When an undesiccated Englishman, or a German endowed with a wholesome John Bull rotundity, is exposed to this superdried air, he is subjected to an amount of bodily evaporation that must be perceptible and unpleasant. The disagreeable sensation experienced by Dr. Siemens in the stove-heated railway cars, etc., were probably due to this.
An English house, enveloped in a foggy atmosphere, and encased in damp surroundings, especially requires stove-heating, and the most inveterate worshipers of our national domestic fetish, the open grate, invariably prefer a stove or hot-pipe-heated room, when they are unconscious of the source of heat, and their prejudice hoodwinked. I have observed this continually, and have often been amused at the inconsistency thus displayed. For example, one evening I had a warm contest with a lady, who repeated the usual praises of a cheerful blaze, etc., etc. On calling afterwards, on a bitter snowy morning, I found her and her daughters sitting at work in the billiard-room, and asked them why. “Because it is so warm and comfortable.” This room was heated by an eight-inch steam-pipe, running around and under the table, to prevent the undue cooling of the indiarubber cushions, and thus the room was warmed from the middle, and equally and moderately throughout. The large reception-room, with blazing fire, was scorching on one side, and freezing on the other, at that time in the morning.
The permeability of ill-constructed iron stoves to poisonous carbonic oxide, which riddles through red-hot iron, is a real evil, but easily obviated by proper lining, The frizzling of particles of organic matter, of which we hear so much, is—if it really does occur—highly advantageous, seeing that it must destroy organic poison-germs.
Under some conditions, the warm air of a room does deposit moisture on its cooler walls. This happens in churches, concert-rooms, etc., when they are but occasionally used in winter time, and mainly warmed by animal heat, by congregational emanations of breath-vapor, and perspiration—i.e., with warm air supersaturated with vapor. Also, when we have a sudden change from dry, frosty weather to warm and humid. Then our walls may be streaming with condensed water. Such cases were probably in the mind of Dr. Siemens when he spoke; but they are quite different from stove-heating or pipe-heating, which increase the vapor capacity of the heated air, without supplying the demand it creates.
VENTILATION BY OPEN FIREPLACES.
The most stubborn of all errors are those which have been acquired by a sort of inheritance, which have passed dogmatically from father to son, or, still worse, from mother to daughter. They may become superstitions without any theological character. The idea that the weather changes with the moon, that wind “keeps off the rain,” are physical superstitions in all cases where they are blindly accepted and promulgated without any examination of evidence.
The idea that our open fireplaces are necessary for ventilation is one of these physical superstitions, which is producing an incalculable amount of physical mischief throughout Britain. A little rational reflection on the natural and necessary movements of our household atmospheres demonstrates at once that this dogma is not only baseless, but actually expresses the opposite of the truth. I think I shall be able to show in what follows, 1st, that they do no useful ventilation; and, 2d, that they render systematic and really effective ventilation practically impossible.
Everybody knows that when air is heated it expands largely, becomes lighter, bulk for bulk, than other air of lower temperature; and therefore, if two portions of air of unequal temperatures, and free to move, are in contact with each other, the colder will flow under the warmer, and push it upwards. The latter postulate must be kept distinctly in view, for the rising of warm air is too commonly regarded as due to some direct uprising activity or skyward affinity of its own, instead of being understood as an indirect result of gravitation. It is the downfalling of the cooler air that causes the uprising of the warmer.
Now, let us see what, in accordance with the above-stated simple laws, must happen in an ordinary English apartment that is fitted, as usual, with one or more windows more or less leaky, and one or more doors in like condition, and a hole in the wall in which coal is burning in an iron cage immediately beneath a shaft that rises to the top of the house, the fire-hole itself having an extreme height of only 24 to 30 inches above the floor, all the chimney above this height being entirely closed. (I find by measurement that 24 inches is the usual height of the upper edge of the chimney opening of an ordinary “register” stove. Old farm-house fireplaces are open to the mantlepiece.)