Especially there are times and seasons in the course of the child's growth when his life quite literally hangs upon a thread. Life, at those times, seems to borrow human voice, and to ask,--"Can I possibly last?" At those critical times, see you, the contact of so many, the close, sedentary, and imprisoned life of cities, is just simply Death to those delicate and fading creatures. Or, even worse than Death, it is the commencement of a long career of suffering and helplessness far worse than Death itself. In this latter case you leave a poor creature who, now sick, now well, drags on a wretched existence, a misery to himself and a burthen upon public charity. All this must be cut short. We must have foresight combined with humanity. We must snatch the child from these murderous surroundings; we must take him from man and give him to the grand nursing of the fecund Nature--of the Sea. And, then, the child will live and become Man. Your very foundlings, if you thus treat them may some day become your Nelsons and your Napiers, and your community, instead of having to support an habitual patient of your hospitals, will have the bold seaman or the strong laborer. And, for the matter of that, why need we depend upon the State to do this great thing? Florence hath taught us that the royal heart is fully equal to any other royalty; woman in her mercy, _is_ a royalty; she commands, entreats, and man obeys. Woman! Have mercy upon the children! If I were a young and lovely woman, I well know what _I_ should say, and what _I_ should do. I should have all around me my magnificence and my luxury, and when on some fine day, my lover in his love should be eager, passionate, ready to give great gifts, I would say to him:-- "Please offer me none of your Cachemires, designed in England and woven in India; for Diamonds I really care nothing; Berthollet who knows so well how to imitate Nature can make Diamonds, if he so please. But if you really wish to make me a present which I shall love, and for which I shall love you, be so good as to get me a nice well sheltered, yet beautifully sunny home, in which I can lodge some three score, or so, of poor children. They will want no fine furniture; not much of any kind. Once established in that sunny, quiet, and kindly home, they will be well fed, and well cared for; and, my word for it, not a woman will go to the sea-side for her own health who will not give her mite towards the support of those poor children. If Beatrice of Florence could influence her father to found such a home, such a saving refuge, cannot we women of France do as much? Is it that we are less beautiful, or are you less truly in Love?"