Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. V, October, 1850, Volume I.

ne tales. I decline alluding to the Black Hole of Calcutta, but will take a specimen dug up by some sanitary gardener from Horace Walpole's letters. In 1742 a set of jolly Dogberries, virtu

cup of water. Dogberry was deaf. In the morning four were [pg 615] brought out dead, two dying, and twelve in a dangerous condition. This i

nt-and, possibly, these humps, now three times spoken of, are the concealed and missing portions of the cherubim torn from them by the fair sex in some ancient struggle. There, now, I am again shipwrecked on the wondrous mountains. I was about to say, that ladies, who, in some things, surpass the cherubs, equal them in others; like them, are vocal with ethereal tones; their breath is "the sweet south, stealing across a bed of violets," and that'

s breath of which our words are made, libeled as poisonous. Ventilation i

ve had no lack of ingenuity at work on forcing pumps, and sucking-pumps, and screws. The screws are admirable, on account of the unusually startling nature, now and then, of their results. Not long ago, a couple of fine screws were adapted to a public building; one was to take air out, the other was to turn air in. The first screw, unexpectedly perverse, wheeled its air inward; so did the second, but instead of directing its draught upward, it blew down with a great gust of contempt upon the horrified experimentalist. There is something of a screw principle in those queer little wheels fastened occasionally in our windows, and on footmen's hats-query, are those the ventilating hats?-the rooms are as much ventilated by these little tins as they wo

ould have thought this system fit for imitation. It is a failure. Look at the hot department, where a traveler sometimes has to record that he lay gasping for two hours upon his back, until some one could find some water for him somewhere. Let us call that Africa, and who can say that he enjoys the squalls of wind rushing toward the desert? Let us think of the Persian and the Punic wars, when fleets which had not learned to play bo-peep with ventilating proces

well that the fire makes an ascending current, and that the cold air rushes from our doors and windows to the chimney, as from surrounding countries to the burning desert. We [pg 616] know that very well, because every such current is a draught; one cuts into our legs, one gnaws ab

e enough

me, tyrant

ether raw

he bette

ill be supplied so well, that it will no longer suck in draughts over your shoulders, and between your legs, from remote corners of the room. They say, moreover, that if this aperture be large enough, it will supply all the fresh air needed in your room, to replace that which has ascended and passed out, through a hole which you are to make in your chimney near the ceiling. They say, that an up-draught will clear this air away so quietly that you will not need even a valve; though you may have one fitted and made ornamental at a trifling cost. They would recommend you to

ventilation in their first construction, and so include it as to make it more effectual. But really, if people want to know how to build what are c

ps an airy style sometimes attempts to comfort us. These circumstances are, possibly, unpleasant at the time, but they assist the cause of general unhealthiness. Long may our architects believe that human lungs are

ropolis possesses. The wholesome nature of the smell of cows is quite notorious. Humboldt tells of a sailor who was dying of fever in the close hold of a ship. His end being in sight, some comrades brought him out to die. What Humboldt calls "the fresh air" fell upon him, and, in