The decay of wooden sleepers, posts, &c., on our railways and the destruction of timber piles by worms have been the causes of directing the attention of engineers to the preservation of timber. Most of our leading engineers now have the greater portion of the timber used in their works either creosoted or injected with chloride of zinc. Architects, as a rule, do not, unfortunately, adopt any process for preserving timber from rot and decay; and have practically no guarantee that timber used in their works has been thoroughly seasoned: posterity will not thank them for this, and yet they are not solely to blame. The fault in a great measure rests with the public, who require buildings to be erected at the least cost and in the shortest possible time. Moreover, the works executed by our leading builders are so extensive, that they have no room in their yards for large piles of timber to lie and season; and even if they had room it is doubtful if they would allow so much material, representing money, to remain idle. We are acquainted with one instance where a London architect, about a dozen years ago, erected a public building. The front of the reporters’ gallery was formed of oak panelling; and within a year after the completion of the building narrow slips or tongues of wood had to be let in in several places to fill up the holes formed by the shrinkage of the panels. Similar cases to this are by no means rare. We can quote another instance of unseasoned wood. A range of workshops was erected a few years since in South London; the principals of the roof were not ceiled; almost before the building was finished the upper floor was occupied by a battalion of workwomen. The heat of the room (the ventilation being defective) soon had an effect upon the tie-beams, but one beam, which we imagine was unseasoned, in consequence of large shakes and splits, had to be taken out and replaced with new. We will (as a lawyer would say), cite one more case. A church in Surrey required some extensive repairs to the roof: an architect and a builder were employed, and the necessary works were done. Within four years dry rot has made its appearance on the new timbers of the roof (not an air-tight one). One of the churchwardens, on consulting us last year (1874) as to the best means of stopping the rot, energetically remarked, “Who is responsible to us for this, the architect or the builder?” Charles Dickens, in his edition of ‘Bleak House’ in 1868, wrote, with reference to long Chancery suits, “If I wanted other authorities for Jarndyce and Jarndyce, I could rain them on these pages.” We are able to make a similar remark with reference to any more instances of dry rot. According to the 7th chapter of the First Book of Kings, “Solomon was building his own house thirteen years:” we cannot spare so much time now-a-days over the erection of a house, but that is no reason why our timber should not be naturally or artificially seasoned.