equal importance to food, in the proper care of the human machine,
comes the air we breathe.

Many of man's present physical troubles are due to the roof over his
head confining the warmed, used-up air, which would escape freely if
there were an opening provided. The first law of sanitation requires
the quick removal of all wastes. Once-breathed air is as much a waste
as once-used water, and should be allowed to escape. Sewers are built
for draining away used water. Flues are just as important to serve as
sewers for used air. Air is lighter than water, and out-breathed air
being warmed is lighter than that at room temperature. It rises to the
ceiling, where it will escape if it is allowed to do so before it
cools sufficiently to fall.

The roof also keeps out sunlight, and some late investigations
indicate that glass cuts off some of the most vitally important light
rays. The "glame" of the Ralstonites--"air in motion with the sunlight
on it"--may have a scientific basis.

It will at once be retorted, "But we cannot heat all out-of-doors."

A partial reply is: Do not try to make your house a tropical jungle.
Travelers assure us that such an atmosphere is not conducive to work
or to health.

All great nations have lived in a temperate climate, where physical
and mental activity was possible for many hours a day. Science is
more and more clearly giving reasons for the cooler temperature in
certain physiological laws. The habits of life in regard to air and
food are largely under individual, or at least under family control,
and should be studied as personal hygiene.

The lessons being so clearly taught in the treatment of tuberculosis
should be heeded in forming the general living habits of the people.

If loss of life can be lessened and working power increased by man's
effort, why does he not make the effort? Why are men and women so
apathetic over the prevalence of disease? Why do they not devote their
energies to stamping it out? For no other reason than their disbelief
in the teachings of science, coupled with a lingering superstition
that, after all, it is fate, not will power, which rules the destinies
of mankind.

Perhaps it is too much to expect that a sturdy plant of belief should
have grown since the days of Edwin Chadwick and Benjamin Ward
Richardson (1830-50), less than a century ago, when there were
perhaps not a dozen men and women who believed that man had any
appreciable control over his own he