Pure air, and enough of it, is the cheapest blessing one can enjoy; and
to deny one's self so indispensable an element of good health, is little
short of criminal neglect, or the sheerest folly. Yet thousands who
build at much needless expense, for the protection of their health and
that of their families, as they allege, and no doubt suppose, by
neglecting the simplest of all contrivances, in the work of ventilation,
invite disease and infirmity, from the very pains they so unwittingly
take to ward off such afflictions.
A man, be he farmer or of other profession, finding himself prosperous
in life, sets about the very sensible business of building a house for
his own accommodation. Looking back, perhaps, to the days of his
boyhood, in a severe climate, he remembers the not very highly-finished
tenement of his father, and the wide, open fireplace which, with its
well piled logs, was scarcely able to warm the large living-room, where
the family were wont to huddle in winter. He possibly remembers, with
shivering sympathy, the sprinkling of snow which he was accustomed to
find upon his bed as he awaked in the morning, that had found its way
through the frail casing of his chamber window--but in the midst of all
which he grew up with a vigorous constitution, a strong arm, and a
determined spirit. He is resolved that _his_ children shall encounter no
such hardships, and that himself and his excellent helpmate shall suffer
no such inconvenience as his own parents had done, who now perhaps, are
enjoying a strong and serene old age, in their old-fashioned, yet to
them not uncomfortable tenement. He therefore determines to have a snug,
_close_ house, where the cold cannot penetrate. He employs all his
ingenuity to make every joint an air-tight fit; the doors must swing to
an air-tight joint; the windows set into air-tight frames; and to
perfect the catalogue of his comforts, an air-tight stove is introduced
into every occupied room which, perchance, if he can afford it, are
further warmed and poisoned by the heated flues of an air-tight furnace
in his air-tight cellar. In short, it is an air-tight concern
throughout. His family breathe an air-tight atmosphere; they eat their
food cooked in an "air-tight kitchen witch," of the latest "premium
pattern;" and thus they start, father, mother, children, all on the high
road--if persisted in--to a galloping consumption, which sooner or later
conducts them to an air-tight dwelling, not soon to be changed. If such
melancholy catastrophe be avoided, colds, catarrhs, headaches, and all
sorts of bodily afflictions shortly make their appearance, and they
wonder what is the matter! They live so snug! their house is so warm!
they sleep so comfortable! how can it be? True, in the morning the air
of their sleeping-rooms feels close, but then if a window is opened it
will chill the rooms, and that will give them colds. What _can_ be the
matter? The poor creatures never dream that they have been breathing,
for hour after hour, decomposed air, charged with poisonous gases, which
cannot escape through the tight walls, or over the tight windows, or
through the tight stoves; and thus they keep on in the sure course to
infirmity, disease, and premature death--all for the want of a little
ventilation! Better indeed, that instead of all this painstaking, a pane
were knocked out of every window, or a panel out of every door in the
house.
We are not disposed to talk about cellar furnaces for heating a farmer's
house. They have little to do in the farmer's inventory of goods at all,
unless it be to give warmth to the hall--and even then a snug box stove,
with its pipe passing into the nearest chimney is, in most cases, the
better appendage. Fuel is usually abundant with the farmer; and where
so, its benefits are much better dispensed in open stoves or fireplaces,
than in heating furnaces or "air-tights."
We have slightly discussed this subject of firing in the farm house,
in a previous page, but while in the vein, must crave another word.
A farmer's house should _look_ hospitable as well as _be_ hospitable,
both outside and in; and the broadest, most cheerful look of hospitality
within doors, in cold weather, is an _open_ fire in the chimney
fireplace, with the blazing wood upon it. There is no _mistake_ about
it. It thaws you out, if cold; it stirs you up, if drooping; and is the
welcome, winning introduction to the good cheer that is to follow.
A short time ago we went to pay a former town friend a visit. He had
removed out to a snug little farm, where he could indulge his
agricultural and horticultural tastes, yet still attend to his town
engagements, and enjoy the quietude of the country. We rang the door
bell. A servant admitted us; and leaving overcoat and hat in the hall,
we entered a lone room, with an "air-tight" stove, looking as black and
solemn as a Turkish eunuch upon us, and giving out about the same degree
of genial warmth as the said eunuch would have expressed had he been
there--an emasculated warming machine truly! On the floor was a Wilton
carpet, too fine to stand on; around the room were mahogany sofas and
mahogany chairs, all too fine to sit on--at all events to _rest_ one
upon if he were fatigued. The blessed light of day was shut out by
crimson and white curtains, held up by gilded arrows; and upon the
mantle piece, and on the center and side tables were all sorts of
gimcracks, costly and worthless. In short, there was no _comfort_ about
the whole concern. Hearing our friend coming up from his dining-room
below, where too, was his _cellar kitchen_--that most abominable of all
appendages to a farm house, or to any other country house, for that
matter--we buttoned our coat up close and high, thrust our hands into
our pockets, and walked the room, as he entered. "Glad to see you--glad
to see you, my friend!" said he, in great joy; "but dear me, why so
buttoned up, as if you were going? What's the matter?" "My good sir," we
replied, "you asked us to come over and see you, 'a _plain farmer_,' and
'take a quiet family dinner with you.' We have done so; and here find
you with all your town nonsense about you. No fire to warm by; no seat
to rest in; no nothing like a farm or farmer about you; and it only
needs your charming better half, whom we always admired, when she lived
in town, to take down her enameled harp, and play
'In fairy bowers by moonlight hours,'
to convince one that instead of ruralizing in the country, you had gone
a peg higher in town residence! No, no, we'll go down to farmer
Jocelyn's, our old schoolfellow, and take a dinner of bacon and cabbage
with him. If he does occupy a one-story house, he lives up in sunshine,
has an open fireplace, with a blazing wood fire on a chilly day, and his
'latch string is always out.'"
Our friend was petrified--astonished! We meant to go it rather strong
upon him, but still kept a frank, good-humored face, that showed him no
malice. He began to think he was not exactly in character, and essayed
to explain. We listened to his story. His good wife came in, and all
together, we had a long talk of their family and farming arrangements;
how they had furnished their house; and how they proposed to live; but
wound up with a sad story, that their good farming neighbors didn't call
on them the _second_ time--kind, civil people they appeared, too--and
while they were in, acted as though afraid to sit down, and afraid to
stand up;--in short, they were dreadfully embarrassed; for why, our
friends couldn't tell, but now began to understand it. "Well, my good
friends," said we, "you have altogether mistaken country life in the
outset. To live on a farm, it is neither necessary to be vulgar, nor
clownish, nor to affect ignorance. _Simplicity_ is all you require, in
manners, and equal simplicity in your furniture and appointments. Now
just turn all this nonsense in furniture and room dressing out of doors,
and let some of your town friends have it. Get some simple, comfortable,
cottage furniture, much better for all purposes, than this, and you will
settle down into quiet, natural country life before you are aware of it,
and all will go 'merry as a marriage bell' with you, in a little
time"--for they both loved the country, and were truly excellent people.
We continued, "I came to spend the day and the night, and I will stay;
and this evening we'll go down to your neighbor Jocelyn's; and you, Mrs.
N----, shall go with us; and we will see how quietly and comfortably he
and his family take the world in a farmer's way."
We did go; not in carriage and livery, but walked the pleasant half mile
that lay between them; the exercise of which gave us all activity and
good spirits. Jocelyn was right glad to see us, and Patty, his staid and
sober wife, with whom we had romped many an innocent hour in our
childhood days, was quite as glad as he. But they _looked_ a little
surprised that such "great folks" as their new neighbors, should drop in
so unceremoniously, and into their common "keeping room," too, to chat
away an evening. However, the embarrassment soon wore off. We talked of
farming; we talked of the late elections; we talked of the fruit trees
and the strawberry beds; and Mrs. Jocelyn, who was a pattern of good
housekeeping, told Mrs. N---- how _she_ made her apple jellies, and her
currant tarts, and cream cheeses; and before we left they had exchanged
ever so many engagements,--Mrs. Patty to learn her new friend to do half
a dozen nice little matters of household pickling and preserving; while
she, in turn, was to teach Nancy and Fanny, Patty's two rosy-cheeked
daughters, almost as pretty as their mother was at their own age, to
knit a bead bag and work a fancy chair seat! And then we had apples and
nuts, all of the very best--for Jocelyn was a rare hand at grafting and
managing his fruit trees, and knew the best apples all over the country.
We had, indeed, a capital time! To cut the story short, the next spring
our friend sent his _fancy_ furniture to auction, and provided his house
with simple cottage furnishings, at less than half the cost of the
other; which both he and his wife afterward declared was infinitely
better, for all house-keeping purposes. He also threw a neat wing on to
the cottage, for an upper kitchen and its offices, and they now live
like sensible country folks; and with their healthy, frolicksome
children, are worth the envy of all the dyspeptic, town-fed people in
existence.
A long digression, truly; but so true a story, and one so apt to our
subject can not well be omitted. But what has all this to do with
ventilation? We'll tell you. Jocelyn's house was _ventilated_ as it
should be;--for he was a methodical, thoughtful man, who planned and
built his house himself--not the mechanical work, but directed it
throughout, and saw that it was faithfully done; and that put us in mind
of the story.
To be perfect in its ventilation, every room in the house, even to the
closets, should be so arranged that a current of air _may_ pass through,
to keep it pure and dry. In living rooms, fresh air in sufficient
quantity may usually be admitted through the doors. In sleeping rooms
and closets, when doors may not be left open, one or more of the lower
panels of the door may be filled by a rolling blind, opening more or
less, at pleasure; or a square or oblong opening for that purpose, may
be left in the base board, at the floor, and covered by a wire netting.
And in all rooms, living apartments, as well as these, an opening of at
least sixty-four square inches should be made in the wall, near the
ceiling, and leading into an air flue, to pass into the garret. Such
opening may be filled by a rolling blind, or wire screen, as below, and
closed or kept open, at pleasure. Some builders prefer an air register
to be placed in the chimney, over the fireplace or stove, near the
ceiling; but the liability to annoyance, by smoke escaping through it
into the room, if not thoroughly done, is an objection to this latter
method, and the other may be made, in its construction, rather
ornamental than otherwise, in appearance. All such details as these
should be planned when the building is commenced, so that the several
flues may be provided as the building proceeds. In a stone or brick
house, a small space may be left in the walls, against which these air
registers may be required; and for inner rooms, or closets, they may
pass off into the openings of the partitions, and so up into the garret;
from which apertures of escape may be left, or made at the gables, under
the roof, or by a blind in a window.
For the admission of air to the first floor of the house, a special
opening through the walls, for that purpose, can hardly be necessary;
as the doors leading outside are usually opened often enough for such
object. One of the best ventilated houses we have ever seen, is that
owned and occupied by Samuel Cloon, Esq., of Cincinnati. It is situated
on his farm, three miles out of the city, and in its fine architectural
appearance and finished appointments, as a rural residence and
first-class farm house, is not often excelled. Every closet is
ventilated through rolling blinds in the door panels; and foul air,
either admitted or created within them, is passed off at once by flues
near the ceiling overhead, passing into conductors leading off through
the garret.
Where chambers are carried into the roof of a house, to any extent, they
are sometimes incommoded by the summer heat which penetrates them,
conducted by the chamber ceiling overhead. This heat can best be
obviated by inserting a small window at each opposite peak of the
garret, by which the outside air can circulate through, above the
chambers, and so pass off the heated air, which will continually ascend.
All this is a simple matter, for which any builder can provide, without
particular expense or trouble.