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