204 BOARD OF AGRICULTURE. [Jan., 



therein ; it becomes saturated with the deleterious particles thrown 

 off from the animals' bodies and their excrement, which soon 

 putrifies and renders the whole unfit for food. This is one of the 

 principal objections against the ordinary cattle arrangements in 

 our common barns; there is no separation of the stock from the 

 hay, they are all in the same apartment, every fresh surface of hay 

 exposed absorbing its share of the poison. 



All stock should be kept in an apartment by itself, which should 

 be ventilated by flues which connect with the external air through 

 the roof or sides of the building; these should have shutters or 

 regulators to close them when necessary; the openings for the in- 

 gress of fresh air should be protected in like manner. 



Ventilation by lowering windows from the top, or by having 

 one pane of glass hinged so as to open inwards, are excellent 

 ways provided they are situated in the right place, but they cannot 

 be well arranged so as to admit fresh air without at the same time 

 establishing drafts; therefore this means is a little objectionable 

 for stables. In some localities, double sash with openings in each 

 will answer the purpose well, as the air is partially warmed before 

 admittance. The movable squares must not of course be opposite 

 to each other. 



I speak of the ventilation of farm-buildings; allow me to include 

 in the list the ventilation of the farmer's own dweUing. If my 

 remarks have been correct regarding ventilation for stock, they 

 surely will apply to the family circle, for nowhere do we see the 

 evils arising from unventilated apartments more than in the human 

 family. I was about to say in the farmer's family; and if you will 

 not consider it too personal, I will so express it. This comes 

 mainly from the nature of the farmer's calling. He raises veg- 

 etables for his family use and for the market, and protects them 

 through the winter in his house cellar; here he has cabbages, 

 potatoes, beets, turnips, and the savory onion, a few decaying 

 pumpkins left over from thanksgiving, a beef and pork-barrel 

 with the last season's strong and tainted brine, trying to excel in 

 pungency the fumes from the casks of cider and vinegar, while 

 the long-forgotten codfish that hangs at the head of the cellar 

 stairs gives a body to it all that can never be obliterated from the 

 memory. Gentlemen, do not think that I overdraw the matter; I 

 speak from a professional experience not soon to be forgotten. 

 I know that when I invade the sanctity of home that I am treading 



