THE WEAKNESS AND SHAM OF BRICKWORK.

My Dear Architect: You must have had a brick in your hat when you launched your
last letter. I suppose there's no doubt that brick walls will stand thunder and lightning in
the shape of Chicago fire and Boston gunpowder better than anything else. In fact, I've
always had a notion that if there are any houses in a certain place where they don't need
them to keep out the cold, they must be made of brick, Milton's gorgeous testimony to the
contrary notwithstanding. But when you undertake to show up the softness and beauty of
brickwork, you soar a little too high for me. If our masons would only make walls that are
able to bear their own weight; not use more than half as much mortar as brick, and that
made of sand instead of dirt; if they would build chimney-flues that will carry the smoke
to the top of the building, instead of leaving it to ooze out around the window-frames a
dozen feet away, as I once saw it in a costly building belonging to one of our ex-
governors, and remember that a wooden joist running square across a chimney-flue is
pretty sure to get up a bigger draught than most of us care for; if they wouldn't fill up the
inside of the wall with bricks that it isn't safe to drop for fear they can never be picked up
again; in short, if they'd do the work that can't be seen half as well as what is in plain
sight, I'd never say a word about beauty, I wouldn't even ask for those elegant caps the
masons are so fond of poking out over windows. You can find at least ten thousand such
in Springfield. Some folks paint them, sprinkle sand into the paint, and then go on their
wicked way rejoicing in the notion that they have told such a cunning lie as "no feller can
find out."
Now and then the corner of a brick building is cobbled up into blocks and polished off
in the same style. If these are some of the beauties of brickwork, I pray you have me
excused. If you have anything better to offer, go ahead, I'm open to conviction; would


rather be knocked down by an argument than a brickbat any time.
Mrs. John says she doesn't care a straw about bricks, and hopes you won't spend much
time talking about them. She's bound to have a stone house, whether or no, and wants you
to give us your notions about inside fixings, especially the kitchen. (Between you and me,
she wouldn't have said a word about the kitchen, if I hadn't accused her of caring for
nothing but bay-windows and folding-doors.) Her sister Jane has been over to see her, and
they've had a host of projects to talk over; part of 'em I get hold of and part of 'em I don't.
Jane isn't married, but she's got some capital notions about housekeeping. Great on having
things nice and handy inside, especially for doing the work, but she don't care much for
the outside looks. So she hopes you will get out of the brick-yard as soon as possible. Of
course, I shall read what you have to say whether they do or not, but don't run wild on the
subject.
Yours,
JOHN.