Of course, if we spend on our carpets we must be prepared to save elsewhere; our curtains need not cost us much. They can be either yellow and white, or blue and white Liberty cretonne, made to the height of the dado rail, just to draw along the windows from top to bottom to exclude light and to hide the room from outsiders when it is lighted up, thus saving the great and useless expense of blinds, and they can be lined with some cheap material, or made double, and then, white ones being fixed as described later on, last a long time without washing, and can be either made of figured Madras, with a good deal of colour in it, at 4s. 6d. a yard, double width, or of fine muslin and guipure, which washes beautifully—a quality I have never discovered in the many Madras muslins that I have bought, because I could not resist their decorative qualities, though I was angry at my own weakness all the time.

Naturally I can lay down no really hard-and-fast lines for decorating a drawing-room, for so much depends on the style and shape of the chamber; and what I said of the morning-room applies here equally well. Still, a yellow and white room, made by using Pither’s yellow and white ‘berry’ paper, with a dado of Collinson and Lock’s ‘47’ cretonne, with ivory paint, and yellow and white ceiling paper, and a blue carpet, makes a charming room; while one of the flowery, expensive papers, with a cretonne dado, is also safe to be charming too. In this case pink must be used in the ceiling, and the carpet should be either Maple’s ‘golden pine’ or a very carefully chosen carpet in shades of sage-green.

As to the furniture of the drawing-room, that must be determined on and regulated simply by the amount of money we have to spend. If we have plenty we can purchase as many nice deep arm-chairs and small occasional chairs as we like—then it will only be a matter of taste; but if we are limited and have little to spend, we must go about our work circumspectly, and must not mind going into a great many shops before we finally obtain what will furnish our room nicely.

Here, again, the useful wicker chairs will come in, covered with pretty cretonnes, made in such a manner that they can have their coverings removed to be washed; and I should also once more advise one of the charming square sofas already described. I think I should adhere to velveteen for the covering, unless we can procure a gold thread tapestry sufficiently light and inexpensive for our purpose. Messrs. Maple were the best people to apply to for these goods, but lately they have not had the pretty ones of old days, change of fashion and need for novelty accounting for the absence of some of the best designs I have ever seen; but Liberty has some excellent tapestries now.

If the room have a bow-window, a cosy summer corner can be made by putting the sofa there, with a table in front or at the side, capable of holding books and plants; and these tables are, again, things that we must undoubtedly choose with a great deal of care, for there is nothing more annoying than a rickety table, or one that is knocked over easily, should the room be fuller than usual, or should we number an awkward friend among the members of our acquaintances.

I remember some years ago having to entertain such an individual in the days when I did not know as much as I do now about the fitness of things, and I really believe that unhappy man’s sufferings gave me a lesson about tables I have never forgotten. I was always very fond of pretty things, and then had the mistaken idea that one could not have too many of them; so I fear that when we used to go in to dinner from the drawing-room, our walk resembled nothing so much as Mr. Dickens’s celebrated description of the family whose rooms were so full that they had to ‘take a walk among furniture’ before they could get out of the room.

We were taking our walk among the furniture when the contretemps happened. My unfortunate acquaintance had fidgeted unhappily for some time, and he finally made a dart towards the lady he had to take in to dinner, knocking over the chair next him, and arriving at his destination with a fringed antimacassar neatly fastened to one of his coat-buttons. He then backed into a small table, on which stood some books and photographs, and only saved this, to send another spinning; this time smashing the whole concern, and depriving me of one of my pet flower-holders, the demolition of which I have never ceased to regret. But worse was to come: in one heroic effort to get away from the scene of the disaster he backed once more into a ‘whatnot’ full of china, and I draw a veil over my feelings and his, as the most merciful thing I can do.

Still, when next morning I stood among the ruins, like Marius among the ruins of Rome, I was honest enough to say, ‘This is certainly my own fault,’ and ‘turning to,’ as the maids say, I so rearranged that long and ugly room that when next I had a dinner party I was repaid a thousandfold for my exertions and sacrifices by the expression of relief on the countenances of the guests, who now saw themselves saved from the usual dangerous promenade among my belongings that had used to be their portion. Now fortunately we can purchase tables that are small and safe, and I think those which are made with double trays, or rather with one tray under the top, are perfectly safe. They are to be bought covered with stamped velveteen, or with the pretty stuffs that imitate Turkish saddle-bags, or with plush, but I prefer them made of plain dark wood, and either polished or else painted ivory, and the top covered with an ordinary cloth made from tapestry, or one of Burnett’s charming serges edged with ball fringe; as, if plants in pots are placed upon them, drops of water are apt soon to spoil the covering, whereas serge will stand a good deal of water; although I am of opinion that plants should always be watered outside the room, on a balcony or in a garden if possible, as a little carelessness soon spoils one’s things, and I have, alas! spoilt much by not enforcing this rule both on myself and others.

Another very good and useful table is the square ivory Queen Anne table, that has four square rails as an extra support to the legs. These are about 3l., and can be procured in different sizes, when, of course, the price alters too, and are extremely handy to hold the lamp for reading books, work, &c., and are large enough to write a note upon comfortably.

I am a great advocate for corners—that is to say, for giving the corners of the room an artistic look, and I also like to have my favourite winter corner close to the fireplace. Naturally, it would be intensely foolish if we all hankered after a corner. Still even then we could be accommodated, if we do not mind screening ourselves off from our fellows in a manner I must say I consider extremely ugly and silly.

It will hardly be believed that in a house I have heard of the mistress has erected a series of screens in her drawing-room, which resembles now nothing so much as a restaurant fitted up with boxes. Rather than suggest such a fearful idea I would abolish screens altogether; yet one round the back of the sofa is often a great comfort, and, judiciously arranged, makes the background for a very pretty corner.

But the mistress’s corner can be arranged like this: put straight across the corner of the wall a small black table, made safe with the under-tray, and covered at the top with a Turkish antimacassar; this holds a plant in the daytime and the lamp at night, and is large enough to hold all the month’s magazines, half on each side of the centrepiece; above this a black corner bracket for china, crowned by a big pot to hold grasses or bulrushes, can be hung on the wall; and in front of the table should stand a square stool, holding a large plant and pot, heavy enough to hold its own should any one come near enough to knock it over, were it too light. Then to the left of this, next the fireplace, put your own particular chair, leaving room for a stool of some kind, that is broad and low, and can hold your work-basket if you work, your favourite book, or your newspaper-stand with the paper-knife attached; and on the desk above and at the side of your chair hang a sabot for flowers, your favourite photographs, and any pet piece of china or ornaments you may fancy. One of mine consists of a mandarin’s fan and case; the case is embroidered in silk, and gives a very pretty bit of colour, and the fan serves as a fire-screen should any one object to the cheerful blaze. Needless to add, I never use this screen myself.

On the other side of the fireplace I have a pair of brass bellows and a brass-handled brush, for I think an untidy hearth disturbs me more than anything else; and another Japanese fan, tied to a nail by a riband, which some of my friends find most useful when the fire is hot. Here, too, I have a really charming chair I bought at Liberty’s. I think it was 14s. 6d., not more. It has rather a high back, and a rush seat, and as the front legs are taller than the other two, it just tilts back, and is most comfortable. I added a padded back cushion, tied on with tapes, which adds much to the effect, but none is required on the seat, as rushes make a very comfortable and easy support, and this chair is preferred by what is rudely called ‘the master of the house,’ my pet cat, to any other, and he is a gentleman who really knows what comfort is. He has made it his study, during a long and honourable life, so I think I am not wrong in quoting him as an authority.

While not emulating a good friend of mine, in whose house the putting on of coals partakes of the character of a protracted and arduous ceremony, I must say I dislike to see coals standing in a room, but the receptacles made for them in brass are so pretty now that they may almost be forgiven, though I would rather not see them in a drawing-room. However, if one is required, the brass baskets, without covers, are the best, and hold quite enough coals for the evening, indeed more than enough if the grate is as I described before, and moreover judiciously laid and managed. Brass fire-irons and dogs are a necessity, but then a little black poker, price 1s. 6d., called a ‘pokerette’ in the shops, and ‘the curate’ in the drawing-room, must supplement the brass one, or that will very soon be black and spoiled.

I do not like a rug laid down in front of the fire, for more reasons than one. I have known a little foot catch in it, and the owner precipitated with his poor little head on the hard fender; and it always is an assistance to a careless or dirty housemaid, who is thus served with a screen should she break one of the rules that should be enforced in every household, and proceed to clean her grate without first putting down the rough piece of material with which she should be furnished. She is obliged to do this should there be no rug, for then every mark would show, and she would not dare to put down black-lead in a cracked saucer, fire-irons, brushes, and a thin newspaper full of ashes, as I once discovered a girl doing in an apartment furnished with a wide rug, that hid this, as well as a multitude of other sins.

While being lived in and used, a drawing-room is and must be essentially a best room, and is invaluable as a teacher to the untidy or unmethodical mistress or servant. Fine manners are a necessity, and a certain amount of fine manners is maintained by use of a room that holds our dearest treasures, and sees little of the seamy side of life. It is on little things that our lives depend for comfort, and small habits, such as a changed dress for evening wear with a long skirt, to give the proper drawing-room air, the enforcement of the rule that slippers and cigars must never enter there, and a certain politeness maintained to each other in the best room, almost insensibly enforced by the very atmosphere of the chamber, will go a long way towards keeping up the mutual respect that husband and wife should have for each other, and which is a surer means of happiness than anything I know—than any amount of foolish terms of endearment, that are apt to be forgotten when the gloss of the honeymoon is rubbed off, and life becomes too full of anxieties and hurry for the old pet names.

Remember, please, I am not writing for votaries of fashion or for rich people, who could tell me doubtless a great many things I do not know, but for the ordinary educated middle-class girl who may never leave her country home until she is married, or may have had few opportunities of seeing the world, even in London; and she does require, I know full well, to be reminded that home should not excuse faded finery, down-at-heel shoes, or slovenliness of mind or body in either husband or wife, for nothing grows so easily as untidy habits or slovenly manners, and it is worth a little struggle to prevent oneself or one’s friends deteriorating ever such a little bit.

The drawing-room would not be complete without a piano, and this is all too often a very ugly piece of furniture. I am glad to say white frames painted with beautiful flowers and designs are now being made, and these are easy to treat, but in ordinary rooms the usual cottage piano has to be thought of, and another corner can be made by placing the instrument across one side of the room in such a manner that the performer could see her audience. This naturally leaves the back of the piano exposed to view, and, as piano manufacturers still adhere to the red flannel or baize back, this is not a pretty object to contemplate. However, it is one that is easily changed, as it can be replaced by either a crewel-worked piece of art coloured serge, the useful and cheap Japanese leather paper, or else by a square of cretonne similar to that used for the curtains; but I prefer either the serge or paper to this. If the serge be worked with bulrushes and iris and grasses, or with long sprays of honeysuckle, the effect is charming. Then along the top can be placed a piece of serge, or felt or damask, worked too, and edged with an appropriate fringe, which thus makes an excellent shelf for odds and ends of china and bowls of flowers, as the top of the piano is seldom, if ever, opened by the ordinary piano player.

If a more careless arrangement be desired, a large square of drapery can be arranged gracefully over the back, securing it with small tintacks on the inside of the lid, or a large Japanese screen can be placed before it; but I think the best thing to do is to replace the baize back as suggested, not omitting to take out the crude red or green silk or elaborate carved wood front, and treat that as you treat the back.

I have seen a very pretty front to a piano made out of sage-green silk worked with rosebuds, or of turquoise-blue material worked in pale yellow campanulas, or yellow Scotch roses with their brown foliage. I have also seen a painted front put in, with dancing figures depicted on it; and, of course, all these arrangements are much to be preferred to the one supplied by the piano manufacturer, who is the only man, it seems to me, who resolutely refuses to march with the times, and makes no effort to improve the appearance of his manufactures.

The chair by the piano can be any pretty chair fancied by the owner. I have a very nice one in white wood, with the seat covered in Indian tapestry, which I gave a guinea for at Liberty’s. A very good plan is to have an extra cushion, attached by ribbon to the side of the chair, for the use of any one who may prefer a higher seat than we may happen to care for. This should, of course, be made square, and be covered with the same material that is used for the chair, and does away with the necessity for a music stool with an adjustable seat—an article I cannot endure, as it always shakes, is most unsteady, and squeaks appallingly whenever there is to be a change in the weather. Another idea for a seat by the piano is to have a square ottoman, made to open. Two people can sit upon this to play duets; but I do not care for this very much, as there is no back, but in a small room it is of great use, as it holds a great deal of music, is cheap, and does not look badly if properly covered with a pretty material, nailed on, and adorned with a frill that serves a double purpose, being highly ornamental and hiding the opening of the box at the same time. Another receptacle for music can be made out of one of the small square black cupboards which I have spoken of before, and which serve as tables besides, if the top be covered with some sort of a cloth, and books and ornaments be scattered about too.

The grand piano, coffin-like as it undoubtedly is, is far more easily made into a decorative article of furniture, and while the bend in the structure makes a capital ‘corner,’ the whole thing can be admirably arranged if we commence by draping the entire end with some square of material, or, if we possess it, with a length of old brocade or an Indian shawl. The drapery is placed so that it hangs over the end and sides, and is secured in place by, first of all, a nice plant in a good pot, which keeps the cloth in place, and has no effect whatever on the tone of the piano. At the end I place Leech’s collection of sketches, which we always call the ‘long Punches,’ in contradistinction to the bound volumes, and then any small things that I think look picturesque—not too many, nor any that cannot easily and comfortably be moved, should I have to entertain a pianist who wishes to imitate thunder, and cannot do so without having the lid opened widely. A good arrangement in the bend is a big palm in a brass pot on a black stand. These brass pots are to be procured at Hampton’s, in Pall Mall East, but I fear they are very expensive. I have often looked and longed for one, but never dared purchase it, much as I hanker after such a possession—they are extremely decorative, and have a style of their own. Failing that, a nice square table with more plants and books, and a couple of low chairs, placed in a ‘conversational’ manner, are suitable, with another plant on a square stool placed in front of the table. This gives a very finished look to the piano, and I venture to state that when this is done the piano is not the first thing visitors see when they enter the room: indeed, I have once or twice been asked if I have a piano, so little in evidence is this instrument to any one who merely comes to make an ordinary call. Talking of calls reminds me, before we leave the drawing-room, to make a small protest about one of the most idiotic customs that still linger among us—that of making morning calls; and I should like to see a good deal of reform in this matter.

Formal visiting I never will or can go in for; and I have come to the conclusion that, if people are only known casually and in such a manner that to call on them is an effort, to make which we are braced up by the idea, and cherished with the hope, that the person one calls on, card-case in hand, will be out, life is too short for such nonsense, and that calling as per fashion ordained is more honoured in the breach than in the observance, and that for us ordinary folk, who have work to do in life, this fantastic waste of time can quite well be given up. I should much like to see, at the same time, more co-operation in our lives. I should like more freedom among us, less of the idea that an Englishman’s house is his castle, and therefore I am always glad to note any step in the right direction, which is not followed when we set out in our best garments to make a round of calls.

Of course, people will say, ‘If we do not make calls, we can neither extend our circle nor keep up our friendships,’ but I really cannot see how cards conduce to either. That delightful institution of five-o’clock tea has done more for us, who cannot afford to give big entertainments, than a bushel of pasteboard; and I am convinced the idea of calls could be done away with altogether with very little trouble, and one way of doing this, especially in a small community, is to have one day, or even one evening, a week, or even a fortnight, when we are known to be at home and ready to see our friends.

I know some people scoff at the notion of an ordinary middle-class woman ‘aping her betters,’ and having her day at home; but the scoffers should reflect before they scoff, then, perhaps, they would alter their ideas. First of all, in a small household the servants can so manage their work that visitors on the day being expected, are no trouble at all. The fire would always be burning brightly in winter, the flowers and plants would be at their best in summer, and the mistress and her room together would be ready to see any one. I can speak from experience that my friends always turned up in shoals in dear hospitable Shortlands when I had my Thursdays, and came week after week to see me, secure of a cup of tea and a chat after a walk or drive; and I know how the winter sped along when I felt confident that So-and-so would be in any day of the week, and that I can ‘turn into’ this or that pleasant room any hour between 4 and 5.30, and find a welcome and a cup of tea ready for me, neither being in the least less warm because the previous Monday, and the Monday before that too maybe, my feet took me in precisely the same direction. In winter these informal gatherings are particularly pleasant, because I think the hours between the end of your drive or walk and dinner are occasionally a little depressing, and are not good preparation for the evening, which goes off much better if we have had a chat in the afternoon with a friend or two, which takes us out of our grooves and gives us something to talk about over the meal; while in summer, the fact that one is at home for certain on one day in the week brings friends from a distance to see us, and often causes impromptu tennis parties and little gatherings, all the pleasanter because they are informal and almost unexpected; while in these days of ostentation and glitter it is an excellent thing to know how to entertain well and cheaply, and see one’s friends, without feeling each time we do so that we are so many steps nearer the Bankruptcy Court. If we contemplate seeing society in the way I have indicated above, a tea-table is a sine quâ non in our drawing-room. A very good sort of table is the rush and bamboo table, with little trays for cakes, that open and close, and therefore take up very little room in a chamber; there is a second tray under the top one where spare cups can be placed. And still another table is the useful little Sutherland table, that shuts up and stands modestly and unseen in a corner when not in use, and that is brought out in a moment, without fuss or trouble, and can be used for whist, chess, or any ordinary game; while a small nest of four narrow tables, adapted from an old Chippendale design, is an invaluable possession. Closed, the ‘nest’ takes up a very small space, and, opened out, the owner has four little tables to put about beside her guests, who thus are provided with places to put down their cups and plates upon, and are thus relieved of what is sometimes an intolerable nuisance.

The best five-o’clock teacloth is a fine white damask edged with torchon lace, and with a torchon lace insertion which washes beautifully, and this should be marked with a large monogram in scarlet thread. A really large, good monogram has an excellent effect. I purchased my cloths at Shoolbred’s, who also procured me some one to work the monograms, as I am unfortunately no ‘stitchist,’ as Artemus Ward would say, and cannot sew one bit. But they are a little expensive. Still, if any one can work themselves, the cloths are only 5s. 6d.; the lace comes to about 3s. more; and then there is the monogram, which of course could be saved to any one who possesses cleverer fingers than have been given to me, but which are now worked for me at 1s. and 1s. 6d. each by a lady who thus is enabled to make a perceptible addition to her income, and who may be heard of at the Workers’ Guild, 11 Kensington Square, W. Other tablecloths have red and blue borders; but I prefer the plain white with the monogram to any other. A nice bright copper kettle and a trivet should be always brought in with the tea, and a cosey should never be forgotten, while buns (home-made buns and scones are most excellent), biscuits, and bread and butter suffice for quite a large party of friends, and there is neither extra trouble nor fuss of any kind. Of course, teacups and saucers are of all sorts and conditions, but I think small blue and white ones on a china tray are the prettiest of all, and can generally be replaced should a misfortune happen to them; while Liberty’s ornamental china cups and saucers are always pretty, and can invariably be matched.

No room is bearable without, or looks ugly with, plants and flowers, so I hope that these may always be found in the drawing-rooms, at least, of any of those who do me the favor to read, mark, and inwardly digest the pages of this little book.

CHAPTER X.

CURTAINS, CARPETS, AND LIGHTING.

The best white curtains are undoubtedly made of soft clear muslin, edged and furthermore embellished by insertions of guipure lace—the insertion is put in a slip close to the edge, and washes beautifully—but those curtains, unless made at home, are undoubtedly expensive. Still, nothing looks like them, and if they are arranged on the rods in such a manner that the edges of the outside lace just touch, they form a complete screen, and yet hide nothing from the owner of the house, who can see from her windows comfortably without being spied over, and, being fixed, last clean really a very long time indeed. And then, if the thicker curtains are placed on a straight brass rod, as narrow as the weight they have to support will allow, no blinds are required, for the warm drapery draws straight over them, and either serves as a blind to keep out the light or a screen to keep out the draughts, and so does away with the expensive blind with its rollers, its cord eternally out of order, and its ugly effect from both inside and outside the house.

A good ‘book’ or Swiss ‘mull’ muslin costs about 10½d. a yard, the guipure edging and insertion about 1s. 6½d.; therefore the cost of these curtains is easily calculated by any one who measures her own windows and sees what length and quantity of material is required for them. Bedroom windows look extremely nice if treated in a similar manner in the French checked muslin, such as the bonnes use for their caps and aprons, and of which our Sunday summer frocks used to be made in our young days, and which costs 10½d. a yard. If this be used, the curtains must be edged with a two-inch goffered frill, which must invariably edge all the curtains that are not treated with lace edgings, for nothing looks worse than the hard line of a curtain that is neither frilled nor lace-trimmed.

Of the popularity of the soft and beautiful Madras muslins there is scarcely any necessity to speak, as it is now familiar to most of us; but despite its beauty and (in some cases) its cheapness, I must add a word of warning on the subject of Madras, especially addressed to our young friends with limited means, for the cheap sort of Madras does not wash satisfactorily, and should, therefore, be avoided by all those who have to study economy, and have not only to buy things, but to select them in such a manner that they shall last after their first visit to the wash-tub at the very least.

The cheap Madras washes into holes, and all the pretty colours vanish, and a limp rag returns to us instead of the charming curtains that gave such a style to the appearance of the outside of our house; and the expensive ones, too, are apt to ‘run’ in the washing, and are out of the purchasing power of any one whose means are really limited; for these cost from 6s. 9d. to 8s. 9d. a yard, and therefore become expensive items in our expenditure at once, although they contrast favourably with the fine lace and embroidered curtains sold ready to put up at 5l. or 6l. a pair, or at times even more than that. But ready-made curtains designed with large and marvellous patterns must not even enter a really artistic home. They mean nothing, can never be anything save vulgar and pretentious, and are therefore to be avoided; for if we are rich we can have the best Madras, the finest guipure and muslin; and if we are poor we can yet have our white muslin, either frilled or edged with guipure, as rich as our modest means will allow; or the valuable Mysore and artistic muslins at 9¾d. and 3¾d. a yard, which wash excellently if done at home—in water without soda and with a few drops of vinegar in to ‘set the colours,’ as the washerwomen say.

A bow-window, the orthodox suburban villa bow-window, is, I own, a very difficult subject to treat, but I have circumvented even that by an arrangement of curtains on rods managed as described above, and in the first-named window have two narrow white curtains meeting at the top of the window, and gradually sloping away until they are about five inches apart at the bottom; the wider centre sash is treated in the same manner with wider curtains, the plain edge of which meets the edge of the curtain that fits the narrow sash on both sides of the broader window; for the usual bow is made of a flat sash in the middle, between two narrow sashes that bow slightly; the muslin is ‘taut’, as sailors would say, and is always tidy, and by using these narrow very cheap rods all expensive fitted and formed poles and valances are done away with, and a most expensive and vexatious item in our expenditure completely swept off our schedule of payments to be made. The muslin curtains neatly up, a thicker rod can be fixed in three portions, each portion separate and distinct, for the heavier curtains. Those in any dining-room can be made of several materials. Shoolbred had a beautiful gold figured damask, double width, at 4s. 9d., which looks like silk, though naturally it is nothing of the kind; this drapes beautifully and looks charming, as it falls into folds and never fades; it can be edged with a ball fringe to match, which adds a good deal to the expense, but looks better than anything else, or else by a frill, but this is a little heavy, as the material is thick. This material can be had in a beautiful pale blue and a good terra-cotta as well as in the yellow, but I have no experience of the wear of the two former colours, and therefore cannot tell whether they last as well and as satisfactorily as the yellow does. To make the window look really nice, you require one breadth hung down straight at the end of the first slip of window against the wall, edged all round the sides and bottom with ball fringe or the frill; then another breadth on the other side of the slip to pull halfway across the wider window to meet a third curtain hanging straight in the middle of the other division, and being met in its turn by a fourth, which, when undrawn, should hang straight against the wall in the same way that curtain number one does.

The artistic serges sold by Colbourne & Co., 82 Regent Street, at 1s. 11½d. a yard, and Stephen’s Sicilienne damasks at 7s. 9d. a yard, are excellent curtain materials also, as are the stamped jutes and corduroy serges sold for this purpose by Mr. Smee.

But, whatever the material, in no case should the curtains be draped, or tied up or chained as if they were wild beasts, with great gold or brass chains (truly the very ‘foolishest’ things that were ever invented for the purpose), and they should never come below the window sill or the dado line, save and except in the case of a French window opening to a garden or conservatory, when the white drapery should be fixed on rods to the frame of the door, and the warmer curtains should be draped so as to keep out the draughts and be drawn readily; and this is done by sewing them to large rings that run easily on a brass pole, which must be as small and unobtrusive as possible; and when not in use the curtains must be drawn close to the wall and tied back, if wished, with Liberty soft silk handkerchiefs—the 3s. 6d. size makes two of these ties—in a colour to harmonise or contrast with that employed in the new curtains themselves. These curtains must be about an inch longer than the length from the pole to the floor, and must rather more than touch the floor, because a French window means a draught to one’s toes, that can only be circumvented by longish curtains, and a thick mat, so placed as to be easily moved, should the window open into the room itself.

Roman sheetings are also excellent for curtains, and plush is the king of materials, if we could afford it; the shades of colour in the folds are perfect, and the tints in which plush is made are always lovely; but as we cannot afford that, we must turn our eyes away from such enchanting visions, and look out for a nice Mysore chintz for the drawing-room, which must be lined, to make it warmer and more durable, and trimmed with the goffered frill that always looks well in all washing materials; the frill need not be lined. For bedrooms, there is nothing better than the dark blue and white cretonne, the same both sides; or Burnett’s excellent ‘marguerite’ cretonnes, in different colours, at 9½d. a yard; the dark blue and white need not be lined unless the bedroom receive the very early sun, when a lining is necessary if blinds be done without; but I should make the curtains double, as the material is as cheap as any lining procurable, and looks far better than any self-colour could possibly look. These cretonnes wash most beautifully, and begin at 9d. a yard. The chairs, frill to the mantel-board, eider-down, and any bookcase edges should all be finished with the same style of cretonne, though, of course, any other harmonious colour can be introduced to avoid too much sameness. The chair covers should be loose, and edged with a frill, as also should be the eider-down cover; this spoils any room if kept in its Turkey-patterned material, and should always be put into a cretonne washable cover, as much for beauty as for health. But these details must be kept for another chapter, as they do not enter into the great subject of curtains.

It may sound ridiculous, but I here state boldly that I can invariably make a more than shrewd guess of the character of the folks who inhabit a house by noticing what sort of ideas they have on the subject of draperies; and I may safely say that I have never been mistaken. The carefully and prettily and tidily arranged curtains tell me at once of the pleasant folk I shall find inside; just as surely as the dirty, untidy muslin or the gorgeously patterned, expensive, and pretentious curtains warn me against the slattern, or the vulgarian with whom I have nothing in common, should I ever have the bad fortune to have to enter behind those warning marks; while the soft Madras or delicate lace indicate an artistic mistress with whom I shall, I know, spend many pleasant hours. This being the case, do not wonder, dear readers, that I lay much stress and write at great length on this momentous subject, for it is one on which almost volumes could be written; for while the inside of your houses only speak to your friends and relations, the outside tells a great deal to strangers, and either repels or attracts, according to the manner in which you arrange your windows.

Unless your windows are very small, as in sketch 16, never be without white curtains of some kind, for if you are the house resembles some one who has forgotten her cuffs and collar or white frillings, but if they are like the sketch, you cannot do better than use Pither’s old-gold-coloured, printed linen edged with ball fringe; this serves all purposes of blinds and curtains alike, and always looks artistic, while the windows are not obscured and stuffed up, as are those in most of our English houses.

And here let me say most emphatically that ordinary blinds are not necessary, and are never useful; if the house has very much sun, inside blinds are no use at all; the heat that makes most town houses unendurable is caused by the sun striking down on the glass of the window, and to obviate this the glass itself must be covered outside. Our summer is but a short one at best, but if we cannot bear the sun we must put up outside blinds, or hang grass mats over the glass outside; these are the only really necessary blinds; to say the least the others are unhealthy. The sun is the life-giver, after all, and he had better fade our curtains and our carpets than that the lack of his beams should fade our own and our children’s cheeks! This, too, is another reason why we should never buy very expensive curtains or carpets; fortunately hardly any of the materials I have spoken of cost much, while Kidderminster squares—my favourite matting and rugs—or even stained floors and rugs, are all within the powers of the humblest of us.

I myself prefer matting for a dining-room at 1s. 6d. a yard, and covered here and there with rugs, put down where the greatest amount of traffic may be expected; but this is expensive, if set against the pretty carpets in art colours, made at Kidderminster, and sold by the yard at about 3s. 6d. a yard, the colours of which are extremely good. And if we cannot afford matting in the dining-room, a carpet that would go very well with the room would be shades of very faint sage-green, with dashes of terra-cotta in. But I much prefer the matting, and should always advise this for any one who could afford it, and yet could not afford the Oriental carpet that is, of course, the carpet for a dining-room. The rugs range from 7s. 6d., but these are Scinde rugs, and do not wear very well. Liberty, Maple, and Shoolbred have all an excellent choice, but I think Maple’s rugs are the best for people with a small amount of money to spend; and there is this to consider about rugs, they can be shaken at least once a week and continually turned about, and when too shabby for downstairs they can be taken upstairs, finally dying an honourable death before the kitchen fire or by the bedsides of the maids. Still, much as I like matting, I must confess the total cost is more than three times the cost of a Kidderminster square, which in its turn can be taken up, shaken, and moved about, as, being square, there are no corners to consider, and no back and front and sides to think about either. But we must put carpet felt or paper-felt under our squares if we wish them to wear and to feel soft and pleasant under our feet; and it is as well to put down large sheets of brown paper before even the felt goes down. All this adds considerably to the wear of the carpet.

There is a curious habit in some parts of Canada of making a species of bed of hay under the carpet, and it gives a very pleasant feeling to any one walking thereon; of course soft, fine hay is chosen, and it is most carefully laid down, and evenly and tightly packed; and in a room on the basement floor, as so often rooms are situated in small suburban houses, it is a great comfort; it is very warm in winter and cool in summer, and if the hay-bed is made about twice a year, I believe it requires no further attention.

An old friend of mine who lived in poor circumstances in a stone-floor cottage in Dorsetshire, who had passed some years of her life in Canada, always stretched her carpet over such a bed, and I well remember how delightful her floor felt, and how she never suffered, as so many of her neighbours did, from rheumatism and other evils inseparable from the ordinary covering to a stone or brick floor. I have more than once recommended this in a basement kitchen or servants’ sitting-room, and never without hearing that it was pronounced a great and unfailing success and source of comfort to the domestics.

If, however, a Kidderminster square is chosen, the boards for about two feet from the wainscot must be stained a good brown shade: if the boards are pretty good, and do not require stopping with putty to keep out the draughts, as so many of our suburban houses require ‘stopping,’ owing to the shrinking of the green wood used, alas! for the purposes of floors, doors, and windows, Edwin or Angelina can well manage this themselves. Whiteley keeps Ryland’s stain ready prepared in a big tin jar, and with the right sort of brush this is soon put on; when dry it should be well and thoroughly polished with beeswax and turpentine, and if this is done weekly I am sure the floor will never require staining for many years; but if ‘stopping’ is necessary, the workmen employed can stain the floors too; for the extra charge will be but small, and it will save a back-ache, and insure the work being thoroughly and properly done.

These hints about carpets are perhaps a trifle prolix, but they will do for the whole of the house—of course varying the colours to suit the rooms, and being very careful in the selection of patterns. Mr. Morris has some of his very best designs manufactured in Kidderminster, so the cheap make of the mere carpet need not be sneered at; but we cannot afford Morris, much as we should like to do so, for his Kidderminsters are as costly as most people’s Brussels; and if we are careful, we can get nearly as pretty patterns elsewhere at one fourth the cost, but we must be very careful, for there are some red carpets, some blue, and some a fearful nondescript hue, suggestive of the workhouse—I know not why—that would irretrievably and utterly spoil any room in which they were put; but there is a royal blue with paler blue flowers, or rather ‘fan-like things,’ that is perfect; this is, however, sold by the yard, and has to be made into a square, without a border, and just trimmed with a woollen fringe, which is procurable at Colbourne’s, 82 Regent Street, and which wears magnificently: I have had one down now for three years in a room that experiences a great deal of traffic, and it is at the moment of writing as good as ever it was, and is admired by every one who comes in; and the sage-green carpet mentioned before is also quite safe to suit almost any room. This is also sold by the yard, and has to have a woollen fringe too.

If the house have bow-windows, an extra square of carpet, or else a Scinde rug at 7s. 6d., can be laid down there; there is not much ‘traffic’ in a bow-window, and the rugs look nicer than anything, and wear quite a reasonable time in such a locality, and these can be easily replaced. A piece of the carpet itself always looks out of place somehow, and spoils any room.

For a really good carpet, I like a fine Oriental carpet, with a good deal of white in it, or a Wilton, or velvet pile; but I always like something cheaper myself, as I do not like old carpets or old curtains. They must retain a certain amount of dust and dirt, and I therefore infinitely prefer either a good Kidderminster, or else the matting and rugs spoken of at first, which can be replaced when shabby without too great an effort for a moderate income. There are just one or two trifles that I should like to speak of here. Matting should be swept one way regularly, and by a proper matting brush. It can be washed with soap and a little water, and it has a wonderful way of never collecting dust that is marvellous. Oriental rugs and carpets should be swept one way only also; and the Kidderminster squares should be shaken often, but not continually swept; the shaking gets rid of the dirt, while sweeping wears them out much quicker than need be.

In connection with the carpets and curtains, we may just as well speak of the lighting of the sitting-rooms before passing away from them to the bedchambers. And here I must impress upon my readers never to have gas anywhere where they can avoid using it, and to pray heartily for that bright day to dawn when the electric light shall be within the reach of all, and when Mr. Swan tells us how to light our houses as perfectly as he has done his own; and I confess that when I recollect that charming abode, where fairies seem to superintend the lighting, so wonderfully is it managed, I feel consumed with rage and anger, to think that I was not born in a time when the electric light will be as much a matter of course as the present odious system of lighting by gas is; but as we are still unemancipated from the thraldom of gas, we must try to make the best of a bad job, and confine the enemy to where it can do least harm, and be of the most good at the same time.

An oil lamp in the hall is apt to give a gloomy impression to guests, and also is rather a difficult matter to manage. It is expensive, and is apt to get out of order at a critical moment; so I think gas must be adhered to here. A cathedral glass hanging lamp, square shape, and framed in brass, and fitted with an Argand burner, is as good a thing as one can possibly procure for gas, unless we select the more artistic beaten iron lamps sold by Strode and Co., of 48 Osnaburgh Street, W. The prices are about equal, I think, and quite a beautiful one can be bought for about 4l. It requires no cleaning beyond the ordinary cleaning, and gives a strong, steady light, the glass sides of the lantern or lamp presenting any flickering when the hall door is opened suddenly. I have occasionally seen a hall lighted from the sides, but I do not care for this, as it does not have the genial effect of the lighting from the top; but should this be preferred, a man at Whitechapel makes very charming side lanterns, of cathedral glass, that go round and almost cover in the gas bracket, thus preventing any danger of fire, and keeping away a very great deal of the heat and burnt atmosphere that make gas always so trying to any sensitive person. I think these lanterns are from 5s. to 10s. each, and they are, at all events, very artistic to look at.

Then there are beaten shields of brass, with the owner’s initials on, from whence protrude the gas bracket, also in brass, and there are, furthermore, those delightful revivals of the old hammered iron trade that were to be seen in the Old London street at the Inventions, and the use of which would almost reconcile me to burning gas. These iron brackets and lamps are expensive, quite small brackets costing 1l. 12s.; but they are well worth the money if we have it to spend, because they are so nice to look at. In our sitting-rooms we should never for one moment allow ourselves to have gas. I always burn in a very large drawing-room two of Mortlock’s blue and white china lamps fitted with duplex burners. At first, when the fiat went forth that gas was tabooed, those lamps were the bane of my life. I had a most excellent housemaid in those days, who did her work most beautifully, but only in her own way and in none other. True to my principles of non-interference, I had allowed her this way of hers, because it was as good a one as could be wished for; but when it came to suddenly cutting off her precious privilege of lighting up the gas and drawing the curtains, I soon saw that war was before me, and felt that now or never was I to maintain my right to my lamps, did I prefer them to what the gas company of the tiny town I then lived in facetiously called gas; but that was an awful smelling compound, which burned with a feeble and ghastly blue flame on weekdays, and which generally failed us altogether when Sunday meant gas in the church. Of course then we had comparatively to go without, as that gas would not be in church and our houses at the same time, and our lives bid fair to be & misery to us in the long December afternoons and evenings; when my good genius said ‘Lamps,’ and I then invested in those I still have, rejoiced to think we could see to read now, whether the gracious gas company deigned to allow us any gas (?) or no.

I had received full directions with the lamps, and knew exactly what to do with them. They were guaranteed not to smell, my one dread, and I was accordingly armed at every point to meet Emily’s objections. She had work enough. Well, beyond cutting the wicks and refilling the brass cups, there was no addition; so she took them off with a flounce and a bang into her own particular sanctum, and looked like a walking volcano for the rest of the day. However, to make a long story short, those lamps were made to behave as if they were possessed by the very spirit of mischief. They smelt, they flared, they smoked, they sang a blood-curdling little song I feared meant explosions; but insisting on their being taken out of the room night after night and brought back until they did burn finally conquered Emily, and as she saw I meant to have my lamps she gave in, and they now never smell, and never give me a moment’s trouble.

I mention all this to guide those young people who are apt to be treated as I was, and who, knowing paraffin does smell, may perhaps be inclined to give in and return to gas, because their servant declares she cannot manage the ‘dratted thing.’ The smell comes from some of the oil having been dropped on the brass part of the lamp, which gets heated, and, of course, smells abominably, and if the lamp be dull it is because the poor thing is clogged with oil and literally cannot manage to breathe; then drop the brass parts of the lamp, minus the wick, of course, into some clean water, and boil them as you would an egg over the fire. This loosens and gets away all the stale oil, which need never be there if the housemaid is really careful, and your lamp once more burns as brightly as ever it did. I use no screens over my lamps, as I put them behind me in such a manner that the light falls only on my book, and, of course, on the books and work of those who may also be in the room; but charming screens can be made by taking a sheet of tissue paper in such a manner in the centre that you can pass it rapidly up and down through your hands until it is a mass of crinkles and waves; then tear off the piece you have been holding and you have a pale pink wavy-looking screen that is charming, and costs the fraction of a farthing. The Germans also make beautiful lamp screens by cutting out scalloped pieces of tissue paper, on which are placed real leaves and coloured grasses. These are covered by another piece of tissue paper gummed lightly round the edges, and the effect of these when nicely arranged is really positively beautiful. About five of these scalloped pieces of tissue paper make one shade, and they are tied together with very narrow ribbon bows at the top, which allows of their being regulated to the size of the lamp. And yet another still more beautiful shade can be made by buying a wire frame made on purpose at Whiteley’s, and covering all the divisions with thin blue silk, the palest shade possible. Each division should be covered in such a way that the stitches do not show. Round the edge sew a two-inch silk fringe, and arrange fluffy ruches of the silk down each rib and round the edge of the lamp-shade. This is not very expensive, and is the best shade possible. By the way, red and yellow shades should always be avoided; the first makes every one look like apoplectic fits, and the second as if jaundice were imminent; and don’t ever buy the abominations of shades that are meant for owls’ heads; they are monstrosities to be classed with the Mahdi notepaper and other vulgarisms of the day. Other nice occasional lamps are the very cheap brass lamps sold at 7s. 6d. and 10s. 6d. each. I do not think these good enough to read by, but they are most useful for ordinary use at dinner or to write a note by, and are also useful to put back on the buffets that do duty for sideboards in my dining-room, to give a little more light when we have extra folk to dinner, and I use my candelabra for lighting the larger table, but for all everyday use at table those brass lamps are quite enough, and, being easily lighted and kept clean, are really invaluable.

One is obliged to have gas in rooms where there are children, because candles and lamps are so easily knocked over, and it is useful, too, in bedrooms where a sudden light may be required, but it is a most unhealthy, destructive thing, and, as I said before, I look forward to Mr. Swan doing as much for us as he has done for himself.

If my readers—any of them—should doubt for one moment the truth of what I have said about the relative values of lamps and gas, let them for the next six months give the two things a fair trial in two separate rooms in the same house; let them look at the ceilings in those rooms, examine the picture-cords, and the relative cleanliness of the blinds and draperies, and let them—no; they, poor things, will need no examination. I was going to add, let them examine, too, their plants; but in one of those rooms there will be none left to examine, for they will be dead as surely as ever they were plants at all. Half the weary headaches and lassitude we have all felt at times come from this pernicious enemy; and there are few doctors whose first directions to an invalid’s nurse do not contain emphatic orders to lower the gas and, in fact, to substitute candles for it as soon as possible; but if bedroom candles are used, they should never be allowed without a glass shield—sold, I think, by Messrs. Field and Co., the nightlight people. This insures that the carpets are free from being dropped upon by the wax or composite, and furthermore insures a certain amount of safety from fire, which is a vast consideration, for a draught, a floating curtain, and a bare unguarded candle may often result in a serious calamity, for, even if much damage by fire is not done, a serious fright may be given to some who are ill able to bear anything of the kind. Gas should never be in servants’ bedrooms—the best of them cannot help burning it to waste; neither should they be allowed candles—they are careless, the very best of them; and I always provide my maidens with tiny paraffin lamps, costing 6d., which I can only buy in a Dorsetshire town (Messrs. A. and A. Drew, Wareham, Dorset, is the correct address)—even Whiteley doesn’t keep them. These have a tiny brass cap that puts out the light, and are not in any way dangerous, because there is nothing to spill, the sponge and wick inside absorbing all the oil, and if they are knocked over they are so small the light pops out at once; yet there is light enough to dress by, if not to read novels in bed by, and the maids themselves prefer these small lamps to anything else.

In conclusion, remember that crystal A 1 oil, at 10d. the gallon, is the best, most economical oil to burn. It should be had in in a five-gallon tin, which fills up the small tins from whence the lamps are filled in their turn, which must be filled by daylight, and recollect also that china lamps are much the cleanest, and least likely to smell with the most careless housemaid, who must always be made to take her lamps out of the room over and over again; the mistress never once overlooking a smoking, dirty, or odoriferous lamp, until perfection is attained. That this is possible—ay, and easy—to obtain I have, I hope, demonstrated to all of my readers by the before-mentioned anecdote. If, however, the housemaid is really a good one, I should prefer to use Strode’s beautiful copper and beaten iron lamps, with tinted glasses for shades; or else with pale blue silk shades, stretched between copper ribs that give a wonderfully artistic look to any room. Benson, who sells his wares at Smee’s and Liberty’s, designs perfect lamps also, and all these should be seen by the intending purchaser before finally deciding which to buy. Again I say, never do your shopping in a hurry: if you do, you are sure to see something you like better—in the next street may be, and, oh! agony, at half the price!

CHAPTER XI.

BEDROOMS.

Also, the bedrooms should be kept very nice. This no one servant can do, unless she is considered and helped, and I should strongly advise Angelina not to be above making her own bed, even if she have a housemaid as well as a cook, for she and the housemaid together can shake it up and fold the blankets and sheets nicely and neatly, while the cook is clearing away breakfast, and interviewing the tradespeople downstairs, whose orders should be ready written out for them by the mistress, so that there should be no loitering at the back door, wasting time for both the cook and the men too. But before I go into the divers methods of bed-making, and speak of the beds themselves, I should like to describe one or two rooms, as far as paper and paint go, and give some idea of the colours I consider fittest for a bedroom. Formerly, anything in that way did for a room, where no one then seemed to remember we had to spend a good part of our lives, and where we had occasionally to be ill and miserable, and wanted as much help over our troubles as we could obtain from our surroundings; and who does not recollect the orthodox bedroom of her youth—the fearful paper, all blue roses and yellow lilies, or, what was worse still, the dreary drab and orange, or green upon green scrolls and foliage, that we used to contemplate with horror, wondering why such frightful papers were made! Then came the carpet, a threadbare monstrosity, with great sprawling green leaves and red blotches, ‘made over,’ as the Yankees say, from a first appearance in a drawing-room, where it had spent a long and honoured existence, and where its enormous design was not quite as much out of place as it was in the upper chambers. Indeed, the bedrooms, as a whole, seemed to be furnished, as regards a good many items, out of the cast-off raiment of the downstairs rooms; and curtains that had seen better days, and chairs too decrepit to be honourable company in the downstairs apartments, all crept up into the bedrooms, anything being good enough for a room where ‘company’ would not be expected to enter.

I myself remember a carpet that began life quite forty years ago, for it was over ten years old when I made its acquaintance in a country dining-room; it was drab, and was ‘enlivened’ with spots of brown, like enlarged ladybirds. It lived for twenty years in that room, covered in holland in the summer, and preserved from winter wear by the most appallingly frightful printed red and green ‘felt square’ I ever saw; it then was altered for the schoolroom, then went up into ‘the girl‘s’ bedroom, and still exists in strips beside the servants’ beds, although the original owner of that fearful possession has been dead over twenty of those forty years; and when I consider the dirt and dust that has become a part and parcel of it, I am only thankful that our pretty cheap carpets do not last as carpets used to do, for I am sure such a possession cannot be healthy; though the present proud possessor points to the strips, as a proof of how much better things used to wear in her mother’s days, than they do now, in these iconoclastic ones of ours.

I am afraid I am not an orthodox housekeeper, for I confess most frankly I do not want my things to wear for ever, certainly not my carpets and curtains, and that is one reason why I am so thankful for the present style of pretty light cretonnes, mattings, and Kidderminster carpets. They are so clean and bright, and enable us to have our bedrooms fresh, pleasant, and new, instead of making them up out of things that have seen their best days in another sphere; and as I want Angelina to recollect she may have to spend some little time in the bedroom occasionally, as years go by, I wish to impress upon her to remember all this in the arrangement of the house, and to be sure and buy only those colours that give her pleasure, and to have no jarring ugliness to fret her, and add in any measure to her time of illness and convalescence; for, as I have said before, no one knows how much we are affected insensibly by our surroundings, and how much our spirits are affected too by what we have to look at!

The first thing to recollect in choosing one’s paper is that there should be nothing aggravating in it—no turns and twists that shall bother us as we lie in bed; no squares or triangles that flatly refuse to join; in fact, nothing special that can possibly worry us. I had once on one of my walls a