248 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



hand in it; the earth evidently looks a little differ- 

 ent, a little more friendly and congenial, than other 

 earth. When the foundation walls are up and the 

 first floor is rudely sketched by rough timbers, I see 

 them walking pensively from one imaginary room 

 to another, or sitting long and long, wrapped in 

 sweet reverie, upon the naked joist. It is a fa- 

 vorite pastime to go there of a Sunday afternoon 

 and linger fondly about: they take their friends or 

 their neighbors and climb the skeleton stairs and 

 look out of the vacant windows, and pass in and 

 out of the just sketched doorways. How long the 

 house is a-finishing ! The heart moves in long before 

 the workmen move out. Will the mason and the 

 painter and the plumber never be through ? 



When a new house is going up in my vicinity, I 

 find myself walking thitherward nearly every day 

 to see how the work progresses. What pleasure to 

 see the structure come into shape, and the archi- 

 tect's paper plans take form and substance in wood 

 and stone ! I like to see every piece fitted, every 

 nail driven. I stand about till I am in the way 

 of the carpenters or masons. Another new roof to 

 shelter somebody from the storms, another four walls 

 to keep the great cosmic out-of-doors at bay ! 



Though there is pleasure in building our house, 

 or in seeing our neighbor build, yet the old houses, 

 look the best. Disguise it as one will, the new 

 house is more or less a wound upon nature, and 

 time must elapse for the wound to heal. Then, 

 unless one builds with modesty and simplicity, and 



