The details and accessories of cellars, their floors, ventilation, and various conveniences, belong to the interior equipments.  There is, however, one point that even precedes the foundation,—­the altitude.  As the question commonly runs, “How high shall the top of the underpinning be?” Of course this can only be given on an actual site.  It is unfortunate to plant a house so low in the ground that its cellar forms a sort of cesspool for the surrounding basin; most absurd to set it up on a stilted underpinning until it looks like a Western gatepost, lifted every year a few inches out of the ground by the frost, till it finally topples over and has to be set anew.  Two things you will notice in locating your house,—­as soon as the walls and roof are raised, the distance to the street in front will seem to be diminished, and the ground on which the building stands will appear lower than before, lower than you expected or desired.  There is so much said and sung about houses being set too low, that it is quite common to find them pushed out of the ground, cellar and all, as though this would atone for a want of elevation in the land itself.  There is little danger that you will place your house too high, great danger that you will not raise the earth around it high enough.  Be sure that after grading there shall be an ample slope away from the walls; but whether you will have a “high stoop,” or pass from the dooryard walk to the porch and thence to the front hall by a single step, will depend upon the character of the house and its surroundings.  To express a generous hospitality the main entrance should be so convenient and inviting that it seems easier to enter than to pass the door.  This effect, especially in large rambling houses, is most easily obtained by keeping the first floor near the ground.  That hospitality and good cheer will always be found beneath your roof is my earnest wish.

LETTER VI.

From John.

Gravel-Banks and quagmires.

My dear architect:  I’m all right on the gravel question.  You don’t catch me building in anybody’s quagmire.  There’s plenty of rheumatism and fever ‘n’ ague lying around loose without digging for ’em, and then building a house over the hole to keep ’em in.  I don’t want to say anything against any man’s building-lots, but how in the light of common-sense a man can, with his eyes open, build his shanty on some of the streets in your enterprising city, is too much for my understanding.  If they would first put in good big sewers, running slick and clean to the river, and underdrain the whole premises, ’t wouldn’t be quite so bad.  But I don’t want them, anyway; give me the high land and the dry land.  I’m not particular about founding on a rock, either; that was well enough in old times when they didn’t want cellars, but let me have a good bed of sand or gravel.  Cellar may not be quite so cool, but all we need is to go down a little deeper, while, as for health, I’d rather be ten feet under ground in such a spot than occupy the “second-story front,” in some places I could mention.