It does not follow that because most wood-work used about a building may be obtained at the mill, machine made, that the carpenter should not equip himself with the knowledge necessary to make by hand every piece of wood-work required to complete a building. There is a sameness about millwork that always impresses itself unfavorably on the artistic sense, and this quality is so well understood in high quarters, that many very rich men will not permit finished machine made work to be introduced in their residence.

While it may be true that machine made work is, in many cases, superior to hand-made work, yet it is characterless and inartistic, as it is the machine, not the workman, that leaves its impression on the finished product, and each piece is a facsimile of each other piece. For utilitarian purposes machine made work occupies a high rank, as it is generally well made, solidly put together, and costs much less than hand-made work, qualities that recommend it for general use.

By hand-made work I do not mean work that is sawn from the rough by hand, or manipulated at every stage by brute force with saw and plane. The circular saw, the planer, the mortiser and tenoner may and should be employed in preparing material for hand work, thus relieving the workman of the present from the drudgery that his forefathers were forced to undergo.

It is in the finishing process and the variety of form, shape and finish where hand-work has the artistic advantage over work produced and finished by machinery alone. It must be borne in mind, however, that machinery, well and skilfully manned, never turn out bad work. They are honest and work faithfully, and this is more than can be said of all workmen who essay to make good handwork.

But workmanship, in any form, can never be artistic; therefore, it behoves the workman, who aspires to excellence in hand-work, to make his work as solid and as good as machine work, and to give it a finish and variableness attainable by the best machines.

Excellence in any trade or profession is obtainable only by repeated effort, care, attention and study; and the carpenter or joiner who does not diligently apply himself to mastering all the ins and outs of his trade cannot hope to ever be more that a drudge to the man who has spent time and money without stint in finding out all that is possible concerning his trade, and fitting himself to overcome with ease any trade problem that may confront him.

This latter is the man who made foreman and who eventually enters the building business as a contractor with success. Hence the stirring up of knowledge regarding one’s trade is an investment that is sure to bring in a good return without fear of losing any part of the principal.

Fred T. Hodgson, Architect

Architect and Builder’s Magazine – February, 1900

- Jeff Burks

From the commencement of that business I gave promise of success, and it was not the least consoling to know, that at length I had found a trade wherein I could become respectable, and at least, something more than mediocre. It was soon my father’s boast, that with his “ big lad”—for I was too boy-like to pass for a man—with his lad “he could turn more veneers out of an inch plank than any other pair of craftsmen in the town.”

Thomas was an original in his way ; he had superior qualities as a workman, and seldom forgot to talk about them. He was generally upon good terms with himself; he had an unflinching independence of action, and a deep sense of honour and integrity regulated all his dealings. In a pecuniary point of view, my new trade was not so remunerative as it had been before the invention of the circular saw.

Our wages now averaged about two pounds each per week, and in some “good jobs,” amongst which the sawing of deep logs of Honduras wood into planks for coach panels may be particularized,—we sometimes earned as much as five pounds each per week; unfortunately we did not always use it wisely. Drinking was the curse of our trade, and nearly all who embarked in it spent one-half of their wages in that debasing practice.

It was often the boast of some of the sots, that the last Saturday night’s “shot” had taken the greater part of their week’s money. It is deeply to be lamented, that men will so lay waste their powers, and plunge themselves into misery—for it is a satire to call loss of health and substance, enjoyment. They were strangers to pleasure, and could not distinguish between enjoyment and sensuality. Often, when we refused to take a part in their reckless follies, they had recourse to the most dangerous expedients to force us, by damaging our tools, driving old files into the pieces we had to cut through, and similar destructive practices.

There is but little hope for the confirmed drunkard ; however bountifully he may be remunerated for his labour, he is never in a position to resist the encroachments that competition and individual grasping are always making upon him. The drunkard is rarely a thinking man. It was once a foolish opinion, that you never knew a good workman, but he was also a “ hard drinker.” That opinion is, fortunately for mankind, now exploded; and where is the virtue of the boast?

Can the drunkard think more deeply upon the intricacies of mechanics, science, and the arts, than the man whose head is clear of the fumes of intoxication? Are not his means thrown away upon a foolish, nay, pernicious indulgence? How often are his hopes of reward sacrifised to the avaricious dealer, who knows that half a man will, by necessity, be compelled to take half a loaf rather than starve; he knows the market value of an independence that will sell itself to an idol; such a one is ever on the downward road to famine and disease.

The meridian of veneer sawing was passed when I commenced the business; the mills were gradually superseding hand labour, and loud and deep were the curses our craft was daily venting against the new invention. They rejoiced at every accident that befel the machinery, and did not scruple, whenever an opportunity offered, to play off any diabolical scheme, that might injure or destroy their works.

I have known the ends of files industriously driven into valuable logs of mahogany; and I have heard with pain their rejoicings, when report has proclaimed the consequent destruction of the machinery. Has such wanton devastation been of any advantage to the perpetrators? Has it prevented the growth and the perfection of saw-mills? Are not they themselves now convinced of the superiority of machine over handsawn veneers, and that no cabinet-maker would now submit to work the latter?

Is the fact of hundreds being thrown out of employment by the introduction of machinery, a sufficient argument against its use? I would answer no! I believe that great, important as are its results already, that it is yet in its infancy, and that the most comprehensive mind can but dimly shadow forth its benevolent mission. I regard it as one of the great blessings of the Creator, who has destined the inanimate to conquer labour, by its iron bone and muscle— that man, the inventor and director, “infinite in faculties,” “in apprehension like a god!” shall some day work by his mental might.

Is machinery, then, to go on reducing labour, and our population to starve? No! Then how long is the present system of the labourers working, and the machinery reducing their rewards, to continue? Just so long as the artisans will allow it, but no longer! They are the machine makers—they are its workers; they may be its owners, and be themselves benefitted by its vast productive powers—and this they will be, as soon as they are determined to be MEN…

As the trade of veneer-sawing fell off in Hull by the multiplication of engine power, our occupation was confined to sawing the logs into boards. An opportunity now offered itself of transferring our business to the city of York. A merchant of that city, Mr. W , being over at Hull, and making extensive purchases of Messrs. Barkworth and Spalding, our employers, Mr. W. engaged us to go over and work for him, with an understanding that we were to be constantly employed on mahogany, and other rich woods. We reasonably expected, that where there was a demand for such a class of workmen, we should find remunerative employment ; so, in the late Autumn of 1822, we packed ourselves on board the Selby steam-packet, for York…

If, as a trade, the sawyers we had left behind us were generally a drunken class, they were not more circumspect at York. Here, any subterfuge that would give a pretext for “St. Monday’s” clubbing for drink, was eagerly sought after; and regulations, which in themselves appeared to be useful and necessary, were merely used as ready ways to indulgence. Hence, fines for a disregard of cleanliness at work, were in plenty.

To go to work on Monday morning with a dirty shirt on, or unshaven, called for the penalty of a shilling for each offence; to the forfeit, each man in the company was expected to contribute Sixpence—the whole to be spent in drink. This “ fuddling” once begun, it usually lasted two or three days. One of our “mates” made it a rule to begin the week with a dirty shirt on, and a black beard, whenever he wanted an extra indulgence; and in his case, the exception was the rule. The misery and desolation that haunted that man’s home may be well conceived: his wife haggard in countenance, lacking necessary food, half naked and desponding—his children, immoral and ragged…

In a few months, the hope we had cherished of constant employment here, at superior work, was blighted. The demand was not equal to the supply; the machine-cut work was at our heels, and was soon imported into our newly-adopted place, and we were consequently driven to seek work on coarser materials. This, to my father-in-law, was a source of continual annoyance, and he could not refrain from venting his disapprobation of our employers’ breach of promise. For my part, consideration has shewn cause for extenuation. There was not much skill required in our latter work, which, to me, was more grievous than the inconvenience of lower wages.

Christopher Thomson

The Autobiography of an Artisan – 1847

- Jeff Burks

At my first admission into the printing-house I took to working at press, imagining I felt a want of the bodily exercise I had been used to in America, where presswork is mixed with the composing. I drank only water; the other workmen, near fifty in number, were great drinkers of beer. On occasion, I carried up and down stairs a large form of types in each hand, when others carried but one in both hands; they wondered to see, from this and several instances, that the Water American, as they called me, was stronger than themselves who drank strong beer!

We had an alehouse-boy, who attended always in the house to supply the workmen. My companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner; a pint in the afternoon about six o’clock, and another when he had done his day’s work. I thought it a detestable custom; but it was necessary, he supposed, to drink strong beer, that he might be strong to labour.

I endeavoured to convince him that the bodily strength afforded by beer could only be in proportion to the grain or flour of the barley dissolved in the water of which it was made; that there was more flour in a pennyworth of bread, and, therefore, if he could eat that with a pint of water, it would give him more strength than a quart of beer. He drank on, however, and had four or five shillings to pay out of his wages every Saturday night for that vile liquor: an expense I was free from; and thus these poor devils keep themselves always under.

Watts, after some weeks, desiring to have me in the composing-room, I left the pressmen; a new bien venu for drink (being five shillings) was demanded of me by the compositors. I thought it an imposition, as I had paid one to the pressmen ; the master thought so too, and forbade my paying it. I stood out two or three weeks, was accordingly considered as an excommunicate, and had so many little pieces of private malice practised on me, by mixing my sorts, transposing and breaking my matter, &c., &c, if ever I stepped out of the room, and all ascribed to the chapel ghost, which they said ever haunted those not regularly admitted, that, notwithstanding the master’s protection, I found myself obliged to comply and pay the money, convinced of the folly of being on ill terms with those one is to live with continually.

I was now on a fair footing with them, and soon acquired considerable influence. I proposed some reasonable alterations in their chapel* laws, and carried them against all opposition. From my example a great many of them left their muddling breakfast of beer, bread and cheese, finding they could with me be supplied from a neighbouring house with a large porringer of hot water gruel, sprinkled with pepper, crumbled with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for the price of a pint of beer, viz., three halfpence. This was a more comfortable as well as a cheaper breakfast, and kept their heads clearer.

Those who continued sotting with their beer all day, were often, by not paying, out of credit at the alehouse, and used to make interest with me to get beer, their light, as they phrased it, being out. I watched the pay-table on Saturday night, and collected what I stood engaged for them, having to pay sometimes near thirty shillings a week on their accounts. This, and my being esteemed a pretty good rig-ite, that is, a jocular verbal satirist, supported my consequence in the society. My constant attendance (I never making a St. Monday) recommended me to the master; and my uncommon quickness at composing occasioned my being put upon work of despatch, which was generally better paid ; so I went on now very agreeably.

* A printing-house was called a chapel by the workmen, because printing was first carried on in England in an ancient chapel, and the title had been preserved by tradition. The bien venu among the printers, answers to the terms entrance and footing among mechanics; thus a journeyman, on entering a printing-house, was accustomed to pay one or more gallons of beer for the good of the chapel.

Memoirs of Benjamin Franklin; Written by Himself (1771 to 1790)

 - Jeff Burks

* This letter was read before a committee, on Sept. 12, 1763

You know very well, my dear ſir, in what manner I ſpend much of my time, I agree with you that philoſophical enquiries are very amuſing; but ſhould not we ſometimes indeavour to benefit the world by our reſearches, as well as entertain ourſelves? I have been for ſome months thinking of a novelty, at leaſt, in the arts; whether, if compaſſed, you would allow it to be an improvement, I cannot ſay.

The world of England has been, for ſome years paſt, running mad after mahogany furniture: an inferior artiſan thinks it a great misfortune, if he cannot have his two or three mahogany tables, or whatever elſe you pleaſe to call it, the wood is abſolutely, as I am very well informed, grown ſcarce in our Weſt-India iſlands, ſo that a great deal of French mahogany is yearly imported *, notwithſtanding which, the price, the dealers ſay, is of late very much riſen. What I would propoſe is that the hard cloſe-grained English elm ſhould be ſubſtituted in its place. I know it will take a good stain, but I have not yet found out a method of giving it a true mahogany colour.

* A great deal of mahogany, of a very inferior quality, has been lately imported from the Havannah: It is much ſofter and paler than the Jamaica wood, and will ſooner decay.

The wood before it is ſtained, ſhould be prepared: perhaps the following manner may be as good as any; I have tried it, and find the wood receives and retains the colour much better than when unprepared.

When the wood has been cut into thin boards, I get it rough-planed with a common jack-plane; after which, I heat a large copper full of pond-water. When it boils, I put in my boards, taking care that they be entirely covered with water all the time they are kept boiling, which is to be at leaſt an hour, but the time is to be governed by the quantity of ſap they have in them.

I then take them out of the water, and wiping them as dry as poſſible, with either a coarſe cloth, or any thing elſe that won’t ſtain, I lay one of the boards on three or more pieces of thick deal laths: on this I place more pieces of laths, then another board and ſo on till the number of boards amounts to ten or a dozen: over all I put two or three heavy weights. They are then left to dry, which, being placed in this manner with a thorough draught of air, they do without warping: were it not for this precaution, they would after boiling, as I have often experienced, be very apt to both warp and ſplit. I must not omit obſerving, that whilſt they are drying they muſt be laid in the ſhade.

This method of preparing boards diveſts them almoſt entirely of their ſap, makes the wood much lighter, and more ſuſceptible of the impreſſion of colour, than it would be in its natural ſtate; and the ſtain you give it is more uniform.

When firſt I thought of the affair, I naturally imagined that a vegetable colour would be moſt proper to impregnate a vegetable ſubſtance withall; but I was herein in ſome meaſure, miſtaken, for ſome other matter was required to make it at all ſtable, and after all, much of it would waſh off with a wet cloth, and almoſt the whole of it would diſappear when the board was boiled a little while in pond water.*

*We could wiſh our ingenious correſpondent would try to ſtain ſome other wood, of a cloſer grain than elm; ſuppoſe oak, as we are apt to think it would not only be more durable, but take a better poliſh, in which the beauty of mahogany in a great meaſure conſiſts. -E.

After this, I had recourſe to colours extracted from minerals. And muſt own, I here met with much better ſucceſs, yet ſtill did not gain my point. In this ſituation the matter now reſts, though I don’t mean to give it up.

My reaſon for troubling you with this narrative is, that you may, if you think proper, communicate it to the illuſtrious ſociety of which you are a member. If they may perhaps advertiſe a premium for the diſcovery; and in that caſe theſe hints may be of uſe.

I have purpoſely avoided mentioning the ſeveral things I tried to ſtain the boards withal, becauſe the ſame article, which failed me, may poſſibly, by a different proceſs, ſucceed with ſomebody elſe, and it would be pity to proſcribe ſo many probable materials from having a varied trial in other hands. Yet, after all, my own opinion is, that the colour will beſt be procured from ſome mineral extract, at least, ſo my repeated experiments ſeem to declare.

Perhaps, if we can once gain our point in this firſt inſtance, we may hereafter attain a method of colouring ivory better than it has hitherto done; and we may probably go ſtill a ſtep further, and be able to ſtain white marble with laſting colours, regularly diſpoſed: could we once do this, we ſhould have no occaſion to lament that canvas is of ſo periſhable a nature; for ſuch painters as were willing (which moſt are) to have their works reach remote poſterity, would doubtleſs prefer marble. Some, indeed, have uſed copper; but they do not find it answer, the colours being remarkably apt to peel off.

Muſeum Ruſticum Et Commerciale – (London) November 1763

Or, Select Papers on Agriculture, Commerce, Arts, and Manufactures Drawn from Experience, and Communicated by Gentlemen engaged in these Purſuits.

Reviſed and Digeſted by ſeveral Members of the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce.

Hæ tibi erunt Artes.

- Jeff Burks

We recently watched a boy in the act of blacking his shoes. He was particular about getting a high polish on the toes. The heels got no blacking at all, not even a rub of the brush. It is pretty safe to predict that a boy who forms the habit of shining half his shoes, and slighting the other half will grow up to be a botcher in other kinds of work.

We know a man who always blacks the heels of his shoes first. He says his father insisted on his doing it that way when he was a boy. It is now a habit with him. However pressed for time he is, having first polished the heels he never slights the fronts of his shoes. There is always time for the toes. Similar characteristics are found in every thing he undertakes to do. He is just as painstaking in piling up wood in his cellar as he is in the making of a mahogany sideboard.

The habit of painstaking is a good financial investment. It must be found in every genius. It ought to have a place in every man’s life whether or not he is engaged in work that is open to inspection. He, who when a boy, practices doing to a finish every job he undertakes and not slighting part of it because it is more or less concealed, will find, when he has grown to manhood, that he has escaped the curse which falls on some workmen, namely, of being a botcher.

E. W.

Our Paper – Concord Junction, Mass. – October 25, 1913

- Jeff Burks

“One of the biggest obstacles that I have had to overcome is the cry of the public against big books, which they will not buy because they are too expensive, or they buy but do not read because they are too voluminous.  But how could I do otherwise?  Should I fool the Public in pandering to their taste but against their interests by giving them an abridged and consequently less expensive edition, but where they will learn nothing, or at the most learn only words or names of the arts? “

Well said, Monsieur Roubo. In an age where far too many want to know everything without bothering to learn anything, I am happy you have found a home at Lost Art Press.

— Don Williams, Michele Pagan and Philippe Lafargue

In looking over a piece of kit possessed by a “wood butcher” not long since, the writer saw an axe which looked like the one shown in Fig 1. There was a big piece broken out of the edge at a, where a spike had evidently come in contact with the edge of the tool. To put this tool in shape considerable grinding must be done.

The first step is to hold the axe against the edge of the grindstone, as shown in Fig 2, until the broken part is entirely removed, leaving the edge at b probably about one-sixteenth of an inch thick. The next step is shown in Fig 3. Rest the head or pole, of the axe, upon the grindstone frame, making a mark at c, so as to be able to replace the axe at will after looking at it. By resting the head of the axe at all times at c, the bevel at d is made flat, and not as shown in Fig. 4. Here there are something more than a dozen different bevels, to say nothing of a corner being ground off where the axe evidently slipped when being placed upon the stone.

In Fig. 5 the axe is shown bearing upon one corner of the head, so that the corner of the blade diagonally opposite at a is being ground. In Fig. 6 this position is reversed; the axe bears upon the other corner of the head, and corner b of the blade is bearing upon the stone. This enables all parts of the blade to be ground, and at the same time keep the bevel straight and true. After finishing the grinding operation, which should be stopped before a feather edge is raised, attention should be given to setting the edge of the axe with an oil-stone or an Arkansas slip.

Some workmen sharpen an axe in the manner that they would a plane, holding it upon the oil-stone as shown in Fig. 7, rubbing the axe back and forth, using both hands, and sometimes needing another one to hold it in position. A much better method is exhibited by Fig. 8. Rest the axe against the edge of the bench, or a convenient timber, as shown at a b; then grasp a slip in the right hand and with it bring the axe to an edge as shown at c. This method possesses the advantage that the edge of the axe is in sight at all times, and the whetting operation can be stopped the moment the axe is brought to an edge.

When “going it blind” with the axe the other side up, and being rubbed upon a stone, it is hard to tell when it is just to an edge, and this in addition to the fact that a hand axe is very heavy and not easily held in the desired position for whetting, renders the edge-setting problem one that is not often properly solved.

Should at any time a feather edge be raised upon the axe, the roughness in question should be carefully removed before further grinding or whetting takes place. The feather edge is quickest and best removed by drawing the edge of the axe over the grindstone, or one corner of the oil-stone. It does not pay to try to scrape it off on one corner of a piece of wood, as is often done when grinding a plane iron. The axe is heavy and more bungling to hold. A fine file will bring it to time when incidentally the mechanic permits this tool to indulge in the feather edge business.

When an axe becomes considerably worn, it should be taken to the blacksmith, drawn out thinner, and if necessary, a new piece of steel welded on before the drawing-out process takes place. In attempting to “new lay” an axe, the smith should chip off the old steel before attempting to weld on a new piece. Sometimes trouble occurs in making steel adhere along its entire length. There may be a bit at one corner or a chunk in the middle which refuses to unite.

The rest of the weld being solid. In such cases, raising up the parts with a cold-chisel where they fail to unite, having the axe hot at the time, and driving into the cavity a piece from an old scythe blade, or a bit of clean, bright Swedish iron, the whole may then be hammered close together, liberally dosed with borax, and again take a welding heat. No trouble with be experienced in the parts not uniting after such a treatment.

James F. Hobart

The Manufacturer and Builder – February 1892

- Jeff Burks

Archimedes is further reported to have said, “Give me a prop, a position, and a lever strong enough, and I will move the world,” and, no doubt, if these conditions could be granted to him, he, as well as others after him, could lift the earth, or aught upon the earth, by a combination of the tremendous lifting and driving powers exercised by a series of screws, apart from the lever.

Screws are various, and of various sizes, forms, and materials, but the same principle runs through them all, whether they be manufactured for use in metal or woodwork, or for exerting a lifting, driving, or pressing power separately. Our object here is not to treat of screw-cutting, but rather screw-driving in woodwork, and to throw out some useful hints to the building constituency, and particularly workmen.

The use and abuse of screws is a matter of importance to architects, builders, and their clients, for it is according to the way screws may be applied in several building and kindred operations that good or bad workmanship will be evidenced.

Screws are more extensively used than formerly in putting together various kinds of wood framing, and even in cabinet and chair work screws are pressed into service in places where their use would not have been tolerated by manufacturers in the earlier portion of the present century. Although their existence is generally concealed in furniture and fancy work, they are often present, nevertheless, and too often they are used as a substitute for dowels, dovetails, and tenons, in the manufacture of cheap work.

It is an instructive and remarkable fact that our building workmen of a century or two back, in many operations in carpentry and joinery, discarded, as far as was possible, the use of nails or screws, depending more on carefully-jointed work, put together by means of mortise, tenon, dovetail, hard-wood dowel, or oaken pin. Their work might have taken a longer time to execute than that done by our present race of joiners and woodworkers, but it was infinitely more lasting, and kept together so long as the timber or wood continued sound.

The nearly universal remedy now for every broken article on the part of the jobbing joiner and cabinet-maker is to repair it with the aid of a nail or a screw. Glue is even often dispensed with, or used where it will exercise little sustaining power, and coloured putty is not only made to cover the heads of sunken nails and screws on the face of a piece of work, but used also to hide bad joints and workmanship.

Some years ago the writer examined an old oaken staircase and hand-rail in a college, which work was executed more than two centuries since, and in the construction of which not a nail or a screw was used. From time to time, over long years, some slight repairs were made, but the workmen during their operations were never able to discover that a nail had been used in the original construction. There were mortises and tenons, grooves and tonguing, wooden pins or dowel work, but no iron fastening of any kind. The writer also examined more than one old roof in which the use of iron spikes, nails, and other iron fastenings was dispensed with, and the joining of the timber was effected without their aid.

In the hinging of doors and other framework it is necessary to use screws, but, unfortunately, many workmen, if not watched or cautioned, will not do the screwing properly or in a workmanlike manner. In deal, pine, and other soft woods a bradawl is sufficient to make an opening for the screw, which opening, of course, should be less than the thickness of the body, and short of the length of the screws used. It will be found, however, that most workmen, not content with tapping the screw a fourth of an inch or so to give it a hold before applying the screw-driver, will actually drive the screw into the wood two-thirds of its length with the hammer. This the workmen will do to save themselves trouble.

If there be two hinges upon a door, and if each hinge has eight screw-holes,—four in each plate,—the chances are that the workmen will drive half of the screws nearly home in the door-stile and frame with his hammer rather than take the trouble of driving them gradually home with the screwdriver. Hence, if the door be a massive or heavy one, the weight of it will tend to the hinges loosening, and after a time will follow a train of other ills,—the “dragging” and “rubbing” of doors, and their makeshift cure in what is known as “easing” them. If remonstrated with for driving a screw nearly home with the hammer, the workman may probably say (as some workmen certainly think) that a few turns of the screw in the wood are sufficient. This is an erroneous and mischievous idea.

A screw that is nearly driven its whole length with a hammer cannot make a regular and corresponding thread or spiral in the wood, and therefore its binding and maintaining power in keeping the hinge in its place is all but gone. Workmen should be made to drive every screw home gradually with the screw-driver, and not only an odd one. In hard-wood operations as well as in soft woods, particularly in hinge work, screws should be properly driven, and the aperture or opening made for the passage of the screw should be much less than the thickness of the screw to be driven. The screw will bite a sufficient passage for itself. In hard wood, however, it is necessary to give a little more freedom of entry to the screw than in soft wood, and a gimlet is needed for making the suitable opening instead of the bradawl.

A difficulty is often experienced by persons who wish to withdraw a screw, by finding that though it will turn round under the application of the screw-driver, yet it will not unscrew out. In this case a well-grounded suspicion may be entertained that the screw in question was driven, or nearly driven, home originally by the hammer, instead of gradually by the screwdriver, and that no regular thread corresponding with the screw exists in the wood.

Under such circumstances it becomes necessary often to wrench off the hinge or hinges by force, at the risk of their breaking, and this often happens. When hinges have lain undisturbed for long years on old doors or other framings, perhaps for a quarter of a century or double that time, it becomes difficult to extract the screws, although they may have been originally properly driven. This arises from the screws rusting in the wood and sometimes from other causes.

Workmen themselves often fail to withdraw a screw, and are forced to break the hinge to enable them to get under the head of the screw, and wrench it out. They often split, and break too, fancy and delicate woodwork articles in their efforts to take off hinges, locks, mountings, and other finishings, despite that simple methods exist for extracting screws that have rusted in the wood.

One of the most simple and readiest methods for loosening a rusted screw is to apply heat to the head of the screw. A small bar or rod of iron, flat at the end, if reddened in the fire and applied for a couple or three minutes to the head of the rusted screw will, as soon as it heats the screw, render its withdrawal as easy by the screwdriver as if it was only a recently-inserted screw. As there is a kitchen poker in every house, that instrument, if heated at its extremity, and applied for a few minutes to the head of the screw or screws, will do the required work of loosening, and an ordinary screwdriver will do the rest without causing the least damage, trouble, or vexation of spirit.

In all work above the common kind, where it is necessary to use screws, and particularly in hinge-work and mountings, fancy fastenings and appliances affixed to joinery or furniture work, we would advise the oiling of screws or the dipping their points in grease before driving them. This will render them more easy to drive and also to withdraw, and it will undoubtedly retard for a longer time the action of rusting.

As matters obtain now in carpentry, joinery, furniture, and other wood workmanship, with regard to screws, although they cannot be dispensed with, yet it would be advisable in sundry classes of woodwork to minimise their use, and in other cases to do without them altogether. They can seldom be used with advantage to the displacement of mortise and tenon or good dovetail or dowel work.

The growing practice of putting together woodwork with screws bespeaks a decadence of skilled labour, and of nails and screws there are far too many pressed into service in our workshops and dwellings. While admitting the usefulness of the screw in various ways, we have here endeavoured briefly to show its abuse in woodwork, and at the same time to afford some hints for better methods of procedure in building and kindred workmanship.

The Builder – (London) November 18, 1882

- Jeff Burks

During the last 48 hours, I have been hunched over the latest set of paper proofs of “To Make as Perfectly as Possible: Roubo on Marquetry.” And this is the part where the doubt creeps in.

During every book project, I lose my faith on the 10th edit. As I pored over Chapter 12 last night, I read Roubo’s words, but all I could hear were the critics:

“This translation is incomprehensible.”

“Useless information for the 21st century.”

“This is all there is?”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m in awe of (and grateful for) the work that Don Williams, Michele Pagan and Phillipe LaFargue have done – not to mention Wesley Tanner, the book’s designer. My doubts are a personal problem I’ve had since the day I began writing.

I know there are typos we won’t catch. I know we will be skewered for choosing one word over another in the translation. That we didn’t do enough to make M. Roubo palatable.

So to cheer myself up I decided to make a list of all the things I learned from this volume.

I couldn’t. The list was too long and involves something on almost every page.

Like Robert Wearing’s “The Essential Woodworker,” this is a document that is far greater than the sum of its parts. It is not just a manual of marquetry. Every page oozes Roubo’s personal view of the craft – the failings of customers, fellow craftsmen, merchants. And their occasional triumphs.

In Roubo’s world, quality work is the job of the individual at the bench – even when the customers won’t pay.

And there is something deeper that is even more important and difficult for me to express. But I’ll try:

One of the dominant modern views of pre-Industrial woodworking was that it was a brutal way to live. The work was hard. Each day was a desperate slog for artisans ekeing out a living in poorly lit and dank situations.

All those things might be true, but that doesn’t mean these menuisiers didn’t love their work. When you read Roubo – who was a compagnon – it’s clear that it was cause for rejoicing when they brought something beautiful and well-made in the world.

Yeah, the work was hard. It still is. Yes, it involved years of practice. It still does. And no, it didn’t pay. It still doesn’t.

But it has been and always will be something that is (and I’m stealing Don Williams’ favorite word here) glorious.

— Christopher Schwarz

P.S. Today I finish up my editing on this book and send the paper back to the designer (about 15 pounds of it). I don’t want to take this stuff on the plane to Germany. Our goal is to send this book to the printer on July 1. I think we can make it.

DON’T start your job until you have it well fixed in your mind, or you may get in a mess later on.

DON’T trouble the foreman with foolish questions. He has troubles of his own. Besides, you may expose your own ignorance; but

DON’T try to get along without really necessary information which the foreman may have forgotten to give you. You may guess wrong.

DON’T take time to lay out a job, and then not use the lay-out; but

DON’T rush at a job.

DON’T fail to study economy both of materials and time; both cost your employer money.

DONT miss checking all dimensions on drawing as well as model.

DON’T make a model without knowing how it is going to be moulded; nor a mould without thinking how the articles are to be made from it.

DON’T accept your first idea as to the arrangement of the mould. Think if there is not a better way.

DON’T snort when you get an unpleasant job. Do it cheerfully, and if you think your employer is rubbing it in you can leave. If you are sure he is, you had better.

DON’T pick out all the best bits for yourself when you have helpers.

DON’T despise the apprentice. He did not come simply to keep the shop clean, so let him do things. If he makes mistakes, don’t shout too much, and

DON’T forget that you had your troubles at his age.

DON’T think you know it all. There are others who know a little.

DON’T think, when you see a circle, the work must be done on the lathe. Some work is better done with a profile, and

DON’T forget that a sharp hand-saw is a good tool, and that cutting to a line is not quite a lost art.

DON’T leave your tools lying around, and expect the careful man to keep you in stock.

DON’T borrow tools, even from the apprentice, and forget to return them, and, above all,

DONT borrow when the other man is not looking.

DON T assume that any drawing is correct. Be quite sure before you begin work.

DON’T keep your place so littered up that it takes ten minutes to find a small tool.

DON’T think because you are ninety-ninth cousin to the boss that you are entitled to more privileges than anyone else.

DON’T begin late and leave early, and

DON’T do any fooling in working hours. You are paid to work, not play.

DON’T think that all the time you spend in the making shops is wasted. It depends on yourself whether it is or not.

DON’T forget to consult the man who will have to use the moulds; his suggestions may be useful, and we cannot do without him.

DON’T forget that the maker is in a good position to show you up, so

DON’T fail to consider his convenience at all times.

DON’T forget that the maker will try and throw all the blame for faulty goods on to you if he possibly can, so

DON’T leave your mistakes for others to find out: find them out for yourself, and if you do

DON’T let them go on the chance of their being overlooked. Be sure your sins will find you out, even if they do involve someone else as well.

DON’T say, “ That is near enough.”

DON’T fail to mark all pieces properly so that all may know what they are, and

DON’T forget to place marks on pieces that may easily be wrongly fitted.

DON’T forget to mark the size on the mould when several sizes of the same pattern are in existence. It saves a lot of time and mistakes.

DON’T waste time and money on unnecessary work, but

DON’T get into the way of slacking all round.

DON’T think you know more than your foreman, even if you do, and

DON’T try to keep one eye on him and the other on your work; it is very difficult to watch both.

DON’T fail to have confidence in yourself, but

DON’T think you cannot improve. Try to do better each day.

DON’T lose your head and swear when things go wrong. Other people have made a few mistakes before you began, but

DON’T expect top wages unless you turn out work promptly and properly.

The British Clayworker – November 1907

- Jeff Burks