Chapter XXVIII: The House-Warming

Matters had been proceeding according to arrangement; the painters’ work, begun at the commencement of February, in fine weather, was finished in April, and likewise all the accessories. M. de Gandelau, who had returned to his estate at the end of January, had caused the small park round the house to be planted, and had ordered the most indispensable furniture, wishing to leave his daughter to make choice herself of those articles which would express her own particular taste.

Madame Marie had announced April as the time of her return, and subsequently May. In the correspondence between her mother and herself nothing had been said about the house since the war. Madame Marie had probably not regarded as serious what had been written to her respecting it; and the disastrous events of the years 1870 and 1871 seemed to have made all parties forget the project.

Paul had set his heart on a surprise, and had entreated Madame de Gandelau to say nothing about the house to her daughter. And we may be sure that Madame de Gandelau had readily acquiesced in his wish.

They therefore wrote to Madame Marie that the family would not assemble at the _château_ till Whitsuntide, and that as her father had some journeys in prospect in the interior, she need not hurry herself about returning to France before that date. Madame de Gandelau received, on the 8th of May, a letter informing her that her daughter and her husband would reach the station nearest to the _château_ on the morning of the 19th, Whit Sunday.

Great was Paul’s joy when he received the news. He would be able to be at home and enjoy his sister’s surprise, for he had been sadly afraid she might come while he was at the Lyceum. That would have been a dreadful disappointment to him. So he worked harder than ever during the days between that and Whitsuntide! He had set his heart on giving pleasure to all at home by carrying off one of the highest prizes.

The holidays impatiently waited for, at length arrived. M. de Gandelau, on account of the distance, and Paul’s satisfactory progress, had obtained permission for his son to return on Saturday morning. Paul therefore reached the _château_ at noon, after more than seven months’ absence. We need not state that Eugène had been invited to this family _fête_. Paul would hardly take time to eat his breakfast, he was so impatient to see the house.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” his mother said more than once. “The house won’t run away.”

During breakfast, his father put one or two questions to him respecting his studies; but Paul gave only short answers, and then returned to the subject of the house, overwhelming his cousin with inquiries.

“And the woodwork, is that a success? And the painting? What colour is the drawing-room? And the plumber—has he put the cresting on the roof that he promised?”

“You are going to see all that directly, and before night you will have plenty of time to examine everything in detail. A little patience! Patience is the very first virtue of an architect.”

The aspect of the new house was much changed since Paul’s departure. The ground had been cleared and neatly gravelled. The borders exhibited their spring attire; and as some old trees had been left standing in the neighbourhood of the house, it had quite the look of a place already occupied. Paul could not help jumping for joy on seeing how charming and picturesque the building was. On turning down into the valley, he began to run, eager for a nearer view, and Eugène reached the steps only a few minutes after him. Paul had seen neither the shelter at the entrance, nor the conservatory opening into the billiard-room. The lead-work was not quite finished when he left, and the vanes and cresting were not put up. The dormer windows were not surmounted by their finials. The casements were just put in, but not glazed. These last additions are like the bordering round a drawing, or the frame inclosing a picture; to unpractised eyes the last accessory seems to put every part in its proper place, clears the whole, and gives it the unity that seemed to be wanting.

Paul was satisfied with the exterior aspect.

The interior, though simple, according to M. de Gandelau’s express instructions, was in good taste; there was nothing to be seen in the way of plaster ornament or gilding. The entrance-hall was surrounded by a low oak wainscot, forming part with the door-cases. The wood of the latter and of the wainscot had preserved its natural colour, and was simply dressed with linseed-oil and wax. Above the wainscot, the walls, painted stone-colour, set off by a few red lines, gave a neat and inviting aspect to the entrance. The drawing-room was surrounded by a wainscot five feet high, painted white; the fireplace, wide and lofty, could warm a numerous circle. The jambs of the fireplace were cased with wood, and on the lofty mantelpiece, in an oaken frame, was prettily painted a bird’s-eye view of M. de Gandelau’s estate. The ceiling, with its two beams and joists, painted in light tones, set off by black and white lines, seemed to enlarge the apartment, and gave it a warm and habitable appearance, presenting on hot days lights and shades of an amber tint. The wall between the ceiling and the wainscot was hung with painted canvas. The chimney-piece stood out in bold relief on this back-ground. The entrance end of the drawing-room would have been rather sombre if the wide opening into the billiard-room had not flooded it with light, softened by the verdure of the plants within the little conservatory. But what gave the drawing-room a character which fascinated Paul at once, was the bay-window, all brilliant with light, and furnished with a chintz-covered divan. The billiard-room, also, was surrounded by a wainscoting of unpainted oak, and the same painted hangings. A _portière_ closing over the bay-window made it serve the purpose of a little boudoir, whence there was a charming view on three sides. The plants placed in the conservatory, transmitted on the south side only a softened and tranquil light into the billiard-room. The dining-room had been decorated almost in the same style as the billiard-room, and two large oaken sideboards formed part with the wainscoting in the two recesses reserved for them.

Paul was eager to run up stairs to see his sister’s rooms. Hung entirely with Indian chintz, with a plain brown dado, this apartment exhibited great simplicity. The ceiling, however, treated like those of the ground-floor, gave it an original and pleasing aspect.

Paul wanted to see everything, and at the end of an hour, his cousin having made an appointment with some workmen to give them orders about details, left him to wander at will in the house.

The sun was already low when they thought of returning to the _château_.

“Well, my young cousin, are you satisfied with your work? Have things been done during your absence as you intended they should be?”

“I wish it was really my work,” replied Paul; “and I regret that I could not follow it to the end, for now I see all finished, it seems to me as if there was scarcely anything done when I went away.”

“It is with buildings, my dear fellow, as with all other human productions. You know the saying: ‘_Finis coronat opus_.’ Finishing is everything. Finishing may not require the greatest labour and knowledge, but it does, perhaps, require the highest degree of persistency, method, and care, as I think I have already told you. You have been really useful to me during the building—I may say so without flattery, because you have thrown your energy and your whole mind into the endeavour to understand the instructions I have given, and to see that they were duly executed. But you would have had nothing to occupy you seriously while the work was being finished, since most of the recent additions came from the work-shops ready made; you have nothing to regret, therefore; you would have lost your time here, whereas you have, it seems, employed it well at the Lyceum.”

“I never saw any hangings like this painted canvas before; they look very well; one might fancy they were tapestry.”

“Yes, I cannot imagine why these kind of hangings, which were formerly much used, should have been abandoned; for it is clear that everybody could not have Flemish or Gobelin tapestry, any more than Cordova leather. Those things were very costly; whereas, painted canvas hangings do not cost much more than wall papers and less than upholstery hangings, chintz excepted. But it would scarcely do to hang a drawing-room or a dining-room with chintz; it does not look substantial enough, though it may be well enough for a bedroom. In the principal apartments hangings should have a velvety, warm, substantial effect.”

“And are these of painted canvas substantial?”

“In appearance, certainly, and in reality also; in proof of which you may see at Rheims some dating from the fifteenth century, and which are perfectly well preserved.”

“And how are these hangings made?”

“Canvas cloths are taken, either cross-woven or twilled, of coarse texture, manufactured for the purpose, rather like the cloths of which _sacks_ are made. These cloths are stretched on a floor with tacks; then they size them, that is to say, give them a coating of leather size, to which is added a little Spanish white. Then when this coat is dry they proceed to paint them in distemper, as for theatre decorations. On this ground anything we choose can be painted—diapers, such as we have adopted here, and which do not cost much, as we stencil them; or ornaments, landscapes, flowers, and even figures. The cost of the material is trifling, and the value of the hangings depends on the artist’s work. When dry, the cloths are rolled up, and can be sent anywhere at small expense; then on the spot they are stretched again on very thin frames, called tapestry stretchers. There is, therefore, a space between the wall and the hanging, which is necessary in the country where sized papers always spoil; and this is so much the more convenient, as if the rooms are not warmed in winter, and if damp is feared, the cloths can be taken down, rolled up, and put in a dry place, to be replaced in the spring, as we do with tapestry.”

“I thought when I opened the drawing-room door that it was tapestry.”

“The coarse texture of the cloth does in fact resemble the tapestry stitch, and the painting in distemper has the flat tone of wool. On the whole, the hangings of our house scarcely cost more than the high-priced papers that are made now-a-days, and they last longer, to say nothing of our being sure not to see our own patterns on everybody’s walls.”

“Very true; often on going into a drawing-room I have recognized a paper which I had seen elsewhere. But tell me, cousin, you have had lightning-conductors put up, have you not?”

“Certainly; it was prudent to do so. I have had two constructed: one at the top of the staircase, and the other on the centre-point of the main-ridge.”

“Would not one have been enough?”

“I think not; because lightning-conductors only protect the points inclosed in a cone of which they are the summit: at least, this is the recognized theory. For between ourselves, physicists are not quite agreed respecting the effects of the electric fluid, the relative efficiency of conductors, and the precautions to be used in putting them up. I rely on my own experience, which has proved to me that no building, however exposed, has been struck by lightning when the lightning-rods were numerous, made of good conductors, put in communication with each other, and with their lower extremity dipping in water, or very damp earth. You know that water is a conductor of electricity; if the lightning-rod terminates in dry earth the electricity accumulates, and produces return shocks, which are very dangerous. The same effect results if the conducting-wire is interrupted; the lightning-rod then produces the effect of a Leyden jar—it becomes charged, and is more dangerous than useful. Sockets with glass insulators have also been recommended; but I have never observed that lightning-conductors otherwise well arranged caused accidents for want of insulators. I consider this precaution superfluous, because the fluid seeks the most direct path. The rod properly arranged is that path; so it should not make rapid angular turns, but as far as possible be conducted by the shortest way, and that which is nearest the vertical, into the damp soil.”

At dinner nothing was talked about but the new house and Madame Marie’s arrival. There was a lively discussion about the way of making the surprise complete. The ceremonial, to which M. de Gandelau had given some thought, was soon arranged. The contractors and craftsmen of the neighbourhood who had worked at the house were invited, and a dinner was to be provided for them in the garden. The gentleman who had given Paul lessons, the mayor, the _curé_ of the parish, and some neighbours and friends, among others M. Durosay, who had again made his appearance in the neighbourhood, were asked to be present at the house-warming. The workmen had not been forgotten—they were all to receive some gratuity. There was to be a ball in the new park for all the country people, with the customary refreshments; and in the morning the poor of the parish were to receive gratuities in kind.

Paul was very much afraid that his sister had some inkling of the intended surprise. He said that if no mention was made of the house, which had been talked so much of before the war, in the letters written to Madame Marie, the very silence might appear to her suspicious.

“He is right,” said Madame de Gandelau. “If Marie asks us what has become of the project and of the programme she sent, if she asks us how we have been occupied during the past year, we shall be obliged to prevaricate considerably. We shall contradict each other, and I really am rather averse to anything of the sort. We shall not be able to keep up a mystification for two or three hours together. Besides, Lucie is sure to let out the secret.”

“Oh, no!” said Lucie; “I shall say nothing, you may be quite sure.”

“Your eyes will speak for you, my dear child. But I will manage the matter. Leave me alone for a few moments with Marie. I will tell her that Paul, for the sake of some occupation during his over long holiday, has been building a small house, with his cousin’s assistance. I shall allow her to suppose it to be a mere schoolboy’s fancy. She will think it is only done for amusement—a little building model, cleverly constructed. We can then talk to her about it without embarrassment, in a jocular way. Then after dinner we will propose to her to go and see Paul’s house.”

And so matters were arranged.

Paul slept but little during this night, though he had started very early from Paris, and had been using—in fact, over-using—his legs all day.

The 19th of May, 1872, at 9.40, Monsieur and Madame N—— were getting out of the train at X—— Station, where Monsieur de Gandelau was awaiting them with a new chaise. Twenty minutes after they were entering the court of the _château_. We need not dwell upon the embraces, the transport mingled with tears, that occupied the first minutes of their return.

Madame de Gandelau had arranged their rooms with all possible care, as if they were going to make a long stay at the _château_.

Of course the mother thought her daughter improved; Madame Marie considered Paul grown—almost a man, in fact, and Mademoiselle Lucie almost a young woman.

Thanks to Madame de Gandelau, Paul’s house was referred to during breakfast only as a matter of no importance. The adventures of travel and the war were talked of. After nearly two years’ absence subjects of conversation could not be wanting. But Paul was agitated and absent. His sister remarked it. Paul blushed up to his very eyes.

“I think Paul has some scheme in his head,” said M. N——.

Monsieur and Madame de Gandelau looked at each other, smiling.

“What is in the wind, then,” said Madame Marie; “a conspiracy?”

“Perhaps,” replied Madame de Gandelau; “but let us allow him the pleasure of carrying it out.”

“Conspire, dearest mother! I will help you with all my heart,” said Madame de N——, with a smile that expressed archness as well as affection.

They could say nothing for the moment of the projected excursion, for they were on the point of betraying themselves. Madame de Gandelau wished her daughter to take some rest after her journey. M. N—— asked leave to despatch some letters that required immediate attention, and silence reigned again in the _château_. The day was hot, and nothing was heard but the buzzing of insects on the lawns. Paul, however, could not keep quiet.

“You are not a diplomatist yet,” his cousin said to him. “Do, my dear fellow, remain still. There’s nobody but you stirring in the house. You will let out the secret if you go on in this way. Go to your room, take a book—a dull one; you will get to sleep, and the time will pass away.”

“But what about all the people who have been invited and are waiting down at the house?”

“Ah!—yes—true. Well, mount your pony, go to the house and tell all the guests to admire the wonders of the new domain and to have patience. Say that Madame Marie is a little fatigued, and that she will not be able to have the pleasure of meeting them till the afternoon. Then return.”

Paul did not allow this to be repeated, so impossible did rest seem to him. He would have given at this moment ten years of his life to make his sister resolve to get into the carriage.

It is impossible to say what the pony thought of the pace Paul made him go, at a temperature of 77° Fahr. in the shade. He arrived in a foam at the new house, so that most of the persons already assembled suspected that some accident had happened. When Paul, quite out of breath, told them that Madame Marie had put off her visit for an hour or two because she wanted rest, they exclaimed,

“If it is only that, there’s no need of any great hurry; it is quite natural she should need rest after so long a journey.”

Then everyone wanted to hear news of the travellers, and then they asked Paul to see this and that. Paul was in a fever.

“You are not going to ride back again in this state,” said the mayor; “you are in a bath of perspiration, and your pony is white with foam. Rest a little, and drink a glass of wine.”

It would have been discourteous not to comply, for the mayor had brought a basket of _petit vin de Saumur_. They drank the health of the future occupants, and the prosperity of the house, so that Paul lost a good hour. At last he was able to retrace his road to the _château_, at the same rate as before. But on reaching the edge of the plateau he saw the chaise at a distance, going towards the house. He made a detour, so as to join the party from the rear, and reached them just as the new domain was coming in sight.

“Look!” said his sister; “there’s a horseman in a great heat. Where does he come from? Is it he who is directing the whole plot?”

“Certainly,” replied her mother. “Look!”

They were in fact just beginning to see the outlines of Paul’s house, with its slated roof glistening in the rays of the sun. There was silence, and, it must be confessed, a little emotion.

“I had my suspicions about it,” said Madame Marie, kissing her mother and father. “And so during your painful experiences of last year you were thinking of us so much as to have realized that project of a house which I thought was only a fancy? And Paul!”

“Paul,” replied M. de Gandelau, “has had his share in the work, and has contributed substantially to the success of the project. If he ever becomes an architect you will have been the first cause of it.”

“And you, dear friend,” said Madame de Gandelau to her son-in-law, who was kissing her hand tenderly, “you say nothing!”

“M. de Gandelau had written to me about it, and I was in the secret. Marie can tell you whether I have kept it or not.”

“So we were betrayed, my poor Paul,” exclaimed his mother.

“M. de Gandelau wished to know whether settling in this neighbourhood would not disconcert our plans for the future. I replied to him that, on the contrary, it would further them; and that the only cause which had hindered my building a house here after our marriage was the fear of distressing you, and making you suppose that we did not attach to your maternal hospitality the value it most justly claims. Marie wishes to reside here a great part of the year; she is known and beloved in this her native place; nothing could be more agreeable to her than to follow your example—near to you, almost under your eyes—without giving you the trouble which a permanent residence in your house would have occasioned. I had no need to consult her, for I knew that you were realizing a dream which she was secretly cherishing, without hoping for its speedy realization.”

“All is then for the best,” resumed Madame de Gandelau, looking at her husband, for she was thinking of what she had said to him one evening, two years before.

The family were received with _vivats_ in front of the entrance steps. Previous to entering the building, they went round it; and when they came to the group of master-workmen and foremen, Paul introduced them to his sister, saying that it was owing to their zeal, and their desire to see her soon settled in the neighbourhood, that the completion of the work in less than two years, was owing. Paul’s compliment (which was neatly turned), but more particularly the courteous bearing of his sister, who asked each what he had done, inquired about their families, and expressed to them her wish to employ them often, gained her the heart of these good people, who for the most part had known her as a child.

Madame Marie wanted to see everything. At each step exclamations of joy were uttered, and Paul was embraced twenty times by his “client.” Monsieur N—— had taken possession of Eugène, who, we need scarcely say, was warmly congratulated.

M. Durosay did not fail to express his admiration every moment, and was incessantly repeating, “It is a charming feudal manor-house!”

“But, why, my dear sir,” said Madame Marie, at last quite weary of the phrase, “Why do you call it a ‘manor-house,’ and ‘feudal’? I have neither manor nor vassals, and I have no wish to possess any. Call it a house, built for me by those who love me, and which will always be open to our friends, and always accessible to those who may need our help.”

We may be sure that Paul’s resolution to become an architect was strengthened by what he felt on this occasion.

Let us hope that his career may be as successful as that of the house whose history is here recorded.

EXPLANATION

OF SOME OF THE TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN THIS BOOK.

BARREL-VAULT (_berceau de voûte_), means a vault forming simply a portion of a cylinder.

BASEMENT (_soubassement_), part of a building which receives the ground floor; that is to say, what is comprised between the floor within and the ground without the building.

BAY-WINDOW (_bretêche_), a closed and covered balcony or _loge_, having front and lateral views, forming a projection without and a recess within. When supported on corbels it is termed an _oriel_.

BEARER (_lambourde_), piece of wood fixed horizontally against a wall, and intended to receive the ends of the joists of a floor. The term is also given to the strips of oak fastened on the plaster bed of a floor, and on which are screwed the slabs of parquetry.

BED (_banc_), the word bed, as a geological term, signifies a homogeneous layer comprised between two natural horizontal beds or fissures, supposing that the mass has not been deformed by an upheaving. Limestones and some sandstones are extracted in beds. Their thickness is very variable.

BED-STONES (_libage_), stone suitable for foundations.

BED OF THE STONE (_lit de la pierre_), is the upper, or under surface of the layer. _Bottom-bed_ is the term used to designate the under-surface of a stone. Calcareous stones should be laid on their bed just as they were in the quarry.

BLADE, OR PRINCIPAL-RAFTER (_arbalétrier_), piece of timber inclined, according to the slope of a roof, which is joined at the upper end into the king-post, at its lower end into the tie-beam, and which supports the purlins (see next page).

BOND (_harpe_), projection formed by a dressed-stone for the purpose of a tie into brick or stone-walling.

BROKEN-BACKED ROOF (_bresis_), a roof so called is one composed of two planes of inclination, one of which is little and the other considerably inclined. The dormer windows are generally opened in the lower and more inclined plane.

CHIMNEY-STACK (_souche de cheminée_), is the part of the smoke-shaft which surmounts the roofs, and is sometimes terminated with pots of earthenware or of sheet metal.

CLIP (_moise_), comparatively thin piece of timber, serving to connect the parts of a framing by means of notches which hold them, and of bolts. Clips are usually placed in couples.

CONCRETE (_béton_), a compound of lime, sand, and gravel rammed in horizontal layers, and thus forming a compact and homogeneous mass, which hardens more or less rapidly, according to the nature of the lime; and on which the heaviest superstructure may be raised without fear of cracks or settlements. In the making of concrete great care and attention is always necessary, and a thorough acquaintance with the nature of the lime made use of.

CORBEL (_corbeau_), support of stone or wood projecting from the face of a wall, having its front moulded or carved, its sides vertical and carrying a beam, cornice, shaft, vault-springer, &c.

ELEVATION (_élévation_). By this word is designated in architecture the geometrical view of a _façade_; properly speaking the vertical projection.

EMBANKMENT (_cavalier_), heap of excavated earth, regularly placed and raised above the surface of the ground.

FILLETING (_solin_), weathering formed above a roof-covering and following its slope against the walls which surmount it, to hinder the rain from penetrating between the covering and the wall.

FOOT-PIECE (_blochet_), piece of wood notched at right-angles on to the wall-plates of a roof to receive the foot of the rafters, and the foot-post, which hinders the rafter from sliding.

FRAME (_dormant_), fixed frame of wood, which receives the leaves of a door or the opening casements of a window.

GABLE (_pignon_), terminal part of a wall, which masks the timbering of a roof and follows its slopes.

HIP (_arêtier_), exterior angle formed by the meeting of two roof-surfaces on different planes.

JAMB (_jambage_), vertical side of a window or doorway. The term is only applied to sides of masonry.

JOINT (_joint_), vertical space left between two stones. It is called _dry-joint_, when the stones are laid close-fitting, without mortar or cement between them; and _mortar-joint_, when this interval is filled with mortar.

JOINTING (_appareil_), combination of worked stones.

JOIST (_solive_), piece of wood laid horizontally to form flooring and receive the plaster bed on which are laid the floor quarries or the slabs of parquetry. Wood joists cannot, without bending, have a bearing greater than 16 or 17 feet. Their strength and distance apart are determined by their bearing and the weight they should sustain.

_Joist-spaces_ (_entrevous_), intervals left between the joists of a floor.

_Keeping account_ (_attachement_). By this is meant memoranda of the work done or materials used on a building by means of written notes or figures.

KING-POST (_poinçon_), vertical piece of wood, which in a principal receives the two blades, and suspends the middle of the tie-beam.

LINTEL (_linteau_), piece of timber or block of stone which, laid across horizontally on the jambs of a door or window-opening, completes the enclosure.

MADE-GROUND (_remblai_). This term signifies earth and _débris_ that have been shifted by man to raise a piece of ground or fill up its hollows.

MEETING-STILE (_battement_), vertical stile of a door or of a casement on the fastening side.

MORTISE (_mortaise_), oblong hole made in a piece of framing to receive a tenon. The lengthways of a mortise should always follow the grain of the wood.

NEWEL (_noyau_), pillar or column around which wind the steps of the stairs.

NOTCHING (_embrèvement_), sinking made in a piece of wood to receive a mortise and tenon framing.

POLE (_échasse_), trunk of a tree, long and small, which, fixed up perpendicularly, is employed for scaffolding buildings as they rise.

POST (_poteau_) vertical piece of wood, which on its head receives one or more cross pieces. The term _frame-post_ is applied to the uprights of a framed partition, and especially those which serve as door-frames.

PRINCIPAL (_ferme_), framing of carpentry intended to carry the covering of a roof.

PROFILE (_profil_), section of the member of a moulding of an architectural detail.

PUGGING (_plâtras_), filling-in of plaster work between the joists of a floor or the uprights of a lath-and-plaster partition.

PURLIN (_panne_), roofing-timber placed horizontally on the blade of a principal and which carries the rafters.

PUT-LOG (_boulin_), piece of wood which, resting in the wall at one end, and upon the scaffold runners at the other, serves to carry the platform upon which the men work in raising a building.

RAFTER (_chevron_), piece of timber of small scantling, on which is nailed the boarding or laths which receives the slates or tiles. In good roofing rafters are placed 20 inches apart, centre and centre, at most. They rest at bottom upon wall-plates, or upon foot-pieces, in their length on the side-pieces or purlins, at their upper extremity against the ridge-piece.

REBATE (_feuillure_), longitudinal sinking made in frames, posts, and lintels, to receive doors and window-casements, &c.

RIDGE-POLE (_faîtage_), horizontal piece of wood which, resting on the top of the king-posts of the principals, forms the apex of the roof and receives the rafters. The ridge-poles are supported in their bearing, from one king-post to another, by struts.

RISER (_contre-marche_), the upright face of a step.

SCALE OF PROPORTION (_échelle de proportion_). The text sufficiently explains the use of the scale in architectural drawing, rendering it needless to enlarge on the usefulness of this practical method. By _scale_ is also understood the relative proportions of an edifice. Certain architectural members give the _scale_ of the whole. Thus, a balustrade ought not to exceed elbow height, nor fall short of it; it then gives the _scale_ of the building, that is to say, it indicates the actual size of the whole, by taking for point of comparison the human height.

SCREW-BOLTS (_boulon_), round iron pin, with a square head at one end, and a screw thread at the other, on which turns an iron nut, serving to hold pieces of timber together.

SECTION (_coupe_), view of a building, or an architectural detail cut through.

SILL (_tableau_), part of the casing of a door or window which comes outside the enclosure.

STAIRCASE (_cage d’escalier_), is the casing of masonry or timber-work in which are enclosed the steps of the stairs.

STILE (_montant_), term in joinery applied to all upright pieces.

STRAP (_étrier_), band of iron forming a stirrup, and passing beneath the tie-beam of a principal, suspends it to the king-posts by means of bolts.

STRAIGHT-TREAD (_giron-droit_), signifies a step of equal width all its length; _winding-tread_, a step narrow towards the outer string, and enlarging towards the wall of the staircase. It is said, the steps of the stairs have a narrow tread when the width is small, and have a wide tread when their width is large.

STRING-BOARD (_crémaillère_), piece of wood on which rests the ends of the steps of the stairs, and which is grooved to ramp with and receive the ends of the steps.

STRUT (_lien_), slanting piece of wood connecting the blade to the king-post of a principal, or a horizontal bearer to a post.

TENON (_tenon_), tongue left at the end of a piece of framing, and which fits into the end of the mortise.

TIE-BEAM (_entrait_), horizontal piece of timber, which receives at its extremities the foot of the blades of a principal or truss, and which is suspended in the middle by the king-post.

TREAD (_giron_), is the width of a stair-step.

TREAD (_pas_), is the level surface of a step on which the foot is placed.

TRIMMER (_chevêtre_), piece of wood which, framed into two trimmer-joists, receives the ends of the joists, the space of the hearth-stone from the fireplace, or across the openings of doors or windows.

TRIMMER-JOIST (_solive d’enchevêtrure_), stronger joist to receive the trimmers in front of a hearth-stone or across a chimney-breast.

VALLEY (_noue_), interior angle, formed by the meeting of two planes of roof.

WALL (_mur_). A _gutter-wall_ is that which carries a gutter and receives the eaves of a roof; a _gable-wall_ that which closes in the timber-work of a roof; a _partition-wall_ that which within a building divides the rooms—takes the bearing of the floors and the chimney-flues.

WALL-FACE (_parement_), outer or inner surfaces of a wall.

WALL-PLATE (_sablière_), horizontal piece of wood laid on the top of a wall lengthwise, and on which rest the tie-beams of the principals and the feet of the rafters.

WATER-BAR (_jet d’eau_), projecting moulding affixed to the bottom rail of window-casements and to the wood-sills, and contrived to throw off the rain from the rebate, and from the junction of the wood-sill with the stone-sill.

THE END.

LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL.

Transcriber’s Notes

pg 10 Changed: When his cousin was come
to: When his cousin had come

pg 10 Changed: architectural tyro to unrol again the paper
to: architectural tyro to unroll again the paper

pg 39 Changed: facts seem to rove that he
to: facts seem to prove that he

pg 49 Changed: successful result in this pacrticular case
to: successful result in this particular case

pg 50 Changed: it is easy to distingush the good
to: it is easy to distinguish the good

pg 78 Changed: by means of a plumb-lime
to: by means of a plumb-line

pg 183 Changed: Well, if you well let me have it for an hour
to: Well, if you will let me have it for an hour