Stairways and OUTLOOKS.

Dear Fred:  Your plans are before me, also your letter; also the proverbs of Solomon, from which I read, in order to fortify myself for the work before me, sundry suggestions concerning the duty of faithful friends,—­the undaunted, disagreeable sort who cry aloud and spare not.  It’s quite right for you to try to show what you would like, quite true that you ought to know your own needs and tastes better than any one else, and though I cannot agree with you, I’m glad you have a mind of your own; those who have not are of all men most miserable to deal with, most difficult to suit.  Indeed, when a man feels clearly a lack in his own home-life which nothing but a new house will supply, he is sure to have some decided notions as to what that house shall be.  But when you assure me in good set terms that this plan is your beau-ideal, I must ask, also with profound respect, if you know what you are talking about.  Put in your foundation, by all means, but remember how much easier it is to change a few lines on paper than to remove a stone wall.  It is not a pleasant job to cut a door into a finished and furnished room, or even to change the hanging of it.  This house, if I understand aright, you intend for a permanent home.  How immeasurably better to spend six months, if need be, in perfecting the plans, than by and by to be tormented with defects that can only be removed by great expense and trouble!  It’s a grand thing to go ahead, provided you are right; the more “go,” the worse, if you happen to be on the wrong track.  Candidly, your plan hardly deserves to be called a beginning.  The arrangement of the rear part, which you chiefly omit, is, in fact, the most difficult and important of the whole.  But I’ve promised Sister Jane a chapter on kitchens, of which, when the time comes, you can have the benefit.  Meanwhile, complete the unfinished part of your plan,—­it only requires you to spend a few brief moments,—­and I will venture some suggestions on this which lies before me.

The front stairs as laid down would reach just half-way to the second floor,—­a peculiarity of amateur sketches so universal that we will say nothing more about it.  But what principle of good taste or hospitality requires you to blockade the main entrance to your house with this same staircase?  Do you send all your visitors, of whatever name or nation, direct to the upper regions the moment they enter?  Why, then, make the northwest passage thither the most conspicuous route from the door?  Do you intend to restrict the family to the back stairs, which by your showing are, like the famous descensus Averno, wonderfully easy to go down, but mighty hard to get up again?  Yet you place these front stairs at the very farthest remove from the rooms most constantly used in both stories.  Perhaps you propose to announce “apartments to let” on the second and third floors.  No?  What reason, then, for imitating