DINING-ROOMS
The suburban rooms I myself have personally encountered and conquered
have been so truly terrible that, when I look back upon my struggles
with them, I can only wonder that I have survived them in the least
degree. For not only were they either unduly hideous or over-ornamented
in a manner that would strike awe into the boldest soul, but every
window and door gaped wide apart, and were with the fireplaces, put just
where they ought not to be, while in one or two cases the floors had to
be relaid and the doors bodily moved round before the rooms were even
habitable. I could only wonder whether the folks who had lived in some
of them before (two or three were quite new, and these were, save in one
instance, the worst of the lot) had escaped with their lives, or
whether they had all gone away crippled in health and in temper, on a
voyage of discovery to some better and more suitably-designed, eligible
villa residence.
The first room I ever approached with an eye to decoration appeared to
be everything it ought to be, and seemed simply perfect. It was large
and lofty, had two wide and beautiful windows, and a good, deep
fireplace and an excellent floor; but alas! I was not as wise then as I
am now, for my only acquaintance with houses was confined to two family
houses, in which I had lived all my life, and which were properly built,
whatever their other faults might have been: and, in consequence, my
sufferings during the first month in that special dining-room were so
acute that I have never forgotten one of the numerous pangs and torments
I endured: silently, it is true, because then I thought them inevitable,
and it is never any use grumbling against things which must be borne!
But presently sense awoke in my brain, and I saw that nothing which had
caused me such woe need be put up with any longer, and I verily believe
the knowledge I have since developed on the score of house-furnishing
and decoration first became mine in that special house, for I was roused
to the fight with cold and discomfort inseparable from a quiescent
residence in a suburban house, and soon discovered cold could be
expelled did one rise to the occasion and determine that, somehow or
other, one would conquer, and no longer play the ignoramus or the very
painful _rôle_ of the conquered.
In the first place, the door opened straight on the fireplace, and as
the front door--a frail thing of boards and sham stained glass--was
about 6 feet away from it, the cold air rushed in the instant it was
opened, and the heat of the fire flew mainly up the chimney, insuring
that the rest of the room should be more like Siberia than any other
spot. And in the second, the windows need not have been glazed at all so
little did they keep out the outside atmosphere, notwithstanding the
curtains which liberally adorned them, and which used to wave right out
into the room at the very smallest approach of a breeze. When there was
any amount of real wind, the room wasn’t a room any longer, it was one
and the same thing as being in the garden, and anyone can easily
understand how pleasant it was to come down to breakfast there with a
roaring fire going up the chimney and a north or east wind playfully
careering around the table, which, place it how we might, could never be
in anything save a thorough draught.
The first thing to do was to transpose the door, and make it open with
its back to the grate. Then it had to be surrounded with the ever-useful
‘Slater’s patent’; and, as it opened into the room, a species of shelter
was arranged behind it, while a curtain was hung on it--on one of the
rods which open and shut with the door--and a pair of curtains put
outside it. These hung straight down in good heavy folds when we were
alone and there was not very much going in and out; and, as we had a
‘hatch’ into the kitchen, there never was much; but on ‘dinner-party
nights’ the curtains were tied back, and so did not interfere with the
coming and going, as a single undraped curtain always must interfere
either more or less. Then attention was turned to the windows, and
these were surrounded by more ‘Slater’s patent,’ which was liberally
supplemented by putty, because the frames began to shrink away from the
glass in a truly hideous manner, and, in consequence, there were two
gaps, one there, and one where the frames were supposed to fit into the
woodwork round the walls. The woodwork, in its turn, shrank from the
brickwork, and the space had to be filled in with mortar and then
painted over.
Now this special house was not a regulation £60-a-year villa, but was
rented £160, and had a fair garden and good stabling, and was altogether
what may be termed a ‘residence for a gentleman’s family;’ nay, even by
some house-agents, ‘a mansion,’ because it had a second staircase; yet
such is the material used in the suburbs! I repeat, this special house
was a good specimen of the kind, and was not, as might be imagined, a
‘fearful example’ or an isolated case, so I leave my readers to imagine
what the less-expensive buildings can be like, even when they can truly
be advertised as possessing tiled hearths, electric bells and all the
latest improvements, including a fixed bath, hot and cold water laid
on; and other items familiar to those who have gone on heart-breaking
journeys in search of a house, liberally supplied with a sheaf of pink
and fallacious orders from a house agent. In fact, before the
dining-room was livable in, we had to almost reconstruct the windows and
doors; and I only regret that my improvements did not then rise to
putting in a proper grate, for I am sure, if I had done so, the conquest
of the room would have been complete. But unfortunately I did not
realise the horrors of it until all the decorations were done and we had
settled in, and then expense barred the way; not only the expense of the
new grate: that would have been saved in the difference in our winter’s
consumption of coal: but the cost of replacing the Japanese leather
dado, which could not be matched, and, in consequence, would have had to
be renewed entirely, because the grate and mantelpiece could not have
been moved without spoiling at least a yard of it on each side of the
fireplace. A new grate without a new mantel was also impossible, because
the moulded mantelpiece, being round above the grate, was not available
for the slow-combustion stoves, which are always made square. Everyone
should refuse to own a round mantelpiece, because of the impossibility
of adapting such a possession to the proper and only really useful
grate. If, by the way, Japanese leather paper is used for the
dining-room dado, or indeed anywhere for any dado or frieze, an extra
piece should always be purchased at the same time, and kept carefully in
some dry place, and indeed an extra piece of all wall papers should be
secured. Japanese paper particularly can never be matched. I do not
think, in all my large experience, I have ever come across a second
consignment of a pattern I have seen before; therefore it is easy to see
how necessary it is to secure more than one requires at first, else,
should an accident occur, or as in my own case, an improvement be
contemplated, one either has to leave the accident unrepaired or the
improvement undone, because one cannot afford to replace perhaps 24
yards, when a couple at most is all that one really requires.
I have remarked before that in a new house it is absolutely imperative
to have large fires going before we begin our decorations, but it is
such a necessary thing to do that I must repeat the hint once more, for
only after a succession of fires can we see whether the boards and
window frames mean to shrink, and if they do we must apply our means of
alleviation before we begin to paper and paint. At the same time, we may
take it for granted that, try how we may to ascertain them, we shall not
find out the real faults and real virtues of a house until we have lived
in it, just as we never know our friends really until we have stayed
with them or they have stayed with us. But for all that, Slater’s patent
putty, and curtains will help us immensely, and more especially if we
adapt ourselves to the house a little, and realise, for example, that
the head of the table can be just where we like to make it, and need not
be exactly between the door and window with the fire at the back,
because the orthodox dinner-table seems able to stand in no other
position.
Now I maintain that no one should ever buy the regulation long
dinner-table, and that happiness and comfort, to say nothing of beauty,
are much more likely to be found at one that is round or oval than at
one that has the usual British head and foot. If it be round, the master
of the house sits naturally where his place is put for him, but if not
he as naturally gravitates towards the head, regardless of the fact that
his back is scorched and he feels ill and uncomfortable, the while his
feet and hands are in Siberia, and an icy blast plays about his head
because the door opens straight on him, and in consequence he cannot get
out of the range of the bitter wind from the passage or hall, try how he
may to exclude it from the room. Talk about heredity how one will, and
disguise if we dare its dreadful tyranny if we are sufficiently ignorant
on the subject to do so with proper complacency, still I venture to
remark that the dogma is proved to the hilt every day. An ordinary
English family takes possession of the miserable hulks most of our
houses are, and settles down without a struggle against them, to
patiently endure the preventable miseries inseparable therefrom. There
is no real need for any man to sit at the head of a dining-table,
generally twice too long, too, for everyday needs. The side would be
far more comfortable, far more common-sense in every way, but because
the male of the house has always taken his seat in that special
position, perhaps at the commencement of the family in a castle the
walls of which were 3 feet thick, the present day man does the same and
remains there, although he grumbles all the time and ‘wishes to
goodness’ some way might be found by which he could be insured from
being starved with cold or fried to death, or indeed often enough both
at the same time. Therefore is it well to have a round table, for
anywhere there can be the head or the foot, and the man at once accepts
the new position, without demur; but given the ordinary table, nothing
will move him, argue as we will and demonstrate as we may how infinitely
better, in every possible manner, another seat would be for him.
Of course, if the house be accepted as it is, nothing can ever make it
nice, be sure of that. If it be wind and water-tight, and that is a rare
experience, the so-called decorations will either be terrible, or else
will ‘swear’ continually at the belongings we bring to put amidst them.
Lucky is the woman who finds dirty paint and torn and smudged papers
and who does not come across an obstinate landlord and a
‘newly-decorated house.’ If she does and she possesses an ordinary
husband who thinks anything does so long as it is clean and tidy, she
should flatly refuse to enter it, for if she has artistic taste her life
henceforward will be nothing but misery; for, absurd as it may seem,
real pain and discomfort are given by ugly or incongruous belongings;
and I venture to state boldly that people would be much happier did they
own and realise this fact, and give over priding themselves on ‘rising
above their surroundings,’ a thing no one possessed of the smallest eye
for colour or form was ever really able to do. Superior folk always tell
us we can, just as they say we ought not to be influenced by the
weather, yet ‘ought’ doesn’t come into the matter at all. Maybe we ought
not, but then we ought not to be ill or grow old, or be irritable, or
anything but severely virtuous and good in every _rôle_ we have to play
during life, but all these things _are_ or _are_ not. What they and we
_ought_ to be or to do is quite another matter, as anyone with a grain
of sense will, I think, admit.
[Illustration: DINING-ROOM AT WAYSIDE.]
When, therefore, we have duly circumvented the draughts and dangers
which await us in the ordinary suburban house, the next thing we have to
consider is either how to paint and paper and furnish, or how to
decorate to suit the goods we may already possess. If we have already
got our furniture, the paint and paper must be bought with an eye to
those. Yet as a rule it is so easy to re-cover dining-room furniture
that no one should be debarred from having a pretty room because they
have ugly seats to their chairs, or own perchance a set of frightful
curtains. I am no advocate for cheap materials, which appeal to a
‘threepenny public,’ and scarcely last until they are made up, such
fleeting joys are they: but I unhesitatingly say that, given the choice
between ruby velvet and Wallace’s old gold diamond serge, or pale blue
‘Tanjore cloth’ from Shoolbred, the ruby velvet may depart as far as I
am concerned, and I should put up the other colour in the cheap
material, knowing full well that the beautiful colour would always
delight me, while the velvet would disgust me every time that I entered
the room. The same remark applies to the carpet. If it be ‘handsome,’
generally another word for something too hideous for words, put it into
the next sale that is handy. Somehow ‘handsome carpets,’ always fetch
splendid prices at sales, where even good furniture is almost given
away. Then buy one of the many charming carpets Smee & Cobay, or
Wallace, or Hewetson sell, according to taste and means; remembering
that all carpets are merely backgrounds to the furniture, and should
never attract attention to themselves in any way. One very soon tires of
a pattern, an obtrusive pattern that is to say, while one never can tire
of soft shades of the same colour, or else of the excellent
‘drawing-room’ Turkey carpets or Bokhara carpets, sold by Bartholomew &
Fletcher and Shoolbred, which suit almost any room, and fit in with any
style of decoration. If, in removing to a new house, the mistress has to
consider her furniture and curtains and carpet, she must look at them
carefully before she begins her instructions to the decorator. Suppose
for example she has a big sideboard, ten or twelve walnut or oak chairs,
with shabby leather seats, an orthodox table, and perhaps a
writing-table, she will, as a rule, come to the end of her impedimenta.
Her first endeavour should be to get whoever may be coming into her
house to take curtains and carpets at a valuation; her second to put
them in a sale; then she can proceed joyfully, spending the proceeds on
new ones, which may be much simpler, but will be much more artistic, and
so much more satisfactory to live with in every way. If however she has
a pretty carpet and curtains, and they will not quite adapt themselves
to the room, what is she to do? In the first place if the carpet is too
large it is best to return it, if possible, to the shop where it was
bought to be re-made into a square, and edged with a nice woollen
fringe, if, indeed it was not born square as all carpets should be, and
furnished with a good border. The worn parts are thus eliminated but
should be carefully kept for mending purposes. In the second place, if
it is too small and cannot be matched, it should be surrounded by
matting, staining, or plain brown cork carpet according to the state of
the boards, and should be supplemented by a large Eastern rug in the
windows or by the fire unless the carpet is too small or too frankly
British for such treatment. In that case it must be sold or relegated to
another room. Unless this is done the result of any manœuvres which
may be made with it can only result in abject and total failure. If the
carpet be available and be of the new kind of Turkey carpet, it is well
to have a good yellow and brown scheme for one’s decoration; and, in any
case we must have some kind of a dado and that must be sought after very
carefully, for sometimes one can come across a real bargain in oak
panelling, to be sought for with most chances of success at Hewetson’s
and at Bartholomew & Fletcher’s; while Godfrey Giles’ ‘goehring’ and
‘Glastonbury’ dados are inexpensive and really good and what they are
meant to be. Personally I am devoted still to Japanese leather paper,
and these are all the materials I really care about for a dining-room
dado, though anaglypta is not to be despised. At the same time it is
generally 1s. a yard unpainted and one can get for the same price a good
Japanese leather which does not require painting, so there is no reason
for choosing the one in preference to the other. A gold and brown
leather paper dado should be the first thing to procure, either at
Liberty’s or Knowles’. Sometimes one has it, sometimes the other; it’s
all a matter of ‘consignments’ after all, and knowing where to search
for what one requires. Then all the paint everywhere must be ‘tea-pot’
or ‘earth-brown,’ while above the dado should be either a vivid yellow
paper, an orange, or a soft brown, according to the aspect of the room
itself. Orange and yellow look best in a sunless chamber, and a really
soft brown, something like the palest shade of chocolate, or the deepest
of _café-au-lait_, harmonises best with sunshine that pours into the
room from the first thing in the morning until late in the afternoon.
Then attention should be turned to the chairs, and if expense bars them
from being re-covered in soft brown leather, and take my word for it,
there’s ‘nothing like leather’ where dining-room chairs are concerned,
we can either fall back on ‘Pantasote,’ a species of crocodile-looking
material sold by any upholsterer, or we can use stamped and ribbed
velveteen from Shoolbred, or Wallace’s frisé velvet in golden brown,
which will transform the chairs at once, and bring them into harmony
with their surroundings, the while new yellow diamond serge curtains are
hung, and a diamond serge tablecloth, with a darker velveteen or frisé
velvet border laid on is placed on the table. If the awful sideboard
must be kept, we must make it as bearable as we can by placing a coarse
linen and Greek lace cloth on it which exactly fits the top, and just,
and only just, hangs over the edge. We can keep three plants there when
the sideboard is not in use at meal-times, but should, as a matter of
course, allow nothing whatever in the way of plate and dinner-table
accessories to spoil the appearance of the room. Such a room would be
quite simple, quite inexpensive, yet always a joy to live in, especially
if the rules of plain paint, ivory-coloured cornice and papered ceilings
are adhered to here as elsewhere. Trifles these things may be, but on
trifles depend success in furnishing, which never can be perfect if the
smallest matter is passed over which is not quite what it ought to be
merely because it is too ‘trivial to matter.’
There are about three different styles of windows in suburban
residences, and these are the bow, the ordinary sash, and what I call
the ‘_Randolph Caldecott_’ window; and all these can be most
successfully treated without using the abominable and expensive roller
blind to which Britons are so deeply, so almost irrevocably attached. We
have less sunshine than almost any other nation under heaven, yet we of
all people cling to the useless and truly ugly window blind with a
devotion worthy of a nobler cause. Still I have hopes that constant
preaching may do something, and that in time we may realise the fact
that nothing but outside blinds are of the smallest use in really hot
weather, and that curtains are meant to draw, and that should they fail
to be anything save melancholy wisps at the end of an expanse of glass,
they are not only useless but absolutely ridiculous in the eyes of any
artistic person. The ordinary bow window, if small has been so often
written about that I really cannot think it necessary to dwell upon it
again; and is it not illustrated not only in _From Kitchen to Garret_,
now a respectable classic nine years old, but in Wallace’s catalogue,
and Smee & Cobay’s, and doubtless in others too? But a larger one has
not been illustrated that I know of, and while the fundamental lines to
go on should be those of the small window, the material curtains should
be long, there should be no window-seat in the dining-room--unless there
are a couple of windows and no third sitting-room--and the muslin
curtains, which are fixed on the window frames and take the place of
blinds, should be supplemented by four long muslin curtains, frilled
each side, to go under the material curtains in the centre of the bow,
and two, frilled one side only, to go one each side at the end of the
bow. These curtains should be crossed at the top, and held back high up
with wide frilled bands of muslin similar to that used for the curtains.
As a rule H. Gorringe’s spotted muslin sold ready frilled is the best
material for this purpose, but I am very fond of Wallace’s ‘Guipure
vitrage’ for the curtains on the window. If this be used, the long
curtains should be of Guipure too, taking care to have a double edge to
the centre curtains, and a single one to those which go at the end of
the bow.
The ordinary sash window, if short, should be treated like the centre
window of the small bow window, but if it reaches from floor to ceiling
it should have the double set of muslin curtains which I have just been
writing about. Then we have only the Caldecott windows to
[Illustration]
deal with, and these, unless we are much overlooked, should have one set
of stout material curtains only. As a rule these windows are divided
into two parts, the top filled in with stained glass and immovable, the
second plain glass and opening either straight out or straight into the
room. The rods for the material curtains should come below the stained
glass, and each curtain should be placed to go down the wooden part of
the window frame only, and each small curtain should be drawn to keep
out the sun as required. If muslin must be had in addition to the
material, it must, should the window open out or into the room, be
fluted on a couple of rods, which are placed top and bottom of the
window itself. But if the window open outwards frilled muslin curtains
can be arranged on rods on the window frames, to remain in place whether
the window is open or shut, an arrangement which is imperative should
neighbours be close, or at anyrate, if we are provided with ‘Caldecott’
windows in our bedrooms. I do not advise a window-seat unless we have
two windows, because no one should ever sit in the dining-room unless it
is positively necessary to do so, and, moreover, it is well to use the
space for a writing-table and chair in any but a really large house,
and that is a place about which I am not writing at this moment. Here
can the husband devote some of his time to household matters and letters
of friendship when he is at home, while if there is no third room the
mistress can use the desk in the day-time, albeit I trust she may have
her own in the drawing-room, that is, if she cannot utilise some
upstairs room, although under no circumstances can I advise the stuffy
and stupid muddle of so-called ‘boudoir bedroom.’
[Illustration]
Now one word about the curtains which may possibly have to be used,
which may be artistic and pretty, and yet may not quite fit the bow
windows. If they are too long and wide anyone can tackle them; if they
are too short it is easy to make them longer by adding as much holland
at the top as is required, and then covering that with an adaptation of
Mr Ernest Newton’s turned-over draperies. If the original curtain is a
plain material, as, indeed, all curtains should be, the holland should
be covered by a deep flounce edged with trellis fringe, of some figured
material, either a good tapestry or my pet printed velveteen. If the
curtain be figured the turn-over drapery should be in plain Bokhara
plush or velveteen, while cheap serge curtains can be lengthened by
merely joining on more serge at the top, and hiding the join with a
narrow piece of ball-fringe merely tacked on. If the curtains are too
narrow, they can be widened with a deep flounce or frill of soft Surah
silk, or even sateen, in some plain colour, but these devices should
only be resorted to if the curtains are really worth saving; if not, it
is far better in every way to sell them, or give them away--the
ever-ravenous Kilburn establishment is always open to such gifts--and
purchase others, which can not only fit the windows, but at once allow
us to have, perhaps, far more harmonious surroundings.
Of course, if we are in the heavenly position of having no old
furniture, and can set to work with a free hand, and sufficient money to
enjoy ourselves, we can at once do just as we like. But no! even then we
have to consider the special room and how best to circumvent its
idiosyncrasies. As a rule the door is on the same side as the
fire-place, or else exactly opposite it, and we may have recesses on
each side of the fire-place, or we may have only an expanse of straight
wall beyond the door, and not a recess in the whole place. This latter
is the worse fate of the two. The recesses can always be filled either
with the charming buffets made both by Smee & Cobay, and Wallace, or by
colourable copies of the same without backs, made to fit the recesses,
which I do not advise, save in cases where money is a great object: then
and then only such an arrangement could be allowed. The shelves could be
on brackets and the wall behind hidden by little sateen curtains, sateen
curtains replacing the doors in the cupboard part. These shelves could
[Illustration]
be made by any amateur carpenter and are in any case much better
possessions than the dreary, little, badly-made sideboard one finds all
too often in far too many suburban residences. These sideboards are
machine-made and are cheap and nasty, generally coming to pieces after
the first fires have been lighted and always smelling of varnish, and
looking more depressing than I can say. If the wall be recessless, and
long and hopelessly flat, we should have a good buffet-sideboard in the
centre of the wall, in either some good brown wood, or else in my pet
stained
[Illustration]
green material with copper hinges and fixtures, but with no
looking-glass about it anywhere, and with nooks and odd places generally
for china and odds-and-ends. Then on one side of the fireplace should be
the dinner wagon, as illustrated, made from my ideas by Wallace. The
wood can be stained green, and the tray is copper. This is removable,
and allows the maid to carry out plates, china, etc. without an effort,
thus very greatly simplifying the mysteries known as ‘clearing away.’
There should be about ten chairs in the ordinary dining-room and these
could have stained green frames, and either orange or bright red leather
seats. In this case the wall-paper should be real sealing-wax red and
cream over a stained green dado, or else real bright orange over the
same kind of base to the wall. If money is a great object the seats can
be rush, but leather should be managed if possible, and the real orange
or bright red are as novel as they are artistic and beautiful with the
green furniture. A soft green carpet with very little pattern on, should
be chosen, and soft green curtains. The other colour selected should be
introduced at the top of the curtain in the turned-over top, which
should be of printed velveteen; and if the rush-seated chairs are used,
a couple of arm-chairs for the master and mistress should be procured.
If there be no third room, leather arm-chairs must be bought and placed
one each side of the fire; for here, alas! the husband must smoke if he
indulges in that detestable habit, for unless there is a tiny
conservatory, and there often is fortunately, even in quite small
suburban houses, he will have no other place. But given the conservatory
he can smoke there. It can always be made warm and pretty, and his
smoking will be good for the plants, and that at anyrate will be some
small consolation to him.
Let no one ever persuade suburban residents either to purchase their
furniture in a desperate hurry, or to buy what is called modern or
Flemish oak, or that most hideous material of all real pale, light oak,
which can never be anything save an absolute abomination. As a rule, the
modern oak is flimsy to a degree, and is also detestable in design and
in manner and style. I would rather have the simplest possible deal
furniture, stained brown or green according to my fancy, than either of
these materials, which nothing can make bearable in the smallest degree,
and I am sure anyone who has had the experience of modern oak I have
had--not in my own person, I know better than that; but in the person of
others--would never contemplate it for one single moment. If by the way,
the hall of the house is blue, it were well to keep the dining-room to
the brown and yellow scheme, taking care the draperies in the hall are
Wallace’s diamond serge, and that the inside _portière_ is in yellow
printed velveteen, which can be repeated in the turned-over draperies in
the curtains. Or we can have orange and cream, having brown wood and
orange leather, and a real Eastern carpet with an orange ground which
can be found, and therefore must be hunted for, for I have seen them now
at Cardinal & Hertford’s, now at Bontor’s in New Bond Street, now at
Hewetson’s, and again once more at Liberty’s. Know what you want dear
readers! and have that and that only, and not the ‘next article,’ so
shall you achieve artistic salvation and in no other way at all; for be
sure if one shop does not possess the real thing, another will, and that
patience is required in shopping, as well as faith and many other of the
cardinal virtues.
But let not the very smallest householder that exists allow herself to
have gas in her sitting-rooms on any account at all, neither let her
condescend to keep above her head the hideous centre-piece in plaster
work which is always provided for house-owners save in the more artistic
(and more draughty) houses which have panelled ceilings, the plaster
part of which should be coloured cream, and the panels themselves
filled in with anaglypta, or else with ordinary ceiling paper
judiciously arranged. The plaster rose can be removed in a moment, and
replaced by a hook from which a good duplex lamp from Benson & Company
in New Bond Street, should be hung, with either a pierced copper or opal
glass shade, and this gives light enough for any ordinary occasion;
extraordinary ones can have extra light from candles placed on the
buffets or sideboard, and in sconces on the mantel and over-mantel, as
shown in sketch, the duplex lamp being lighted or not as the mistress
likes much or little light, or possesses, as she may possibly possess,
branched silver candlesticks, or the equally beautiful Sheffield plated
ones which she can place on her table on very grand occasions.
Of course, endless schemes of decoration can be evolved every year,
whenever the new papers come out and new materials are produced, but
there are certain things which never alter and which should always be
recollected. First among them is the fact that we cannot possibly have
too much real colour, and that far from demanding the timid compromises
so dear to English folk, our climate and atmosphere clamour for real
sealing-wax reds, deep oranges, clear yellows, and beautiful blues, and
that nothing should make us temporise and have instead the smudgy
terra-cottas, crude greens, ghastly lemons, and dull greys and browns
which are so liberally provided for us by the usual paper-hanger. Then
we must recollect that anything we buy must harmonise with what we have,
while, if we have nothing--and happy is she who can begin anew and
unhampered by old horrors in the fresh abode--we must buy nothing in a
hurry, nothing that does not suit the special place it is meant for. We
had better have one good chair than a dozen ugly ones. Also we must
recollect that pictures, plants and ornaments are the hallmarks of a
home, which cannot exist without them, for these things judiciously
chosen and arranged, and not overdone, are after all what turn the worst
suburban villa that ever was designed into an artistic abode. But then
not one detail must be forgotten, neither the bell handles, the fenders,
fire-irons nor finger-plates nor door handles which should be all
artistic and all in one material, either beaten iron or copper, or the
humbler yet satisfactory plain and untortured brass.