ADVICE FOR LACKLAND 



tary friend, if he comes to pass a July night 

 with you, may wake with the illusion of the 

 camp upon him, and listen to such reveille as 

 the crowing of a cock, or the piping of a 

 wren. 



But a monstrous and intolerable grievance 

 to all people of taste lies in the attempt to set 

 off one of those grave exteriors, at which I 

 have hinted, by some of the more current 

 architectural cockneyisms. Thus, an ancient 

 door, with the dark green paint in blisters 

 upon it, and opening in the middle, perhaps, 

 is torn away to give place to the newest fancy 

 from the sash factories, and a glazing of red 

 and blue. For my part, I have great respect 

 for a door that has banged back and forth its 

 welcomes and its good-byes for half a cen- 

 tury; the very blisters on it seem to me only 

 the exuding humors of a jovial hospitality; 

 and all the weather-stains are but honorable 

 scars of a host of battles against wind and 

 rain. I would no more barter such an old- 

 time door against the newness of the joiners, 

 than I would barter old-time honesty against 

 that of Oil Creek, or of Wall Street. 



Then again, your cockney must tear away 

 the homely sheltering porch, with its plank 

 "settles" on either side, for some stupendous 



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