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what is injurious by the lungs, bowels, and kidneys. The horse is naturally a 
cleanly creature. His immense lungs require so much good air, that he shuns 
offensiveness instinctively. When he has the chance, he avoids bad smells almost 
more resolutely than any other animal. No creature could do what he does for 
us, and he does this in virtue of possessing such perfection of physical organisa- 
tion ; we admire it more and more whenever we examine it anew. The heart of 
a man weighs about eight ounces, and propels two ounces of blood into the sys- 
tem at each pulsation, say 150 ounces a minute, and as much more is sent into 
the lungs during the same period. To fit this for the support of life, his lungs, 
during ordinary breathing, contain about 180 cubic inches of air. To main- 
tain this at the proper purifying standard, he breathes out (expires) those 
hurtful products always collecting in the blood, and inspires or draws in 
about twenty cubic inches of fresh air, some sixteen times every minute. The 
horse’s heart is twelve times heavier than a man’s ; at a very low com- 
putation, from repeated measurements I have made, it propels five times as 
much blood, viz., upwards of 46 pounds are sent into the system, and as 
much more into the lungs every minute. This amount, great as it seems, is 
increased during exercise, and so ample, so perfect is the apparatus for respiration, 
that the lungs are continually supplying adequate means for the purification of 
this enormous vital tide. Now, gentlemen, do we practically bear all this in 
mind ? It is, I fear, too rarely remembered by those who know it to be true ; 
whilst those in immediate charge of horses are often most ignorant of the 
properties of air and the requirements of blood. In well-constructed gaols in 
this country, a space of from 800 to 1,000 cubic feet, or air-space, is provided 
for each prisoner. In some gaols under British control in India, a space of no 
more than 300 cubic feet is the average provision, and tells on the unfortunate 
wretches who are confined in it, by the frightful annual mortality of 1 in 10, 
sometimes even 1 in 4. {Brit, and For. Med.-Chir. Rev,, Jan. 1853.) Every 
one has in his mind’s eye the size of an ordinary parlour, with its two windows 
for light, its fire and door for warmth and ventilation. Every one knows, too, 
that four or five horses, each requiring at least eight times as much air as a man, 
are often stabled in less space than this, with, perhaps, no window that admits 
light, no provision to remove the dampness and gases originating in the natural 
evacuations ; no special provision for entrance of air, except such as may find its 
way under the door ; no way for impure and heated air to escape, except through 
one fortunately-broken pane, out of some three or four dirty pieces of glass, 
forming a caricature window over the door. But why are so many stables almost 
dark even in the day-time. A kind Providence, as if to show man his duty to 
the lower animals, brings forth the choicest natural productions of organic life 
where there is the best light and the purest air. With darkness in stables there 
is almost always dampness ; where darkness, dampness, and a close atmosphere 
combine, each and all reeking with decomposing animal evacuations, there is the 
worst possible provision for sustaining life and health in a state of integrity. 
Small, indeed, is the spark here required to kindle a great amount of disease. 
When influenza prevails — when epizootic disease of any kind prevails — each is 
most severely felt in dark damp stables, the unnatural heat of which is caused 
by many horses crowded into a small compass. Every veterinary surgeon knows 
that he has more disease in proportion in a stable containing 20 horses than 
among 20 horses divided among five, six, or seven different stables. “ The 
Romans were probably aware of the hygienic advantages of isolating animals ; 
for, in the ruins of Pompeii, stables are observed appropriated to one horse.” 
{Ann. Inf., p. 375.) I have lately had the curiosity to measure the space of air 
allowed to each horse in stables containing from 6 to 20 stalls, and find that in 
many cases the average quantity is below 1000 cubic feet. Sometimes, indeed, 
the space falls below what is considered necessary for the human being. Singular 
to state, too, we often find as much provision for air and light in a stable of one 
stall as in a stable with ten. Here is the formula for a six, eight, or ten stall 
stable : one door, one dirty window over it, one broken pane, one grating covered 
with filth to prevent the wash from flowing into the one stinking drain, with 
darkness and dampness presiding over all. But these predisposing causes, active 
as they too often are, can scarcely operate so precisely alike, and at the same 
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