very persons who are least of all fitted to pursue the proper course under it! Why, in the providence of God, should it not fall upon the actively benevolent? Why not on some Hannah More or Mary Lyon, rather than on a Hemans or a Davidson?

But I may seem to be digressing. My aim was to show why it is that the consumptive are so often found running for relief to medicine-leaning on a broken reed, which is sure to pierce them. It is because they are trained to think so much about themselves, their food, drink, dress, pretty faces and

forms,

and to ask so assiduously, "What will people say?” and to pay so much heed, in over-kindness, to what people

do say.

4. We are now prepared to consider another item under the head of prevention of this terrible disease. It is this: The mind and heart must be kept right. I have trenched a little on one part of this subject in the preceding paragraphs; but more needs to be said.

Consumptive people are generally precocious. Bright, and active, and forward, they are ready to receive eagerly every attention and every impression. And as if to meet this tendency, most unfortunately, they are apt to be favorites. Their whole character, physical, mental, and moral, is hastened into prematurity. They are especially fond of books, music, and the fine arts. Sometimes they are fond of nature; but this depends more on those around them than on themselves in other words, it is much more controlled by education. They are especially fond of the lighter sort of books and studies, and in these last they particularly excel. As they are not fond of labor-continued labor kind, and as they make ready and rapid progress in learning, of every sort, to which you can secure their attention, they are usually impelled forward in this line of direction. If young men, they are destined to a profession, as it is called; if young women, they go first to the fashionable high school for females, and afterwards to that family relation, for which, they are, of all their sex, most poorly prepared.

of any

This, I mean to say, is their destination; but alas! they do not all reach the goal. Many break down during their studies, and are forced to some other employment; many times to one which is worse than study. Thus females who are scrofulous and consumptive often find their way into a factory, to

hasten on their troubles rather than to relieve them; and to prove themselves, ultimately, the mothers of sickly families.

But some, who are highly stimulated by emulation or natural ambition, or both, push on with studies and novels till the brain gives way; or, if not, till the lungs give out. Then, too late, a course of "doctoring" is tried; till at length confirmed consumption is announced, and death closes the scene.

The common custom of pushing forward the intellect at the expense of the body and the moral powers is effeminating and weakening, every where. If there is no scrofula, nervousness, or consumption, it is highly injurious to the health in future years; but if there is, it is the worst course which can possibly be taken.

My advice, in all cases of predisposition to consumption, is, Keep back the intellect. These precocious children will have more intellect than body or heart, when we have done the best we can to repress the former, and bring forward the latter. To do this effectually-I speak here from experience -will require the united wisdom of parents and teachers, and sometimes the united and absolute interposition of authority.

When in Hartford, one day, some twenty-four or five years ago, I sought the acquaintance of Rev. Mr. Woodbridge, the geographer. He had just returned from Europe, where he had spent several years studying the subject of education, that he might be thereby prepared to benefit his own countryTill this interview we were strangers to each other. The first compliments over, he inquired what, in my view, was the capital error in American education. "This cultivation," said I, "of the intellect, at the expense of the health and the morals." The reply bound us together, as friends and fellowlaborers, forever.

men.

But I do not wish to be misunderstood. To neglect the intellect wholly would be but to rush on an opposite extreme. There should be an harmonious education of the whole being; but the tendencies of things, in the consumptive, are forever against this. Our efforts should be to establish and perpetuate harmony.

That a proper cultivation of the intellect, in every one, even the scrofulous and consumptive, is highly conducive to health, I cannot, for one moment, bring myself to doubt. What is wanted is, to understand the subject of our education, - his character and tendencies, physiological and pathological, -and then proceed accordingly.

But if we must be guarded in the cultivation of the intellect, how much more in the regulation of the desires, the af fections, and the passions! Not that the tendency of books, and school, and piano, and concert is so unfavorable to these as to the intellect; and yet it brings with it, in many instances, not a few errors. In order to have those who are predisposed to consumption receive the best possible direction in all which belongs to their moral education and conduct, they must bring themselves as much as possible under the dominion and influence of such feelings as are pleasurable, and cheerful, and elevating.

Most happy is it that the consumptive person is, in general, cheerful and full of hope. Were he not so, he would perish much sooner and much more certainly than he now does. And yet there are exceptions to the justice of this remark. There are those who are liable to seasons of depression and gloom, and a few who are habitually so. And yet full of hope as the consumptive person usually is, I have not found it to be what I would call a large and liberal hope. It is active, rather than large. The idea of doing something worthy

of himself, something worth living for, as I have before intimated, hardly enters into his mind. He is amiable and excellent, yet selfish. The heaven to which he aspires, either in this life or any other, is little more than a Mohammedan one.

It will be of great service, in these cases, not only to the lungs, but to all the functions of the body, for the sake of the lungs, if the individual can have something before him which is well calculated to rouse him, and call forth and concentrate all his energies - provided, however, it does not carry him so far as to prove exhausting beyond his physical power to endure it.

Few things are better calculated to prolong life, under tendencies to death from disease of any kind, pulmonary consumption among the rest, than the expectation of life, and such a hope of doing something as will carry the person out of and beyond himself. I repeat this idea by intention, that it may be firmly fixed, and will proceed to illustrate it. Let a consumptive person, for example, become filled with that dream of so many fools, and of some wiser men the desire to dig for gold in California. He is almost too feeble to enter upon the journey; at least his friends think so. But he thinks otherwise; and on the whole he determines to set out for the land of gold. Now, I do not say that he will certainly arrive there; but I do say, that if not too far gone, — that is, if his lungs are not so far disorganized that nature has no possible chance of holding out as long as the journey actually requires, he will be more likely to recover than if he had staid at home with no high or commanding motive before him to make exertion.

Twenty-seven years ago, I was apparently going the usual way of the consumptive. The day of celebrating our na