[Illustration: On A Side Hill]
HOMES,
_AND HOW TO MAKE THEM._
E.C. GARDNER.
Illustrated.
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874,
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & Co., CAMBRIDGE.
PREFACE.
These letters between the architect and his friends are composed of
hints and suggestions relating to the building of homes. Their aim is
to give practical information to those about to build, and to
strengthen the growing demand for better and truer work.
Even those who are not yet ready to build for themselves are seldom
without an instinctive longing to do so at some future time, and a
lively concern in the present achievements of their friends and
neighbors, in this direction. Such will, I trust, find something
interesting and instructive in these pages, and be moved thereby to a
more cordial hatred of whatever is false and useless, and love for the
simple and true.
E.C.G.
SPRINGFIELD, March, 1874.
CONTENTS.
LETTER
I. EVERY MAN SHOULD HAVE A HOME
II. A GRATEFUL CLIENT
III. THE BEAUTY OF TRUTH AND UTILITY
IV. PROFESSIONAL FOLLY
V. BUILDING-SITES AND FOUNDATION-WALLS
VI. GRAVEL-BANKS AND QUAGMIRES
VII. NATURE'S BRICKS ARE BETTER THAN OURS
VIII. THERE IS A SOFT SIDE EVEN TO A STONE WALL
IX. A BROAD HOUSE IS BETTER THAN A HIGH ONE
X. TROUT BROOKS ARE BETTER THAN STREET SEWERS
XI. THE STRENGTH AND DURABILITY OF BRICK
XII. THE WEAKNESS AND SHAM OF BRICKWORK
XIII. SKILL DIGNIFIES THE MOST HUMBLE MATERIAL
XIV. EVERY MAN TO HIS TRADE
XV. THE COMING HOUSE WILL BE FAIR TO SEE AND MADE OF BRICK
XVI. DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE
XVII. GOOD TASTE IS NOT A FOE BUT A FRIEND TO ECONOMY
XVIII. OUR PICTURESQUE ANCESTORS
XIX. THE USE AND THE ABUSE OF WOOD
XX. A SURRENDER AND CHANGE OF BASE
XXI. HOSPITALITY AND SUNLIGHT
XXII. UNPROFESSIONAL SAGACITY
XXIII. STAIRWAYS AND OUTLOOKS
XXIV. IN A MULTITUDE OF COUNSELLORS IS SAFETY
XXV. DOORS AND SLIDING-DOORS, WINDOWS AND BAY-WINDOWS
XXVI. EXPERIENCE KEEPS A DEAR SCHOOL
XXVII. FASHION AND ORNAMENT, HARD WOOD AND PAINT
XXVIII. THOUGHT PROVOKES INQUIRY
XXIX. CONSISTENCY, COMFORT, AND CARPETS
XXX. AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND ARCHITECTURE, POTATOES AND POSTSCRIPTS
XXXI. DOMESTIC-SERVICE REFORM
XXXII. GO TO; LET US BUILD A TOWER
XXXIII. BASEMENTS AND BALCONIES
XXXIV. FOUR ROOMS ENOUGH
XXXV. CONVENIENCES AND CONJECTURES
XXXVI. THE LESSON OF THE ICE-HOUSE
XXXVII. SHINGLES, SUNSHINE, AND FRESH AIR
XXXVIII. WHERE THE DOCTORS DIFFER
XXXIX. HOW TO DO IT
XL. THE BREATH OF LIFE
XLI. ETERNAL VIGILANCE
LII. SAVED BY CONSCIENCE
XLIII. FINAL AND PERSONAL
BY WAY OF APPENDIX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
MR. ARCHITECT
MR. AND MRS. JOHN
ROUGH STRENGTH AND SMOOTH-FACED WEAKNESS
ON A SIDEHILL
ONLY ONE CORNER
STONE BODY WITH BRICK MEMBERS
BREADTH AND HEIGHT
SECOND STORY OF WOOD
COTTAGE CORNICES
SQUARE HEADS WITH BRICK CAPS
FRAGMENTS OF BRICKWORK
BRICKS THAT ARE NOT SQUARE
"PICTURESQUE AMERICA"
A WISE GENERAL
"THE GROVES WERE GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES"
OUTER FINISH OF WOOD
"THE OLD HOUSE AT HOME"
FORTY-TWO FEET SQUARE
"LOOK OUT, NOT IN"
DUST TO DUST
WOOL AND WOOD
WOODWORK ON PLASTERED WALLS
"SISTER JANE, SPINSTER"
SISTER JANE'S KITCHEN
WHAT THE BASEMENT ADDS
OUTLOOK FROM THE ROOF
THE OLD, OLD STORY
SHINGLING
GOOD OLD TIMES
BRICK FIREPLACE
HOMES,
AND HOW TO MAKE THEM,
OR
_HINTS ON LOCATING AND BUILDING A HOUSE_.
IN LETTERS BETWEEN AN ARCHITECT AND A
FAMILY MAN SEEKING A HOME.
[Illustration: Only One Corner]
LETTER I.
From the Architect.
EVERY MAN SHOULD HAVE A HOME.
My Dear John:
[Illustration: Mr. Architect]
Now that your "ship" is at last approaching the harbor, I am confident
your first demonstration in honor of its arrival will be building
yourself a house; exchanging your charmingly good-for-nothing
air-castle for an actual flesh-and-blood, matter-of-fact
dwelling-house, two-storied and French-roofed it may be, with all the
modern improvements. In many respects, you will find the real house
far less satisfactory and more perplexing than the creation of your
fancy. Air-castles have some splendid qualities. There are no masons'
and carpenters' contracts to be made, no plumbers' bills to be vexed
over, the furnaces never smoke, and the water-pipes never freeze; they
need no insurance, and you have no vain regrets over mistakes in your
plans, for you may have alterations and additions whenever you please
without making a small pandemonium and eating dust and ashes while
they are in process. Nevertheless, I have no doubt you will plunge at
once into the mysteries and miseries of building, and, knowing your
inexperience, I cannot at such a juncture leave you wholly to your own
devices.
It is a solemn thing to build even the outside of a house. You not
only influence your fellow-men, but reveal your own character; for
houses have a facial expression as marked as that of human beings,
often strangely like their owners, and, in most cases, far more
lasting. Some destroy your faith in human nature, and give you an ague
chill when you pass them; others look impudently defiant, while many
make you cry out, "Vanity of vanities!" If you are disposed to
investigate the matter, you will find that the history of nations may
be clearly traced in the visible moral expression of the homes of the
people;--in the portable home-tents of the Arabs; the homely solidity
of the houses in Germany and Holland; the cheerful, wide-spreading
hospitality of Switzerland; the superficial elegance and extravagance
of France; the thoroughness and self-assertion of the English; and in
the heterogeneous conglomerations of America, made up of importations
from every land and nation under the sun,--a constant striving and
changing,--a mass of problems yet unsolved.
A friend once said to me while we were passing an incurably ugly
house, "The man who built that must have had a very good excuse for
it!" It was a profound remark, but if that particular building were
the only one needing apology for its ugliness, or if there were no
common faults of construction and interior arrangement, I should not
think you in special need of warning or counsel from me. There are,
however, so many ill-looking and badly contrived houses, so few really
tasteful ones, while year after year it costs more and more to provide
the comfortable and convenient home which every man wants and needs
for himself and family, that I am sure you will be grateful for any
help I may be able to give you.
We are told that all men, women, and children ought to be healthy,
handsome, and happy. I have strong convictions that every man should
also have a home, healthful, happy, and beautiful; that it is a right,
a duty, and therefore a possibility. Small and humble it may be, cheap
as to cost, but secure, refined, full of conveniences, and the dearest
spot on earth, a home of his own.
In the hope of making the way to this joyful consummation easier and
plainer for you, I propose to give you a variety of hints,
information, and illustrations relating to your undertaking, and will
try to make my practical suggestions so well worth your attention that
you shall not overlook what I may say upon general principles. There
is a right and a wrong way of doing almost everything. I am yours, for
the right way.
LETTER II.
From John.
A GRATEFUL CLIENT.
MY DEAR ARCHITECT: How did you know my ship was coming in? Queer,
isn't it, that when a man does get a few stamps, his friends all find
it out, and can tell him just what he ought to do with them. But
you're right. I've lived in an air-castle long enough. It's altogether
too airy for cold weather, and a house of my own I'm bound to have.
Your information and advice will be exactly in order; for it is a
fact, that, until a man has built at least one house for himself, he
is as ignorant as the babe unborn, not only of how to do it, but,
what is ten times worse, ignorant of what he wants to do. So go ahead
by all means; make a missionary of yourself for my benefit. Don't get
on your high heels too soon, and undertake to tell me what won't be of
the slightest use unless I have a fortune to expend.
[Illustration: MR. AND MRS. JOHN.]
Give me something commonplace and practical, something that I can
apply to a "villa" of two rooms if my ship happens to be empty. I
suppose it's all true that an ugly-looking house is a sign of want of
wit rather than want of money, but there are lots of people who
haven't either, precious few that have both. At all events, the man
who has only one thousand dollars to spend is just as anxious to spend
it to the best advantage as he who has five thousand or fifty.
Mrs. John is delighted. She is bent on the new house, but knows I
shall get everything wrong end first from cellar to attic. I always
supposed a good kitchen was a desirable part of a family
establishment, but the chief end of her plans is bay-windows and
folding doors. However, if you tell us to put the front door at the
back side of the house, or do any other absurd thing, it will be all
right.
As to your preachment on general principles, I'll do the best I can
with it; but don't give me too much at once.
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER III.
From the Architect.
THE BEAUTY OF TRUTH AND UTILITY.
Dear John: I am glad my efforts in your behalf are likely to be
appreciated, especially if you share this common opinion of
architects, that their mission is accomplished when they have made a
pretty picture, and that they are an expensive luxury, which the man
who would build himself a house must forego if he would be able to
finish. Greater durability, comfort, and convenience are not expected
on account of their assistance, only that the house shall be more
surprisingly beautiful. Doubtless there is some ground for this poor
opinion, but the architects are not alone in their folly, or wholly
responsible; they attempt to supply an unreasonable demand, and are
driven to employ unworthy means.
The first grand lesson for you to learn (you must have patience with a
little more "preachment") is that the beauty of your building cannot
be thrust upon it, but must be born with it, must be an inseparable
part of it, the result and evidence of its real worth. We must forget
our great anxiety as to how our houses shall be clothed, aiming first
to make them strong and durable, comfortable and convenient, being
morally certain that they will not then be disagreeable to look upon.
Professing a great contempt for a man who tries to seem something
better and wiser than he is, let us be equally severe in condemning
every building that puts on airs and boldly bids us admire what is
only fit to be despised. The pendulum seems to have swung away from
the plain, utilitarian mode of building that was forced upon our
ancestors by a stern necessity,--possibly chosen from a sense of
duty,--to the other extreme; giving us, instead of the old-time
simplicity, many a fantastic design that claims admiration for its
originality or its modern style. The notion that there can be a mere
architectural fashion, having any rights that intelligent people are
bound to respect, is quite absurd. Improved modes of construction and
new helps to comfort and convenience are constantly invented, but one
might as well talk of the latest fashions for the lilies of the fields
or the stars in the heavens, as of a fashionable style in architecture
or any other enduring work of art. Whatever building is nobly and
enduringly useful, thoroughly adapted to its uses, cannot be uncomely.
Its outward beauty may be increased by well-contrived disposition of
materials, or even added details not strictly essential to its
structure; but, if rightly built, it will not be ugly without these
additions, and beware of using them carelessly. What might have been a
very gem of homely and picturesque grace, if left in modest plainness,
may be so overburdened with worthless trash that its original
expression is lost and its simple beauty becomes obtrusive deformity.
Even conspicuous cheapness is not necessarily unpleasant to see, but
don't try to conceal it by forcing the materials to seem something
better than they are. Let wood stand for wood, brick for brick, and
never ask us to imagine a brown-stone value to painted sheet-iron.
There is, too, a deeper honesty than mere truth-telling in material; a
conscientiousness of purpose, an artistic spiritual sense of the
eternal fitness, without which there can be no worthy achievement, no
lasting beauty.
Accepting this doctrine, which cannot be too often or too strongly
urged, although it is not new,--indeed, it is old as the
universe,--you will, I think, be puzzled to find an excuse for
yourself if you disfigure a charming landscape or a village street by
an uncouth building. Build plainly if you will, cheaply if you must,
but, by all that is fair to look upon or pleasant to the thought, be
honest. It will require some study and much courage, but verily you
will have your reward, and I for one shall be proud to write myself
your admiring friend.
LETTER IV.
From John.
PROFESSIONAL FOLLY.
My Dear Architect: I've been trying to learn my "first grand lesson,"
as laid down in your second epistle to yours truly. About all I can
make of it is: Firstly, that my house is for myself to live in,--wife
and babies included,--not for my neighbors to look at; and, secondly,
that however much I may try to humbug my fellow-sinners in other ways,
I'm not to build a lie into my house, where it is sure to be found
out, after I'm dead and gone, if not before.
You wonder what my opinion is of architects. Well, without being
personal, I'm free to maintain that as a rule I'm afraid of 'em. The
truth is, they don't care what a fellow's house costs him, whatever
they may say in the beginning; and I never knew a man to build from an
architect's plans that his bills didn't come in just about double what
he laid out for. They want to get up a grand display, if it's a
possible thing, so everybody that comes along will stop and say, "What
a charming house! Who made the plans?" while from beginning to end it
may be all for show and nothing for use, and mortgaged to the very
chimney-tops. That's my opinion, and I'm not alone in it, either.
There was my neighbor down the road,--he wanted a commonish kind of a
house. Nothing would do but his wife must have it planned by a
"professional" man. Result was, she had to put her best bedstead
square in the middle of the room, and there was no possible place for
the sitting-room lounge but to stand it on end behind a door in the
corner. Another acquaintance of mine had $5,000. Didn't want to spend
a cent more than that. Called on an architect,--may have been you, for
all I know; architect made sketches, added here a little and there a
good deal, made one or two rooms a few feet bigger, poked the roof up
several feet higher, and piled the agony on to the outside, until,
when the thing was done, it cost him $11,000! Of course it ran him
into debt, and most likely will be sold at auction. He'll never get
what it cost him, unless he can sell it as we boys used to swap
wallets,--without looking at the inside. But everybody says it's
"lovely," and wants to know who was his architect.
That, I expect, is just where the shoe pinches. If an architect can
only make a fine show with another man's money, he gets a reputation
in no time; but if he has a little conscience, and tries to plan a
house that can be built for a given sum, every one says it looks
cheap, no kind of taste, and very likely the owner himself is grouty
about it, and next time goes for another man.
I don't envy you a bit. But don't be discouraged.
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER V.
From the Architect.
BUILDING-SITES AND FOUNDATION-WALLS.
DEAR JOHN: You seem to have made as much of my last letter as could
reasonably be expected. I might reply to your unfortunate experience
with architects, by describing the cost and annoyance of the
subsequent alterations, almost inevitable whenever a house is built
without carefully studied plans; and I do assure you that when the
cost of a house exceeds the owner's estimates, it is simply because he
does not know his own mind beforehand, or stupidly fails to have his
plans and contracts completed before he begins to build. It's no more
the fault of the architect than of the man in the moon. By and by you
shall have a chapter on the whole duty of architects, as I understand
it, but not until I have given you something more practical to think
of and possibly to work upon.
Nothing astonishes me more than the absurdly chosen sites of many
rural and suburban dwellings, unless it is the dwellings themselves.
Notwithstanding our great resources in this respect, all
considerations, not only of good taste and landscape effect, but even
of comfort and convenience, are often wholly ignored. For the most
trivial reasons, houses are erected in such locations and of such
shapes as to be forever in discord with their surroundings,--a
perpetual annoyance to beholders and discomfort to their occupants. I
will not at present pursue the subject, but shall assume that the
ground whereon your house will stand is at least firm and dry; if it
isn't, no matter how soon it falls, it won't be fit to live in. Any
preparation for the foundation in the way of puddling or
under-draining will then be quite superfluous.
Unless you are obliged to economize to the uttermost, let your cellar
extend under the whole house, and make it of good depth, not less than
7-1/2 feet,--8-1/2 is better. When this is ready, I suppose you will
start for the nearest ledge, and bring the largest rocks that can be
loosened by powder or dragged by oxen, and set them in solemn array
around the cellar, their most smiling faces turned inward. If you can
find huge flat stones of one or two yards area, and six to twelve
inches thick, you will feel especially fortunate. In either case you
will survey these with admiration, and rejoice in thinking that,
though the rains may fall, and the floods and the winds beat upon it,
your house will rest on its massive support in absolute security,
never showing the ugly cracks and other signs of weakness that spring
from imperfect foundations. Perhaps not, but it will be far more
likely to do so than if the first course of stones in the bed of
gravel or hard pan are no larger than you can easily lift. You cannot
give these huge bowlders such firm resting-place as they have found
for themselves in the ages since they were dropped by the dissolving
glaciers. However you handle them, there will be cavities underneath,
where the stone does not bear upon the solid ground. The smaller ones
you may rub or pound down till every inch of the motherly bosom shall
feel their pressure. Upon this first course of--pebbles, if you
please, lay larger ones that shall overlap and bind them together,
using mortar if you wish entire solidity. As the wall rises, introduce
enough of large size to bind the whole thoroughly. Above the footing
the imperfect bearings of the larger stones are of less consequence,
since there is little danger of their crushing one another.
[Illustration: ROUGH STRENGTH AND SMOOTH-FACED WEAKNESS.]
I say you will probably set their smooth faces inward, where they can
be seen, which is quite natural and well enough, provided this is not
their only merit. If behind there is a lame and impotent conclusion, a
tapering point on which it is impossible to build without depending
upon the bank of earth, it will be better to have less beauty and more
strength. I don't like a foundation wall that is "backed up"; it
should be solid quite through; if any difference, let it be in favor
of the back or outside. You will find plenty of walls bulging into the
cellar, not one crowding outward.
If the footing of a foundation is made as it should be, the upper part
may be much thinner, since there is no danger of crushing it by any
probable weight of building. It may be crowded inward by the pressure
of surrounding earth, especially if the building is of wood. To guard
against this, interior buttresses of brick, or partition walls in the
cellar, will perhaps cost less than a thicker main wall. The
buttresses you may utilize by making them receive shelves, support the
sides of the coal-bin, etc., while the partitions will take the place
of piers, and, if well laid, need be in smaller houses but four inches
thick.
Should your cellar happen to be in a gravelly knoll,--you are thrice
and four times blessed if it is,--and if there is a stony pasture
near it or a quarry from which you can get the chips, you may try a
concrete wall of small stones, gravel, and cement. It will be strong
and durable; with a wheelbarrow you can make it yourself if you
choose, and the rats will despise it.
Whether your house is one story or ten, built of pine or granite, you
can have no better foundation than good hard brick laid in cement
mortar; cellular above the footing, as brick walls should usually be
made. Between this and stone it will be then a question of economy to
be determined by local circumstances.
The details and accessories of cellars, their floors, ventilation, and
various conveniences, belong to the interior equipments. There is,
however, one point that even precedes the foundation,--the altitude.
As the question commonly runs, "How high shall the top of the
underpinning be?" Of course this can only be given on an actual site.
It is unfortunate to plant a house so low in the ground that its
cellar forms a sort of cesspool for the surrounding basin; most absurd
to set it up on a stilted underpinning until it looks like a Western
gatepost, lifted every year a few inches out of the ground by the
frost, till it finally topples over and has to be set anew. Two things
you will notice in locating your house,--as soon as the walls and roof
are raised, the distance to the street in front will seem to be
diminished, and the ground on which the building stands will appear
lower than before, lower than you expected or desired. There is so
much said and sung about houses being set too low, that it is quite
common to find them pushed out of the ground, cellar and all, as
though this would atone for a want of elevation in the land itself.
There is little danger that you will place your house too high, great
danger that you will not raise the earth around it high enough. Be
sure that after grading there shall be an ample slope away from the
walls; but whether you will have a "high stoop," or pass from the
dooryard walk to the porch and thence to the front hall by a single
step, will depend upon the character of the house and its
surroundings. To express a generous hospitality the main entrance
should be so convenient and inviting that it seems easier to enter
than to pass the door. This effect, especially in large rambling
houses, is most easily obtained by keeping the first floor near the
ground. That hospitality and good cheer will always be found beneath
your roof is my earnest wish.
LETTER VI.
From John.
GRAVEL-BANKS AND QUAGMIRES.
MY DEAR ARCHITECT: I'm all right on the gravel question. You don't
catch me building in anybody's quagmire. There's plenty of rheumatism
and fever 'n' ague lying around loose without digging for 'em, and
then building a house over the hole to keep 'em in. I don't want to
say anything against any man's building-lots, but how in the light of
common-sense a man can, with his eyes open, build his shanty on some
of the streets in your enterprising city, is too much for my
understanding. If they would first put in good big sewers, running
slick and clean to the river, and underdrain the whole premises, 't
wouldn't be quite so bad. But I don't want them, anyway; give me the
high land and the dry land. I'm not particular about founding on a
rock, either; that was well enough in old times when they didn't want
cellars, but let me have a good bed of sand or gravel. Cellar may not
be quite so cool, but all we need is to go down a little deeper,
while, as for health, I'd rather be ten feet under ground in such a
spot than occupy the "second-story front," in some places I could
mention.
Your foundation is all right in theory, and if I was going to put up a
steam chimney, a government building, or anything else that must be
done in the best way, regardless of expense, I should go for it. For
cheap, common work, 't isn't worth while to be over-nice or over-wise.
I tell you, there is danger of knowing too much about some things.
According to your notion, a man couldn't do better than to stick the
ground full of tenpenny nails to start with, and I should think a
thousand-legged worm would be about the most substantial animal that
treads the globe.
As to planting my house, when I've bought the lot, I'll ask you to
take a look at it. I have a fancy for some sort of a sidehill, so I
can get into my house, from one side at least, without going up stairs
out of doors, and still have the first floor airy and dry.
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER VII.
From the Architect.
NATURE'S BRICKS ARE BETTER THAN OURS.
DEAR JOHN: Where to build your house may be, in truth, a question
quite as important as how to build it. I regret my inability to give
you the advice you need. Dr. Bowditch has, I think, intimated that
there is an elysian field not far from here of such rare sanitary
virtue that if its locality were known there would scarcely be
standing-room within its borders for those who would flock thither, or
something to that effect. I trust we shall some time have a scientific
practical investigation of the whole matter, and such definite
information as will enable us at least to qualify, by artificial
means, evils that cannot, in thickly settled regions, be wholly
avoided. Meantime stick to your text, keep high and dry. If you are
bound to have a sidehill, and can find none to suit, you can doubtless
make one of the earth thrown from the cellar wherever you locate.
Have you decided what materials to use, whether wood, brick, or stone?
You will hardly use any other. Glass houses are not popular, although
for their sunlight they ought to be; paper ones are not yet introduced
among us,--I'm expecting them every year; and iron, important and
useful as it is, and destined to become more so, is not adapted to
such buildings as yours. Wood, brick, or stone, then,--which of the
three? To spare you all possible confusion, we will take them
separately and in order, beginning with the hardest.
For rural dwellings in New England stone is rarely used, except for
foundations below ground, being, according to the common notion,
better for that purpose than brick, but not as worthy to be seen,
unless hammered and chiselled into straight lines and smooth surfaces.
Errors both. Well-burned brick laid in cement mortar are nearly always
as good as a stone foundation, while nothing can be more effective in
appearance than a well-laid wall of native, undressed stone. We have
too long neglected one of the most available of our resources in not
making use of the small loose stones that abound in many localities.
They are cheaper and better than bricks, and, rightly used, so
thoroughly in harmony with the nature around them that we should find
them in common use if men were half as wise in accepting the means of
grace provided for them as they are prone to seek out many inventions.
The earlier farmers with enormous industry built them into fences, and
then added a second story of wood to keep the sheep from walking over
them, or piled them up in conical heaps, watch-towers for the
woodchucks. The later farmers, with less patience but possibly more
enterprise, are running away from them to the smoother fields and
richer mould of the Western prairies. We can do better than either;
for, wherever found, they may be used most favorably, not only for
foundation walls that are deeply hidden from mortal view, but for the
main walls of the entire building,--favorably, not only in point of
economy and strength, but with most admirable result as to external
appearance. And here you touch your fundamental principle, that the
best outward effect can only be obtained by a judicious use of the
materials with which you build. You must not make the walls without
any reference to their composition or proportions, and then try to
conceal the poverty and awkwardness of the structure by pinning up
preposterous window-caps, hanging horrible brackets under the eaves
that must always be in doubt whether they support the cornice or are
supported by it, fixing fantastic verge-boards to the gables, and
covering the roof with wooden knick-knacks that mock consistency and
defy description. Look rather to the materials at your command, and,
whatever they may be, try to dispose them in such way that, while each
part performs a legitimate, necessary service, you shall still have
variety and harmony.
Because I have suggested building your main walls of natural undressed
stone, you must not attempt to construct them of that alone. The main
corners, the door and window jambs, the caps and sills, cannot well be
made of these rough hard heads and cobbles that are scattered over the
fields, or from quarry chips. And here will arise the question of
cost. It would seem decidedly grand to use for the corners
substantial blocks of hewn stone,--sandstone, granite, marble, or
porphyry,--channelled and chamfered, rock-faced, tooled, rubbed, or
decorated; key-stones and voussoirs embellished with your monogram or
enriched by any other charming device you choose to invent; bands of
encaustic tile, brilliant in color and pattern, belts of sculptured
stone, and historic tablets,--if you fancy and can afford them. Unless
your ship is heavily freighted with Australian gold or African
diamonds, by all means dispense with the cut stone, and use brick for
the corners, caps, and jambs, and some good flag-stones broken into
strips of suitable width and thickness for the sills and belt-courses.
This will give you a contrast in color (unless you have the reddest of
red sandstone for the walls), the utmost economy and durability of
construction, and a whole effect very likely better than that of the
stone. These brick dressings may be light, especially the jambs; but
the corners, at least, should be laid in such fashion as to bind well
into the stone walls, and if of considerable height, should be
strengthened by belts of stone, or iron anchors running through the
brick and extending into the main wall several feet each way. Any
large blank surface may be relieved by a little ingenuity in the
selection of the stones for the main walls, introducing, perhaps, some
of regular shapes and size, the raised mortar, which may be colored
dark or red, marking the joints, or inserting a belt of different
color. Horizontal bands of brick laid in fancy pattern may be
convenient and effective.
Of course you will not adopt this style of wall unless there is a crop
of suitable stones within easy distance. It is more probable that you
will be afraid to use what you have than that there are none to use.
Whatever can be made into a stone fence will make the walls of a
house, if you are not too ambitious of height, and do not attempt to
make them too thin. Other things being equal, the thicker the walls,
within certain limits, the better. You don't care to build a Bastile,
but deep window-jambs without and within add wonderful richness and
dignity. If the walls cost little or no more, as is often the case,
it is a pity to refuse the additional ground required for their extra
thickness. Such walls should not be monopolized by hundred-thousand-dollar
churches and fancy summer residences. They are quite suitable for the
simplest, most unpretending country homes.
[Illustration: STONE BODY WITH BRICK MEMBERS.]
You will understand the general idea thus far by the accompanying
sketches, with which I must close this letter, without concluding the
subject.
LETTER VIII.
From John.
THERE IS A SOFT SIDE EVEN TO A STONE WALL.
MY DEAR ARCHITECT: I'm slowly digesting your last production; not
being an ostrich, it goes rather hard. For all that, it may be worth
thinking of. Perhaps I shall be converted by the time the subject is
fully shown up. I suppose we've always looked upon these loose rocks
and stones sprinkled about the country as a part of the original
curse, and have never thought of turning them to any sensible use,
though good old Dr. Hopkins seemed to have faith that their soft side
would some time be discovered. Funny, isn't it, that we should burn
so much fuel and spend so much labor making bricks and other
artificial building-blocks, when there are piles of them ready made,
that would only cost the hauling? Not always on the square, to be
sure, although in some places the ground is full and running over with
flat stones that can be laid up as easily as shingles. They would
hardly need any mortar, and the brick trimmings you describe would be
a nuisance, except for looks. Miles and miles of stone-walls you will
see, up and down hillsides and across pastures that don't look worth
their taxes. Once in a while the lower half of a cider-mill, the back
side of a barn-yard shed, or something of that sort, is made of them;
but the people in these parts seem to think it would be folly to use
them for anything more dignified. I suppose, because they are too
simple and natural,--just as the Almighty made them.
These square-cornered, flat-sided fellows are not the commonest kind,
however; and I'm free to maintain that I don't want to build my house
more than seventy-five feet high of the smooth cobbles that will
scarcely hang together in a respectable stone-heap. I should expect
the whole thing would come tumbling down some rainy night.
Mrs. John don't take to the notion of a stone house--not yet. Says
they're wofully old-fashioned and poky,--look like Canadians and poor
folks. I just keep still and let her talk,--it's the best way.
Won't such walls be cold and damp? How am I to know whether the stones
that I can find are fit to use? Send you a boxful by express?
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER IX.
From the Architect.
A BROAD HOUSE IS BETTER THAN A HIGH ONE.
MY DEAR JOHN: It will not be necessary for you to send me a stone-heap
or a section of pasture-wall for inspection. I would rather venture an
opinion from your description.
Of course, these walls alone, if solid, as they doubtless must be,
will be cold and damp; they must be furred off within to prevent
moisture from condensing on the walls of the rooms. This furring
should be done with light studs, secured to the floor timbers above
and below, having no connection with the stone walls, the inside of
which may be left quite rough, whatever the "builders in the elder
days of art" might say to such negligence. For greater permanence and
security against fire, instead of wood furrings you may build a lining
of brick, leaving an air space of several inches between it and the
stone, very much in the same way as if the whole were of brick.
You say you would prefer not to build walls as high as a church tower
of smooth cobblestones. Don't; it wouldn't be wise. Still I have seen
them, of more humble dimensions, laid in good cement, as such walls
always should be laid, that seem as firm as unbroken granite. But you
will remember I only advise this mode of building on the condition
that you are not ambitious of height. If you are, by all means curb
your aspirations, or else buy a city house six or seven stories in
the air, where you can gratify your passion for going up and down
stairs. There is the best reason in the world why a tall house in the
country should look grim, gaunt, and awkward; it is thoroughly
inconvenient and out of place. The area of arable land covered by
human habitations does not yet interfere with agricultural products.
So let us spread ourselves freely. When we have learned the beauty and
the strength of co-operation for mutual helpfulness, we shall see the
prevailing mode of constructing houses in cities very much modified.
Now they stand as books are placed on their shelves,--vertically and
edgewise. They would hold just as many people, and be far more
convenient, if they could be laid horizontally, one above the other.
[Illustration: BREADTH AND HEIGHT.]
True, this would involve floors impervious to sound, and
fire-proof,--by no means a fatal objection. Since we can neither "fly
nor go" in the air, like birds and angels, it is well for us, having
found our appropriate level, to abide thereon as far as may be. There
is no doubt that where dwellings must be built compactly in "blocks,"
as we call them, the "flat" arrangement, each tenement being complete
on one floor, is the cheapest and best. Even the fourth story in such
a building is preferable to a house of eight or ten rooms, two on each
floor. But this does not concern you, unless you have a few thousands
to invest in tenement-houses. In the right place I like an
old-fashioned one-story house, but most people have a prejudice
against anything so unpretending.
One other fact besides the worth of co-operation I hope the dwellers
in cities will learn to recognize practically. When there were no
swift and screaming locomotives, no cosey and comfortable horse-cars,
no red and yellow omnibuses even, there was good reason why men must
forego the boon of country air; must forget the color of the ground,
the smell of the green things growing, and the shape of the heavens
above them. But the reason no longer exists. Doubtless the business of
a city should be as compact as possible; but for its dwellings, every
consideration of comfort and happiness, of physical and moral
well-being, demands that the inhabitants shall make the most of their
migratory resources and--scatter; find room to build, not tenements
or residences, but _homes_ for themselves and their children. In the
old time safety was found by crowding together within mural walls. Now
the case is reversed. Where the population is densest, temptations and
dangers do most abound. We've outgrown the walls, let us overcome the
evils that were bred within them.
There may be a prejudice against another quality of these stone walls.
They are rough. Roughness means want of culture and labor; that
implies want of money, and that is--unpardonable. But roughness does
not mean any such thing. What are mouldings and frets and carvings but
a roughening of otherwise smooth surfaces? Artists of all kinds seek
to remove even the appearance of an unbroken plane, and nature abhors
a flat exterior, never allows one, even in the most plastic material,
if it can be broken. See the waves of the ocean, the mimic billows on
a snow-covered plain, the rugged grandeur of the everlasting hills.
Fancy a pine, an oak, or an elm tree with trunk and limbs smoothly
polished! What if the outside of your walls are somewhat uneven? Let
them be so. The shadows will be all the richer, the vines will cling
more closely, and maybe the birds will hang their nests in some sunny
corner. Do not, then, try to improve the natural faces of the stones
with pick and hammer; you will find it hard work, and, very likely,
worse than thrown away.
I think you will like, both in exterior effect and in practical
result, the plan of building the walls of the first story of stone
with brick dressings, as described in my last letter, making the
remainder of the house of wood, be the same more or less. If the
sketches I send you do not make you in love with this style, or if you
do not like to risk the experiment, examine something already built
before deciding against it. But first explore the country around you
and see if the stony prospect is good.
[Illustration: SECOND STORY OF WOOD.]
Mr. Donald G. Mitchell not only writes in favor of this mode of
building, but proves his faith by his work; his new house at Edgewood
being an admirable specimen of it. You will find, too, some noteworthy
examples at Newport, for which, with much else in the way of applying
a refined taste to rural affairs, we are indebted, directly or
indirectly, to the same well-known writer. If, after the pictures,
Mrs. John is still doubtful of the result, the examples above
mentioned will certainly allay her misgivings.
You must not think I would recommend this as a universal fashion, even
where the materials are abundant, but give it place according to its
merit.
I hope you will be spared the folly of building your house of dressed
stone of uniform size and color, lest it be mistaken for a large tomb
or a small jail. That you may not at present be compelled to take up
your abode in either, is my sincere wish.
LETTER X.
From John.
TROUT BROOKS ARE BETTER THAN STREET SEWERS.
My dear architect: We read, we saw, and--were conquered. The pictures,
the arguments, and especially the illustrious examples, brought down
the house, or rather brought it up. Mrs. John is not only fully
reconciled to stone walls, but she is decidedly unreconciled to any
other,--that is, for the first story; the second story is to be of
wood, the walls shingled or slated instead of being covered with
clapboards, in the orthodox fashion. She is delighted with the notion
that her "Baltimore belles" and the like can clamber against the
house without being torn away every two or three years for paint. On
the strength of this notion, she has already ordered a big lot of all
sorts of herbs and creeping things, from grape-vines and English ivy
to sweet-peas and passion-flowers. That's only one thing. Every time
we go out to ride she gathers up from the wayside such a load of small
rocks as makes the buggy-springs ache. We found a smooth round stone,
yesterday, that looks so much like my head she declares it must be a
fossil, and is bound to have it set over the front door instead of a
monogram. We follow your lead in another direction; if we can't rise
in the world without going up stairs for it, we'll try to cultivate
the meek and lowly style.
Your best point, according to my thinking, is on the migration
question. I read that paragraph over twice, and stuck a pin at the end
of it. It doesn't concern me, to be sure; but I have the utmost pity
for a man who is content to live all his life shut in between brick
walls. To undertake to bring up a family of boys and girls where all
the blessed freedom of out-door life is denied them, is worse than
pitiful,--it's heathenish. Not that every boy ought to live on a farm
and work in a barn-yard,--hoe corn all summer and chop wood all
winter,--but I don't believe a child can grow up strong, healthy, and
natural, body-wise and soul-wise, unless he has a chance to scrape an
acquaintance with Mother Nature with his own hands. When I stake out
John City it will be a city of magnificent distances, in the form of a
Greek cross,--two wide streets crossing each other at right angles in
the middle; all the business at the "four corners," where there will
be plenty of short cross streets; the dwellings stretching away for
miles on the two broad avenues; house-lots one to ten acres; Union
Pacific Railroad will cut through the centre corner-wise; and the
Metropolitan Transportation Company, or something else with a big
name, will run elegant cars like shuttles through the two main
streets, and Mrs. A at the West End can call on Mrs. B at the North,
South, or East End, ten miles away, with less trouble than you in your
city can go from Salem to Howard Street.
Similarly, Springfield ought to stretch from Longmeadow to Chicopee
Street, from Indian Orchard to Agawam. At all events, if your folks
will make the most of their opportunities, it will some day be one of
the most charming inland cities on the continent. Whether there is
good sense, public spirit, and patriotism enough to make it so remains
to be seen.
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER XI.
From the Architect.
THE STRENGTH AND DURABILITY OF BRICK.
My dear John: It is encouraging to know that my suggestions find some
favor in your sight. Pray don't go too fast. It isn't well to make up
our minds fully until we have heard all sides, lest we have them to
unmake, which is always more or less painful.
Notwithstanding the peculiar merits of the stone walls, the coming
house,--the house that is to embody all the comforts and amenities of
civilized life,--the house of safe and economic construction, well
warmed, well ventilated, defiant alike of flood, frosty and
fire,--the millennial house, if you please, will doubtless be a brick
one. Don't be alarmed. I know just what vision rises before your
mind's eye as you read this. A huge square edifice; windows very high
from the ground, not very large, square tops, frame and sash painted
white; expressionless roof; flat, helpless chimneys perched upon the
outer walls, the course of their flues showing in a crooked stain; at
the back side a most humiliated-looking wooden attachment, somewhat
unhinged as to its doors and out at the elbows as to its windows,
evidently hiding behind the pile of brick and mortar that tries to
look dignified and grand, but only succeeds in making a great red blot
on the landscape; all the while you know the only homelike portion of
the establishment is in the wooden rear part. The front rooms are dark
and gloomy, the paper hangings are mouldy, the closets musty and
damp; there is a combined smell of creosote and whitewash pervading
the chambers, and the ceilings hang low. I don't wonder you object to
a brick house in the country. Yet, if you propose to build a model,
honest and permanent, a house that shall be worth what it costs and
look as good as it is, I shall still recommend brick. The growing
scarcity of wood, the usual costliness of stone, the abundance of
clay, the rapidity with which brick can be made and used,--one season
being sufficient to develop the most awkward hod-carrier into a
four-dollars-a-day journeyman bricklayer,--the demand for more
permanence in our domestic dwellings, and the known worth of brick in
point of durability and safety,--all these reasons will, I think,
cause a steady increase in their use. Hence it behooves us to study
the matter carefully, and see whether any good thing can be done with
them.
Since the time, long ago, when the aspiring sons of Noah said to one
another, "Go to; let us make brick and burn them thoroughly," to the
latest kiln in Hampden brick-yard, there seems to have been little
variety in the making or using of them, except that among different
nations they have assumed different forms. They are found as huge
blocks a foot and a half square, and in little flinty cakes no bigger
than a snuff-box. The Romans made the best ones, some of their
buildings having defied the elements for seventeen centuries, and
their mantle, as to brickmaking, has fallen upon the Dutch. They were
found among the ancient Peruvians, and the Chinese made beautiful the
outside of the temple by giving a porcelain finish to the brick. Still
I fancy they have always been more famous for their use than for their
beauty; but their utility is beyond all question. If our modern
experience doesn't prove it, read this inscription from an ancient
brick pyramid of Howara:--
"Do not undervalue me by comparing me with pyramids of stone; for I am
better than they as Jove exceeds the other deities. I am made of
bricks from clay, brought up from the bottom of the lake adhering to
poles."
Notwithstanding these claims to veneration, there is but little poetry
about them, and therefore, I suppose, but little progress. Compared
with other materials, they have undergone slight changes with us, in
color, shape, or modes of use. A block of wood or stone contains, in
the eye of the artistic workman, every possible grace of form and
moulding; but a brick is a square, red, uninteresting fact, and the
laying of them the most prosaic of all work. By common consent we
expect no improvement in their use, but rather sigh for the good old
times when work was honestly done and the size of the brick
prescribed by law. We associate them with factories, boarding-houses,
steam-chimneys, pavements, sewers,--whatever is practical,
commonplace, and undignified. Yet there are charming, even delicate,
effects possible with these unpromising rectangular blocks.
[Illustration: COTTAGE CORNICES.]