genuine artistic taste.  Yes; good honest paint is worthy the utmost respect.  When it tries to improve upon nature’s divine methods and calls itself “graining,” it becomes unmitigated nonsense,—­yes, and worse.  It is one of the sure evidences of man’s innate perversity that he persists in trying to copy certain beautiful lines and shadings in wood, not as an art study, but for actual use, when he may just as well have the perfect original as his own faulty imitation.  What conceit, what blindness, what impudence, this reveals!  What downright falsehood!  Not in the painter,—­O, no, skill is commendable even when unworthily employed,—­but in him who orders it.  You may buy a pine door, which is very well; pine doors are good; you tell every man that comes into your house it’s black-walnut or oak or mahogany.  If that isn’t greeting him with lying lips and a deceitful heart, the moral law isn’t as clear as it ought to be.  You may think it’s of no consequence, certainly not worth making a fuss about, but I tell you this spirit of sham that pervades our whole social structure, that more and more obtrudes itself in every department of life, comes from the bottomless pit, and will carry us all thither, unless we resist it, even in these milder manifestations, as we would resist the Father of Lies himself.  Truth and falsehood are getting so hopelessly confused that we can scarcely distinguish one from the other.

One other suggestion in this connection.  Without either painting or graining you may get a most satisfactory effect, both in looks and utility, by staining the less costly kinds of woods; using a transparent stain that will not conceal but strengthen the natural shading, and at the same time change its tint according to your fancy.  This is an honest and economical expedient.  It only requires that your lumber shall be sound, tolerably clear,—­a good hard knot isn’t alarming,—­seasoned, and put up with care.  The cost is less than common painting, and the effect as much better than graining as nature’s work is more perfect than ours.

Don’t ask me any more questions till I’ve disposed of these already on hand.

LETTER XXVIII.

From Fred.

Thought provokes inquiry.

My dear architect:  In spite of your prohibition, I must pursue one or two of the inquiries already raised, in order to understand the answers given.

What is the objection to cheap floors, if they are always covered with carpets?  Am I to understand that you do not approve of lath and plaster for walls and ceilings of first-class dwellings?  If so, what would you substitute?

It seems much easier to say what to avoid than what to accept; but that, I believe, is the privilege of critics and reformers.

Why do you despise the modern fashions so heartily?  Are the old any better?

Yours,