flue all the air passing through it more economically than you can
warm the same quantity in the room from which it is taken, then you
may admit the air to feed this same flue near the bottom and perhaps
save fuel; but I doubt whether the remaining air will be any purer
than if an equal amount had been allowed to escape near the ceiling.
The answers to your square questions necessarily dovetail. The hot-air
registers should always be in the partitions if possible. It saves
sweeping dust into the pipes; it saves cutting the carpets; it lessens
the risk of a debilitating warm bath to people addicted to standing
over them; it diffuses the heat more evenly through the room; and,
owing to this better diffusion, there is less waste through the
ventilating outlet at the top of the room, if it should be there.
The foregoing refers to rooms heated on the furnace principle, where
all that seems needful for complete ventilation is a sufficient
outgoing of the air to cause a constant change. In theory, too, the
warm air must cross the room to make its exit. Indeed, the plan of
admitting it at the top and drawing the cold air from the base has
been strongly urged by one of the most earnest and thoughtful
advocates of thorough ventilation. In practice, this fresh air is apt
to come from the region of the coal-bin and potato-barrels, especially
in very cold weather, and I doubt whether it will find the door of
escape sooner at one side than another, unless immediately over the
entrance. As to your next inquiry, I do not think our winter quarters
can be warmed so safely and healthfully in any other way as by steam
or hot-water radiators; but the first cost of the modes now in use
puts them beyond the reach of common people, the very ones who need
them most. Whether it's the tariff on pig-iron, the patent royalties,
the skilled labor, the artistic designs, the steam joints and high
pressure, or all combined, that make the cost, I cannot say, but I
have faith that some one of the noble army of inventors will,
erelong, give us a system more economical in manufacture and simple in
use than any at present known. It will hardly bring him a fortune,
however. The real benefit to humanity will be too great for a temporal
reward. Not only will this coming system be available for cheap and
isolated houses, but when they stand compactly, one boiler will send
its portable caloric to the dwellers on one entire square, as gas and
water are now distributed.
If stoves or other local radiators are used, you must of course
provide for the entrance of pure air as well as the exit of the
impure. With two openings in the ceiling, the air will commonly ascend
one and descend the other. Open fireplaces, whether for wood or coal,
are in favor with those who have learned to love fresh air, besides
being, for their cheerfulness, an unfailing antidote to melancholy,
and other selfish, spiritual ills.
The truth in regard to their healthfulness is simply that they compel
us to sacrifice a large amount of fuel to the goddess of ventilation,
far more than would be needed to give us a better state of the
atmosphere, if applied in some other way; for the fire itself is
hungry for oxygen, fireplaces for wood are mightily prone to smoke,
and anthracite coal releases its poisonous gases at times so rapidly
that none but the most voracious chimney will carry them safely away.
To answer your questions directly: with a good stove in the hall and
in each of the rooms not commonly used, you would probably afford one
or two open fires for those constantly occupied, and keep comfortable
with less outlay for fuel than with a furnace. But you would need an
accommodating fool to make your fires, and an industrious philosopher
to keep them burning. In this matter of warming and ventilating the
more you know the more you will wish to learn. My hope is to set you
thinking and studying. Read Dr. George Derby's little book on
Anthracite and Health, from which I have drawn already for your
benefit; read the statistics of the increase of pulmonary diseases;
get the physiological importance of fresh air so clearly before your
mind's eye that your dinner seems a secondary consideration, and don't
be deceived by any bigoted commentators, or forget to use your own
common-sense.
While warming our backs we may dispose of some adjacent matters. You
can make a very pretty fireplace for wood of the common buff-colored
fire-bricks, either alone or variegated with good common red bricks; a
hearth of encaustic tile, pressed bricks, or even Portland cement. Let
the hearth be a generous one, two and a half feet wide, and at least
two feet longer than the width of the fireplace, if you mean it for
actual use. You must not suppose I object to cheap things because
they are cheap and therefore common. The more so the better if they
have real merit; but the marbleized slate mantels so abundant have not
enough intrinsic beauty to justify them in supplanting the more honest
and unpretending ones of wood. Real marble ought to be too expensive
for such houses as yours.
[Illustration: BRICK FIREPLACE.]
With a furnace your house becomes a lumber-kiln, and any wood that has
not been tried as by fire will, under its influence, warp and crack
and shrink; in carpenters' phrase, "it tears the finish all to
pieces." The rapid shrinking of the joists and studs near the hot-air
pipes is also apt to cause cracks in the plastering that would never
appear if the whole frame could shrink evenly, for shrink it will more
or less. The application of these remarks would be, putting in the
furnace as soon as possible, and keeping it steadily at work drying
sap from the wood and water from the plastering till it enters upon
its legitimate mission of warming the house.
When you have read all this about heating and ventilating two or three
times over, these conclusions will begin to crystallize in your
mind:--
Open fires give the surest ventilation and the best cheer.
If stoves are used for economy, fresh air must be systematically
admitted.
Furnaces are immensely useful to warm the bones of the house and as a
sort of reserve force; but the heat they give is somewhat like a
succession of January thaws.
If you begin to investigate you will discover a fearful amount of
ignorance and indifference where you should find positive information,
and the most discouraging obscurity or conflicting statements among
those who profess to be wise in such matters.
LETTER XLI.
From John.
ETERNAL VIGILANCE.
MY DEAR ARCHITECT: You did well to send the key to your puzzles, else
I might have frozen to death before finding out how to keep warm. But
you've earned your discharge, which I forward herewith. Now I'm going
to send you some grains of wisdom, gathered during my experience in
building, which you may distribute at your discretion among your
clients. When a man--I don't care if it's Solomon himself--undertakes
to build a house, tell him from me, to wind up all other earthly
affairs before beginning; wind them up so tight they'll run for a
year or two without any of his help. Then turn over a new leaf,--learn
to get through breakfast before seven A.M., in order to be on the
ground every moment, from the time the first spadeful of dirt is
thrown out till the last touch of paint is put on. You may make
full-sized drawings for him of every stick and stone, write
specifications by the yard, and draw up a contract that half a dozen
lawyers can't expound, there'll still be a thousand little things that
won't be done as he wants them.
The openings in the basement wall somehow get out of place, an inch or
two too high or too low, or at one side, then the windows over them
will look askew. The air-spaces in the wall will be filled up where
they ought not to be, or left out where they ought to be filled; then
the frost will go through one and the rats the other. If he uses
colored mortar, it will be too dark or too light, or too
something,--then he'll be obliged to paint the whole wall. The drains
won't be put in the right place, or they'll pitch the wrong way; then
he'll have to dig out new ones. The receivers for the stove-pipes will
be forgotten or set in the ventilating-flues; then he might as well
have no chimney. The masons will drop bricks and mortar and trowels
down the flues; then he'll have to climb upon the roof with a brick
tied to a rope and try to churn them out. Just at the place where the
flues ought to be plastered outside and in, against the floor and roof
timbers, the masons can't reach, and like as not they'll turn a brick
up edgewise if a joist happens to crowd; then his house will burn up
and never give him any more trouble.
The war with the masons is short and sharp; that with the carpenters
long and tedious. There are ten thousand ways you don't want a thing
done, only one that suits you. Setting partitions looks like easy
work; I don't believe a house was ever built in which all of them and
the doors through them were in just the right places. I know they 're
not in mine. I'd give three times the cost of the door if one of them
could be moved, two inches, and as much more if another could be made
six inches wider. I tried to have one of the mantels set in the middle
of one side of the room, but somehow it got fixed just enough away
from the centre to look everlastingly awkward.
The rough work gets covered up pretty quickly, but it pays to keep
watch and see that the spikes are put in where they belong; that the
back plastering reaches quite up to the plate and down to the sill;
that timbers are not left without visible means of support, or hung by
"toe-nails" when they ought to be well framed and pinned. It's hard to
make a carpenter believe that plastering cracks because his joists
and furrings and studs won't hang together, but it's true a good many
times. You like, also, to have something more than a good man's
assurance, that the furnace pipes are "all right," and will sleep
better on windy nights if you have seen all exposed corners guarded by
a double lining.
The gas-man had his work to do over because some of the drop-lights
were not in the centre of the ceilings.
I tremble to think of what might have been if I had left the painter
to his own devices. It seems very clear to say you'll have the outside
painted a sort of a kind of subdued gray, with trimmings a little
darker, bordering on a brown; but unless you stand over the paint-tub
with a loaded revolver, you'll get anything but what you expect. It
may be a great deal better, but it won't be what you wanted. By the
way, there's a great responsibility resting on the painters,--I don't
mean the old masters, nor the young ones either, who seem to have
forgotten that outside decoration was once considered quite worthy the
tallest genius,--but the more modest artisans, who call themselves
house and sign painters. Their broad brush often makes the beauty or
the ugliness of a whole village. I'm ready for any suggestions on the
subject. Hanging the doors is another point that needs watching.
They'll be sure to open the wrong way. I've had three changed already,
and I'll never hang another door with less than three butts, whatever
its size. I suppose they always settle more or less. Why don't the
workmen make allowance for it in fixing the catches? I tremble when I
think of the painters, but I rejoice at my watchfulness when I reflect
on the plumbing. The chances for leaking and freezing and bursting;
the hidden pipes and secret crooks that were possible and only
avoided by constant oversight! Now I can put my hand on every foot of
pipe in the house, know where it goes to, what it's for, and that it
won't burst or spring a leak with fair usage. I don't call it just the
thing to drive a tenpenny nail square through a lead pipe, pull it
out, and say nothing about it. You want to be on hand, too, when the
trimmings are put on, and see that they are not too high or low, or
fixed so you will bruise your knuckles every time you pull out the
drawers or open the cupboard doors. Speaking of cupboards, there's no
end to the bother if you don't just camp down in the pantry and stay
there till the top shelf is up and the bottom drawer slides in its
groove. In spite of our efforts, Mrs. John says there's no place for
her tallest covered dish except the top shelf, which she can't reach
without a step-ladder. You'll never know whether you are specially
bright or the joiners extra stupid, but it's certain your way won't
be their way, whichever is right. I say the man who pays his money
should take his choice. But I haven't time to tell the whole story.
It's the same thing from first to last. The only sure way of having a
thing done well is to do it yourself; the next best is to tell some
one else precisely how to do it and then watch them till it's done.
The worst of these little blunders is, that they won't improve with
age. They stare at you every time you see them, and they'll rise up
before your great-great-grandchildren, monuments of your carelessness
and ignorance.
I told you my house was half done when it was well begun; now that it
is almost done it seems to me only fairly begun.
Yours,
JOHN.
LETTER XLII.
From the Architect.
SAVED BY CONSCIENCE.
Dear John: We are just beginning to learn the importance of color. I
don't allude to the wonderful revelations of the spectroscope almost
passing belief, but the new departure in the useful art of
house-painting.
The old weather-stained, unpainted walls were not unpleasant to see;
even the unmitigated red, that sometimes made a bright spot in the
landscape, like a single scarlet geranium in the midst of a lawn, had
a kind of amiable warmth, not to be despised; but there is no
accounting for the deluge of white houses and green blinds that
prevailed a few years ago. If nature had neglected our education in
this respect we might be excused for our want of invention.
With infinitely varied and ever-changing colors smiling upon us at all
times and in all places, it is blind wilfulness not to see and strive
to imitate them. We need not look to the sky nor even to the woods in
their summer brightness or autumn glory. The very ground we tread
glows and gleams with the richest, softest tints of every hue and
shade. Look through a hole in a piece of white paper and try to match
on the margin the color you find. Turn in a dozen different
directions, avoid the trees and the sky, and you will have, in summer
or winter, a dozen different colors. Look in the same places
to-morrow, and they will all be changed, an endless variety. Some one
of these soft and neutral tints should clothe the body of your house.
Enliven it, if you choose, with dashes of crimson, green, or even
blue and gold, but use these bright colors carefully. Aim to make your
house (in this as in all other respects) in harmony with its
surroundings, not defiant of them. Your proffered advice shall be duly
applied, for it's true that a man may easily occupy all his leisure
time, be it more or less, in watching the building of his home,
however carefully the work may be laid out before he begins. No two
builders will interpret and execute the same set of plans exactly
alike.
There are different habits of training and tricks of trade. What seems
finished elegance to one is coarse awkwardness to another; and when
you enter upon the more artistic part of the work, there are fine
shadings impossible, even with the best intent, to any save the
cultured hand and eye. The inability to perceive and therefore to
bring out these delicate expressions in the execution of the work
must be borne patiently. We can pardon failure when it follows an
humble, honest effort.
The unpardonable sin of builders is their wilful attempt to improve
the architect's design by making alterations in cold blood, through
sheer ignorance and conceit. They will reduce the size of the doors
and windows; substitute some other moulding for that on the drawing;
or tell you they have made a bracket, or a bay-window, or a cupola,
for Mr. Rusticus that looked first-rate, and advise you to have the
same thing. No thought of harmony or fitness, no fine sense of a
distinctive idea, pervading the whole, and giving it unity and
character, ever enters their heads. Argument and persuasion are alike
useless. Your only safety lies in finding some young builder, who is
not yet incurably wise in his own conceit, or an old one, who has
learned that, while architects are not infallible, the taste and
opinions of a man who studies faithfully a special department, are
entitled to more respect than even his own. As you say, these defects
are commonly incurable. Neither is there any redress. The builders
will either tell you they "couldn't help it," "did the best they knew
how," "thought the lumber was seasoned," "understood the plans that
way," or else insist that it's better so,--and maybe ask you to pay
extra for what you do not like. As to your own right to spoil the
house by any alterations that strike your fancy or accommodate your
purse, that is unquestioned. Architects who insist upon your having
what you don't want or choose to pay for, exceed their prerogatives,
and bring disfavor upon us considerate fellows. _We_ never try to
dissuade a man from carrying out his own ideas. We only beg him to be
certain that he has a realizing sense of what he is undertaking, then
help him to execute it as well as we can. The more he leaves to our
discretion the more hopefully do we work.
All this is too late for you, but you may pass it along to Fred, the
schoolmaster, Miss Jane, and any other friends or neighbors who may be
in an inquiring mood. Tell them, too, there is no safety, even with
the utmost vigilance, unless every workman carries with him that
old-fashioned instrument, a conscience. Give me credit here for great
self-control. This is the place for some preaching of the most
powerful kind, but I refrain, knowing you are too much engrossed with
the finishing of your house to heed it. Do you remember how it is
recorded in terse Scripture phrase that "Solomon builded a house and
finished it"? Evidently the finishing was then quite as important and
onerous a matter as the building. I think it is a great deal more so.
The carpenters and masons, to whom you pay a certain sum of money,
build it. Before they come and after they go you exercise upon it
your noblest, manliest faculties. Yet it will never be done. The walls
may not grow any larger or the roof any higher, but every year will
add some new charm, some new grace and harmony without and within.
More and more the ground around it, the trees, the walks, and the
grateful soil will assimilate themselves to its spirit. More and more
each article of furniture will grow to be an essential part of the
home, dear for its comfort, and beautiful in its fitness and
simplicity. More and more you will learn the worthlessness of boastful
fashion, and the exceeding loveliness of truth.
LETTER XLIII.
From John.
FINAL AND PERSONAL.
MY DEAR ARCHITECT: We've moved in. The house wasn't done but the
plastering was dry, and the paint too, what there is of it, and enough
rooms were finished to hold us comfortably. Mrs. John thought we
should somehow feel better acquainted if we took possession while
things were in a chaotic state, before the house had a chance to put
on airs, and make us feel like intruders; that it would fit us better
if it wasn't entirely hardened before we crawled into it. I told her
't would be a great deal easier to wait till everything was cleared
up and we could take a fresh start, but she couldn't see it in that
light. Said she'd known lots of folks to be completely overpowered by
a new house, and she proposed to take it while it was sort of
helpless, and would be under obligation to her. It's better, too,
according to her notions, to get familiar with the rooms before
furnishing them, and--I've forgotten what other reasons, all good
enough but not exactly correct, as I've since found out. I'd noticed
some unusual and rather suggestive performances of late, but wasn't
quite prepared for a request to rent the old house the very day we
moved. Matters seemed to culminate one night after the schoolmaster
had received your sketches and estimates for his brick beginnings. I
can't say as to their merits architecturally, but they cleared one of
the rough places in a certain course that never runs quite smooth. The
dining-room and kitchen arrangements are all right, and the
establishment is already begun. It will take all summer to finish it,
and, meantime, Sister Jane will have an opportunity to reduce some of
her fine theories to practice in our old cottage. Whether they will
all stand the test remains to be seen. I only hope these two wise
people won't pin their sole chance of domestic happiness to scientific
housekeeping, and if common-sense and dutiful intentions fail, as they
sometimes will, that love will come to the rescue. Fred will build
next year. He's concluded it's better to have his work well done than
done too quickly.
Yours,
JOHN.
BY WAY OF APPENDIX.
A CHAPTER FROM ACTUAL EXPERIENCE.
"Now you can stay just as long as you please, and I wouldn't have you
feel hurried, on any account; but if you're really going to go pretty
soon, I'd like to know when it's to be, so I can lay my plans
accordingly."
Thus our good landlady, when we said our new house was beginning to
look nearly ready for us. A most reasonable request, and we, always
cheerfully responsive to such, replied, "By all means; certainly;
quite right: we'll see the workmen to-day and find out just when the
new domicile will be ready for us."
In pursuance of this object, straightway then we flew to the
carpenter. "Tell us, O worthy master!" we cried, "when shall the new
house be done?"
"Wal, let me see." And he scratched his head with the scratch-awl.
"It's a'most done now. Ther ain't much more to do. We've pretty much
finished up. Ther's the doors to hang and trim, 'n' the closet shelves
'n' things to fix up; the stairs ain't quite done, n'r the front
steps. I d'nno; ther's a number o'little jobs 'round,--don't amount to
much,--coal-bin, thresholds, and one or two things you want to change;
take three or four days, I guess, if the plumbers and furnace folks
get out of the way; week, mebbe."
"You think, then, by a week from next Saturday--to-day is Thursday
morning--you will have everything cleared up?"
"O yes, easy!"
Alas! ingratitude is not confined to republics. We thought it a most
kind and judicious thing to grant nine days, when but three or
four--six at the most--had been asked. Worldly wisdom would have said,
"No, sir; three days you can't have; it must all be done to-morrow
night." But we are not worldly-wise; innocent, confiding, and
rejoicing, we went our way,--went our way to the plumber.
"O good plumber!" quoth we, "how long will it take you to complete the
work you have begun so well?"
"How long? 'Twon't take no time. Just as soon as the copper comes for
the tank, I shall finish it all up. There ain't much of it, anyhow;
it's all done but that."
"And when is the aforesaid copper coming?"
"When is't a coming? Any time. Shouldn't be surprised if 'twas here
now."
"You can finish it then surely within a week."
"Within a week? I sh'd think likely,"--the last remark backed up by
such a smile as made further question impossible.
Once more we pursued our investigating tour, saying to the prompt
proprietor of the centrifugal-stove store, "Is that new furnace that
is to make June of January, that never does what it ought not to do or
leaves undone what ought to be done, that asks a mere handful of coal
every twenty-four hours and runs itself, ready for its trial trip?"
"It is, sir."
"Registers all set and--"
"Well, no; the registers can't be set till everything else is out of
the way."
"Ah, yes, of course; but 't won't take long to do that?"
"They shall all be set in the twinkling of an eye, at a moment's
notice."
And now it only remained to hie away to the painter. So we hied and
hailed him.
"Tell us, O man of many hues! how much time will you need to paint and
stain and grizzle and grain and tint and stripe and fill and shellac
and oil and rub and scrub and cut and draw and putty and sand-paper
and size and distemper and border and otherwise exalt and glorify the
walls and woodwork of our house, after the other workmen are through,
making allowance for what you have already done and will be able to do
while they are still at work?"
"I tell you what it is, Mr. Architect, it shall be done just as soon
as possible. The fact is, we've got the heft of it done now. We shall
follow the carpenters up sharp, and get through almost as soon as they
do."