68 THE PIGEON-FANCIER. 



have accommodation only for thirty. I have 

 erred on this side, and suffered for my folly. 

 On a summer morning, after a hot sultry night, 

 I have opened my loft, stepped into it, and been 

 nearly poisoned, inhaling the vile, reeking effluvia 

 that filled the place. I retreated immediately 

 before the pestilential odour, but the poor birds 

 unfortunately were in it all night — breathing in 

 it, sleeping in it, dying in it. I wondered why 

 the nestlings suffered from ulcerous canker in 

 the mouth and throat and pined away. I won- 

 dered why the old ones feeding, fell victims to 

 the same malignant complaint. How could I 

 cure them ? I dosed them with sulphur and 

 epsom salts — washed out their mouths with this 

 solution and that, and they were nothing better, 

 but rather grew worse. Life eluded my medical 

 skill and quackery, and slipped deftly between 

 my fingers. 



After much thought, and blaming the food 

 and blaming the water for sowing the seeds of 

 death, it eventually entered into my head that 

 perhaps the ventilation was defective, and I 

 ended by blaming myself for not providing ven- 

 tilation enough. The foul atmosphere soured 

 the soft food stored in the old birds' crops, and 

 when they gave it to their young it poisoned 



