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specimens, and hang them, like Lord Dundreary's shirts, "all in a wo,"
on somebody's villa. Wouldn't they be lovely? I'd like to pursue the
subject, but have other fish to fry.

Mrs. John is right, as usual; our house will be a stone one, and will
not be built until next year. Meantime, the timber will have a chance
to season, and we shall have time to study up our plan and sort of get
the hang of it.

Now I want you to transfer your interest to another case. Who should
drop down upon us, last week, but our old friend Fred? Been out West
for the last dozen years or more; enterprising and prosperous, you'll
be glad to hear. Come home to stay, bringing a wife who is sure to
make Mrs. John jealous, a triplet of boys (the oldest half as big as
his dad), and plenty of stamps. He has bought the Captain Adams place,
and is going to move off the old gambrel-roofed house (has a dozen or
two men at work already) and build a brick one in place of it. I've
given him the benefit of your advice in my behalf, and now he invites
me, in Western fashion, to stand aside and give him a chance,--which
I'm very willing to do, for he's a tiptop fellow and so is Mrs. Fred.
Eastern people Westernized,--if you can find a better sort of
neighbors I'd like an introduction!

Yours,

JOHN.

LETTER XXI.

From the Architect.

HOSPITALITY AND SUNLIGHT.

DEAR JOHN: Our old friend shall not be neglected. He has only to
present his case and make known his wishes. Meantime, in arranging
your own plans, be generous if you can; not lavish or extravagant in
expenditure, but generous in feeling and expression. Let your doors
and windows be wide, and your roof be high. A wide door is far more
convenient than a narrow one, usually much better in appearance; and
for the windows,--when shall we learn the unspeakable worth of the
bountiful light of heaven? Does Mrs. John complain that the sunlight
will fade her carpets? Let them fade, and know of a truth that all the
colors of all the carpets of all the looms that ever throbbed are not
worth to the civilized mortals who tread the dust-containing fabrics
one single hour of unobstructed sunshine. Is it that our deeds are
evil, that we seem to love darkness rather than light; or is it
through our ignorant exclusion of this glorious gift, "offspring of
heaven first born," that we are left to wander in so many darksome
ways? Be generous, did I say? rather try to be just to yourself.
Practically, t