CHAPTER TWENTY SIX 



WINDOWS 



When Pentridge House wer' still the nest 



Of souls that now ha' better rest, 



Avore the vier burnt to ground 



His beams an' walls that then wer' sound 



'Ithin a nail-bestudded door, 



An' passage an' a stwonen vloor, 



There spread the hall, where zan-light shone. 



In drough a window fream'd wi' stwone. 



WILLIAM BARNES. 



HE primary object of the introduction of windows into a house 

 is to let light into its rooms. They also afford a means of 

 looking at the outside world, and in their modern development 

 also afford the outside world a means of looking in. While apart 

 from these uses they also serve for the ventilation of the house. 



In the modern house, windows are almost invariably too large, and this 

 excessive size is fatal both to the comfort and beauty of the rooms. If we 

 enter an old house on a hot summer's day, one of the most pleasant qualities 

 we notice is its coolness, and though it is amply lighted there is a sensation 

 of remoteness from the outside world. We feel at once really an inhabitant 

 of an indoor world, where the blazing sun, or the pouring rain, may be 

 almost forgotten. It is a shelter and retreat a pleasant haven, and this 

 quality about it goes far to give us the feeling of rest associated with the 

 idea of home. 



And all this is greatly due to the small windows. But on entering the 

 modern villa no such pleasant impression meets us. Already from the out- 

 side we have been made aware of these gashes in the structure, which reveal 

 the window arranged, like a shop is, for outside effect. There is the table 

 with its vase, the lace curtains, and the rest. Inside, we are met by a glaring 

 and pitiless light which destroys all sense of repose or shelter. The rain 

 beats in torrents against the glass, and the sun blazes unchecked into the 

 room. The window is indeed furnished with all kinds of expensive dust- 

 collecting upholstery, but even this cannot cloak the glaring light. The 

 window has also made the room susceptible to every change of temperature 

 outside. It is impossible to cool it in summer, or heat it in winter. 



So much for its practical effect. To say that large windows make archi- 

 tecture all but impossible is to touch an aspect of the case which will interest 

 few, but I can recall no example of building where the windows are formed 

 with large sheets of glass which have survived their disastrous effect. The 

 beauty of glass depends entirely on its use in small pieces, in a setting which, 

 allowing of a slight variation in their planes, will make them sparkle and 

 twinkle. The large sheet, with its blank and vacant stare, should never be 

 used unless under stress of circumstances. 



One of the most essential reforms in the modern house is the reduction 

 of its windows to a reasonable size, and their careful placing to amply light 

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