they had in a smaller one. In the old house of two or three rooms the mother would bathe the children once a week in a tub by the kitchen fire. The tub would be dragged out the door, which was not very high above the ground, and the water emptied into the yard. In the new house it is different. The water is carried from the pump in the back yard, and from the kitchen stove, upstairs into one of the rooms. Then it has to be carried down again, emptied into the alley or the yard. The living habits are all changed without the compensating conveniences which naturally belong to them. It is probable that Mrs. Green keeps a “girl,” but even then she has infinitely more work to do than ever belonged to the old home. She cannot understand it. She has a new house and a girl, and yet she is always tired.

Most of the houses in the newer cities and towns are, in a measure, similar to this. Nearly every one attempts to live up to the mark set by those who have all of the appliances of modern housekeeping. Coal and water have to be carried all over the house. Slops and ashes have to be carried downstairs and out of the building.

By attracting attention to the inconveniences of housekeeping, we may see and understand the full meaning of the term “modern conveniences.” There is a natural call for dish-washing arrangements to take the place of the square table, with the dish-pan, the tea-kettle, and the water-bucket. In its place, we have at one side of the kitchen, a sink, with cocks for hot and cold water immediately over it. The tables and drain-board are arranged to simplify the operations of dish-washing. The water, instead of being carried to the yard or alley, finds its way naturally into the drain through the sink. Modern laundry arrangements make it unnecessary to carry great tubs of water outside, or to delay wash-day on account of the weather, or to bring in the frozen clothes during the cold winter days. The bath-room, with the tub, the water-closet, and the wash-stand, is on the second floor. This saves a great deal of work. The water does not have to be carried upstairs nor the slops down. There is hot and cold water within easy reach of all the rooms. Often it happens that there are stationary wash-stands in the various bedrooms, though this is only usual in the most expensive houses.

The amount of work which a furnace saves is not readily estimated. It also saves money. Others of the modern conveniences are “places to put things;” large closets in the bedrooms, well supplied with drawers, shelves, and hooks; a general closet on the upper floor, which is accessible from all of the rooms, for bedding and other articles of common use; a ventilated closet in the bath-room, in which soiled linen may be put without contaminating the atmosphere. There should be a closet or place on the second floor for brooms, dust-pans, and dusters. Where there is no particular place for these articles, the housekeeper or the servant has to use time in searching, or in going up and down stairs. Anything which saves labor may be regarded as a modern convenience.

CHAPTER IV.

MODERN ARCHITECTS AND THE HOUSEKEEPER.—MISPLACED HOUSES.—OLD COLONIAL POVERTY IN MODERN COLONIAL HOUSES.—AFFECTATION IN DESIGN.—NATURAL DEVELOPMENT OF AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE.—AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE AND AMERICAN HOMES.

No one ever heard of the matter of house-planning being discussed in a convention of architects. Their reports will show that a great many subjects are handled, but none so near home as this. Sometimes there is an effort to discover that America has a style of architecture peculiar to itself. When such a thing becomes true, the effort to find it will not be necessary. An American architecture will have its growth in American necessities, and not through the blind copying of foreign styles and architecture. Nor to have an American style does it necessarily mean that we should ignore foreign precedent. It means that we should consider foreign architecture intelligently. Everything that is good should be adopted, no matter whence it comes. Those of us who see what is going on in the architectural world frequently notice English houses designed and built for those who live in the cold Northwest. In many of them the broad, English casement windows and general style of architecture, which is suited to the gloomy light and the mild temperature of Great Britain, is placed in the bright, cold climate of the Northwest. Nothing could be more out of place; it is an affectation, an exhibition of bad taste and poor sense. The cold Northwest, with its bright, clear atmosphere, presents its own architectural conditions. The work of blind copyists, those who have so strong a regard for precedent, is ridiculous. In one of the Eastern magazines there was an illustration showing what purported to be an old colonial cottage, situated possibly at Newport. The architect had copied the old colonial details, the old colonial forms, which were very nice, but he had also copied an idea which had its outgrowth in extreme poverty. He had placed a rain barrel at the side of the house, and had set it up on a rustic-looking bench or support, all of which was very ridiculous. This had been done in an old colonial house, and had its origin in old colonial poverty. Now, this architect, in his respect for that which was past, copied the faults, the inconveniences, and arrangements which belonged to those earlier times. A course of this kind, carried out to its fullest extent, would lead us to barbarism. In the same magazine was another house which was designed with great respect for precedent. In it was a front door which was divided about half-way up, so that the lower part might be shut and the upper part opened. Houses have been seen where something of this kind was reasonable, where it had its advantages. There are many places in this country where a door of this kind is almost a necessity; but it isn’t on the seashore. If one has a house in the country, or in a small country town, where the horses and pigs, geese, chickens, and other animals, are allowed to roam about in the front yards, a door of this kind has its uses. In the summer time the upper part can be thrown back and the lower part closed, so that the most a horse can do in the way of getting into the house is to stick his head over the top rail and look in. In the country mills doors of this kind have a very proper and apt name; they are called pig-doors. They keep the pigs off the mill floor, and, at the same time, allow the light and air to come from above. But there is no necessity for a pig-door at Newport or Long Branch, or other seaside resort. Their use is a silly affectation. There is no beauty in them. There is no convenience which would lead to their use.

It is performances such as the above which retard the natural development of American architecture. American architecture will be simply carrying out, in an architectural way, the requirements of the American people in their buildings. From their homes the march of progress will be through the kitchens, pantries, and dining-rooms. It will unite with the parlor and sitting-room ideas, which have been more clearly worked out. The exterior will be formed in a natural way by the requirements of the interior, and by the variations of climate, and it will be decorated in a rational, artistic manner. We will not hamper the interior by the adoption of doors and windows which possibly belonged in a cathedral of the twelfth or thirteenth century, or the richer details of the later time, which had their special uses and forms as the development of the necessity and requirements of that particular period. The doors and windows of