If therefore, some of the general laws which govern the preservation of health be simply stated and illustrated, it may be the beginning of much good, by teaching or inciting men to become the guardians of their own health. One of the primary laws of health is to have a good supply of fresh air. The voice of nature cries aloud for fresh air, the cry comes to us alike from the newly born babe in the cellar, and the aged sufferer worn out in life’s troubles in the garret. It is the cry of the weary and worn; their thin blood flows feebly, and their life is ebbing fast as they cry, “Oh, for one short hour to breathe the breath of the cowslip sweet and to feel as I used to feel.” This is all that is craved ere the weary one welcomes the stifling hand of death. Such is the cry of thousands in our city. Who wonders at it? Not those who are practically acquainted with the dwellings of the poor. For those who are not, I shall in general terms indicate some of the features of the _homes_ in my district. It is not my object to raise the veil of poverty to satisfy idle curiosity, or to awaken a morbid philanthropy. Scenes which are photographed on my mind, I shall from feelings of delicacy alike for the subject and the reader omit. As parochial medical officer for Christ Church district, it is very often my duty to visit East Cottages, and Little Church Street, and I am daily called upon to witness the suffering and sickness in crowded rooms, which is fostered by bad ventilation and insufficient drainage; here small-pox and typhus fever are frequent visitors. It is not an uncommon thing for a family of eight or ten to occupy one small room. In this single apartment, men women and children of all ages eat, drink, and sleep; in such a place as this, and under such circumstances, where little air enters, and less light, can it be a matter of surprise that sickness and death are frequent visitors. Death is so frequent a visitor, that to those who witness his work he has lost all his terrors; yea, he is rather a friendly visitor when he calls the younger members home. Think, reader, of such _a home_ as this in the day of sickness, in the hour of nature’s woe, in the gloomy night of death. Picture children of tender years becoming familiar with these scenes, and can it reasonably be expected that they should grow up healthy either in mind or body. I could not but allude to the number of occupants in one small apartment, as it bears directly on the amount of air supplied to each one, and the necessity for free ventilation; overcrowding also tends very materially to demoralise the rising generation. In a word, it degenerates both body and mind. At an early age they sow the seeds of consumption, bronchitis, rheumatism, and a whole list of complaints, which may be traced more or less to the violation of the ordinary sanitary laws of health. The youth of our cities before they are young grow old, before the bud blooms the blossom is blasted; as