CHAPTER XI.

BEDROOMS.

At first the only upstairs rooms that will have to be furnished are

Angelina’s bedroom, Edwin’s dressing-room, one spare room, and a room

for the maid or maids, leaving any others until a nursery be required;

for if our young people have only one servant it is quite impossible

that they will be able to have a constant succession of folks staying in

the house, and, therefore, one bedroom besides their own is all that

should be prudently ready for occupation. I say ‘prudently,’ for few

young housekeepers can resist at first the delights of showing off their

houses and their presents to their less fortunate relations, and, in

consequence, a stream of visitors is invited to pour into the house, to

the detriment of anything like order, and to the dismay of the servant,

who is most certainly right to grumble at all the extra work; and, by

the way, I may mention here that to this same stream is due more than

half the worry brides have at first with their domestics.

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

[Illustration: FIG. 17.--A corner in a bedroom, Gable-end, Shortlands.]

charming paper of Japanese chrysanthemum design. It had little colour

about it--only a faint pink flush, that just gave the idea of warmth

without a glare. To give body to this, the dado was of Indian matting

with a dado rail and wainscot paint of a good terra-cotta; the pink

shade, not the brown. The ceiling was papered with a pale

diaper-patterned terra-cotta paper, which was most pleasant to look at,

and I had matting and rugs on the floor. A slight idea of this room can

be obtained from the illustration on the previous page.

The doors, mantelpiece, &c. were all painted to match, and the doors

were panelled with terra-cotta chintz at 9_d._ a yard at Burnett’s, and

had brass fittings, which I bought at Maple’s eleven years ago, and

which have done service in two houses, and will go with me to a third, I

hope, before long. On the mantelpiece I had a full flounce of blue and

white Lahore cretonne, which is also used for covering the eider-down,

and gave the necessary piece of blue colour there, which was repeated in

the tiles at the back of the washing-stand, and on a big settee in one

of the windows, which is a most useful possession, as it serves for a

sofa, and opens wide to hold the dresses in. Maple keeps these box

ottomans at about 2_l._ 10_s._, covered with odds and ends of cretonnes;

to cover them with anything pretty costs a few shillings more, though,

of course, occasionally the original covering may be pretty enough for

use. Mine was hideous--great pink roses and green leaves, on a black

ground; but for 10_s._ I made it quite a thing of beauty with blue and

white cretonne, properly frilled, and I also added a big square frilled

pillow, and a large drapery of gold thread tapestry, the same pattern I

use for toilet-covers and tablecloths, over my two square

cupboard-tables that serve to hold boots and odds and ends inside, and

books, &c., on the top, thus answering a double purpose.

I think these small cupboards are really the most useful things I have

ever invented, and so I will describe them fully, hoping other people

may find them as satisfactory as I have done. When I was in Dorsetshire,

I think I lived in the very awkwardest house in the whole county; and it

was so badly arranged that to have a morning-room at all I was obliged

to copy our French friends, and make what was a bedroom by night a

charming sitting-room by day. But perhaps I ought not to grumble, as it

was entirely due to this inconvenient house that I turned my mind more

especially to making the most of every room I had; and as I had to stow

away my belongings in pretty odds and ends, I thought of these small

cupboards, and they have proved the greatest success.

They are made of deal, are about three feet high, and are quite square;

they are painted some self-colour to match the room, and panelled with

Japanese leather paper, and have one shelf inside; the handle is brass

and so is the lock, and the hinges might be brass too if further

decoration were required. They hold quite a quantity of things, and I

cover them with a tapestry tablecloth, place a fern in a pot in the

middle, and dot books and photographs about them just as one would on a

table. I had them made by our own man, and I think they cost about

10_s._ or 12_s._, not more, and they are most useful, for they can be

put anywhere, and are never in the way; and this obviates any necessity

of the unsightly appearance of boots and shoes lying about the floor,

while it allows of keeping some in reserve, for boots and shoes should

never be bought and put on, but should be kept quite four months before

taking them into wear, as they wear twice as long if this very simple

precaution be taken.

The curtains to this room are short, as so often described, and are of

the terra-cotta cretonne used to panel the doors, while loose muslin

curtains that draw, of Liberty’s yellow and white printed muslin, hang

over the glass to keep off the eyes of ‘over the way’; and as I had no

blinds I supplemented these in summer by large dark blue serge curtains,

at 1_s._ 11½_d._ a yard, which hang flat against the wall, and depend

from very narrow brass rods at the top of the windows, the other

curtains being only below the cathedral glass top windows (which are

never shut winter or summer), and which, being opaque, require no

permanent shading.

I may mention, by the way, that even in the bedrooms I should always

remove the hideous china handles provided by the landlord and replace

them with brass fittings. These are undoubtedly cheaper at Maple’s than

elsewhere, and cost, the brass finger-plates 1_s._ 10½_d._ each, and

handles 1_s._ 11_d._ for two; brass bell-handles cost about 5_s._ 6_d._

each for downstairs, while very pretty brass rings are sold for about

2_s._ 6_d._ at Maple’s, to be sewn on flat straps of plush, cretonne, or

serge worked in some conventional design for bell-pulls; these are the

nicest bell-pulls possible, and last years with care. All these fittings

can be removed when the tenant leaves the house, only remember to

carefully put away the china door-fittings yourself, or they will be

mysteriously lost when you wish to replace them--a wasteful item that

can be guarded against with just a little care. Especially also would I

paper the bedroom ceilings with some cheap and pretty paper. Maple has

an ideal bedroom ceiling at 4_d._ the piece in a peculiarly charming

shade of blue, which is always pleasant to look at; and furthermore

would I insist on a real dado, either of cretonne or matting, as this

always keeps a room tidy and prevents the wall being spoiled, by the

energetic manner in which the bed is always pushed into the wall, which

is the housemaid’s idea of placing it in position.

All Mr. Pither’s papers are excellent for bedrooms, in either the

‘berry’ or the ‘blossom’ pattern; and the sage-green ‘blossom,’ with

sage-green paint, a dado of sage-green marguerite cretonne, and

terra-cotta ceiling papers and cretonnes, and ash furniture make an

excellent bedroom; while the darkest blue ‘berry,’ with yellow and white

cretonne dado and curtains, blue carpet and ceiling paper, and white, or

rather cream, paint and furniture make another charming room; the

flowery papers like old-fashioned chintzes in subdued colours, with

either a chintz or matting dado, and ivory paint can furthermore be

relied on to make a beautiful room. None of these decorations, by the

way, is expensive really, and as the dados wear as long as the walls

themselves they cannot be called a ruinous addition, and one is repaid

for the outlay over and over again by knowing that nothing can harm

one’s walls; and as I have the walls sized behind the dado material, and

have more than once taken down the dado to see if any dirt had crept

behind, and found the wall as clean as the day when the dado was put up,

I find the last objection to these dados done away with; for there are

only two that have ever been made to me--viz. expense, and possible

culture of dirt and creeping things.

And here, reminded of the enemies spoken of above, let me impress upon

my readers never to buy bedroom furniture _at least_ in sale-rooms. How

can we know we are not buying infection, or how can we guarantee that we

shall not become possessors of more than we have paid for? Therefore

avoid sales, and go to some respectable firm and buy one or two good

things, supplementing them later as money allows, and making shift for

extras, as far as one can, until one can afford good solid furniture. In

any case let the grate be seen to, and, if possible, buy one of Mr.

Shuffery’s slow-combustion stoves and pretty over-mantels, or at least

have the stove. A bedroom fire is _not_ waste or extravagance. I never

believe firing is extravagance anywhere, and the slow-combustion stove

will save its own cost in one month’s consumption of coal; while a

narrow strip of looking-glass about a foot wide, and enclosed in a

painted deal frame, makes a pretty bedroom shelf; this can be

supplemented by fans, brackets, and the ever-useful cheap and pretty

chinas to be had of Gorringe.

Expensive as it doubtless is, I cannot see how Angelina is to do without

something in the shape of a wardrobe, unless she is lucky enough to come

across a little house already provided with cupboards. Some of the new

houses, both at Bush Hill Park and at a queer, pretty little corner of

the world called Brookgreen, Hammersmith (that I stumbled upon the other

day, and was delighted with), have great receptacles that reminded me of

the good days of old, when recesses in bedrooms were part of the house,

and room-like cupboards were a portion of the structure; but I am

compelled to confess that such conveniences are few and far between.

For example, most of the modern houses, and certainly one in which I

once lived, have not one single attempt at one, and have not even deep

recesses in which hooks and a curtain on a rod could be a substitute for

a cupboard, and in consequence we were compelled to spend a small

fortune on wardrobes. I purchased some very nice cheap ones at Maple’s

made out of deal, and painted a revolting drab colour, and also grained

to imitate maple--bird’s-eye maple. I only wish you could have heard the

chorus of anger when these arrived home, you would all have been amused;

but I said nothing, sent for my friend the painter, and gave them into

his hands, and in a short time they returned, one painted a lovely

sparrow’s-egg blue, further embellished with Japanese leather panels and

brass locks; the other an equally pretty shade of terra-cotta ‘treated’

very much in the same way. I am almost afraid to say how little these

cost. One has a long glass in, and I think was 4_l._ 10_s._, and the

other 4_l._; but they have ample accommodation, and are extremely pretty

pieces of furniture, and match the dressing-tables, washing-stands, and

chairs, of which more anon. These painted wardrobes can be embellished

at home, if we use Aspinall’s invaluable enamel paints, remembering that

two coats of this make any old grained thing beautiful; all one has to

do is to scrub the old paint well with strong soda-water, rubbing it

down afterwards with glass-paper. All graining, by the way, can be

treated like this, though naturally painters much prefer to add up a

bill and insist on burning off all old paint. Should the graining be

very thick, an application of ‘Carson’s detergent’ is advisable; this

costs 5_s._ at La Belle Sauvage Yard, London, E.C., and removes the old

paint in flakes immediately--a much cheaper and far less offensive

proceeding than the burning off of the paint so dear to the soul of the

ordinary workman.

In my own room I must confess to greater extravagance, for I had a large

dressing-table in light wood, and so fancied I must have all the rest to

match, and in consequence I had to give 12_l._ or 14_l._ for my

wardrobe. This I bought of Messrs. Hampton, in Pall Mall East, and

better tradesmen I for one do not know. After I had had that wardrobe a

few months the glass suddenly cracked straight across from no reason

that I could discover, save from pure ‘cussedness,’ as the Yankees say.

However, I wrote to the firm, telling them what had occurred, and they

at once sent down an employé, who discovered a warp in the wood, and

without a word or an atom of expense to me they removed the spoiled

glass and door, and sent me a brand-new one--a perfectly fair thing to

do, of course, as the fault was in the manufacture, but one very few

people would have done, I venture to state, without acrimonious

correspondence, and an attempt to charge at any rate. Why, only the

other day I bought an umbrella at a shop I should love to ‘name,’ as

they do in the House, and when it went into holes, real holes, in less

than a month they declined altogether even to re-cover it, saying it had

not had fair wear. It was not worth a fight, but that shop will now lose

my custom, and I most certainly will never recommend it to any one. If

tradesmen knew how far a little civility and courtesy went, some of them

would, I am sure, imitate the noble conduct of the Messrs. Hampton.

My wardrobe has a deep drawer for hats, a place for hanging jackets, and

plenty of shelves and other drawers for linen and dresses, and I could

not do without it in the least, though, of course, it may be too dear

for Angelina, in which case I must strongly recommend her to buy a cheap

deal one and have it painted to match her room, putting on brass

handles--the drop handles are the best and most decorative--and filling

up any panels that there may be with Japanese paper, or tightly

stretched cretonne, like that used for the hangings.

If Edwin be a clever carpenter, he can easily make a frame to simulate a

wardrobe. The top can be formed of very tightly stretched holland (it

does not show, and the glaze resists dirt and damp, I think, better than

anything else), and the front can be hidden by a nice curtain--serge

lined with holland would be best. The sides of the frame should have

rings on, like picture rings, to fasten them to the flat surface of the

wall, and can be painted. Edwin could put in some wide shelves, but

these make-believe cupboards are best for hanging one’s dresses and

jackets in, as they will not stand much weight. A less costly thing even

than this can be made with an arrangement of curtains, rods, and

brackets, but the one suggested above should not cost 30_s._, curtain

and all, would last years, and be removable from house to house, as no

cupboard is.

The most valuable things I know, too, are Maple’s box ottomans. No one

makes them quite so cheaply as he does, and they are invaluable for

ball-dresses, spare blankets, ordinary dresses--in fact, for anything;

and, with a judicious arrangement of cushions, form sometimes an

excellent substitute for a sofa. Though, if the room be large enough, I

recommend Angelina to possess herself of what I always used to call ‘a

long chair,’ which was originally a camp bedstead, is made of iron and

sacking, lets down to a bed or rises up to an arm-chair, possesses an

extra leg for a sofa, and finally has a long cushion, covered with

cretonne or serge, that can be made to serve as a mattress if a spare

bed is wanted in a hurry. I think this curious article of furniture

costs 30_s._, and there is nothing like it for comfort. The sacking

gives with one’s weight, and never fatigues one, and it is even superior

to a deck cane chair, which is very nice, but will creak and groan under

one, and is apt to feel hard and ridgy after lying there for some time.

I do hope my readers will not think I am given to ‘lying

[Illustration: FIG. 18.--Draped alcove for a bed.]

down’; it is an action I scorn when I am well; but I know, alas! too

well how necessary it is to be ready for an ‘emergency,’ and to know one

has a place of refuge and rest if life grows too much for one, and one’s

headache is just a little too bad to bear without retiring into private

life for a while. At first, of course, Angelina will have the house to

herself, but that will not last--at least I hope for her sake it will

not--and she will then be glad to have opportunities of resting for five

or ten minutes, secure of safety from interruptions, and servants, and

children, or visitors. Besides, when she is recovering after any illness

there would be her sofa ready, and she would not be perpetually fretted

and worried by seeing the room disorganised by the sudden introduction

of a strange piece of furniture; the bringing in of which, and the

bumping and banging inseparable from this same movement, often brings on

a nervous attack, and fidgets her so much that she would rather be

without it than witness the commotion caused by the moving.

If one’s home has these little conveniences it adds immeasurably to

one’s comfort, and they are not costly; and here I may mention that I

consider a screen indispensable too, for this can be moved to circumvent

draughts or too much light, and can also be used to protect the patient

from worry when the bed is made, &c.; things that always drive me

distracted to witness, and that screened off cease to be, as far as I am

concerned.

In most houses, too, the door opens confidingly on the only place where

the bed can stand, and then a screen is invaluable; it hides the bed

itself, and does not leave it exposed as it would were curtains used as

a substitute. Curtains, too, are things I always disapprove of. I do not

even like Mr. Arthur Smee’s most excellent arrangement of wing-like

brackets, to which curtains are attached, as I think people should have

as much air as possible, and I see no more reason for curtaining a bed

than there would be for curtaining one’s chair or sofa. A screen insures

privacy; curtains hide one’s head only, and cannot possibly avoid being

stuffy; if, however, the bare appearance of an uncurtained bed is

objected to, the draped alcove sketched on the previous page will be

found easy to arrange and very pretty indeed. This alcove is one of

Messrs. Collinson and Lock’s designs.

I have been very sorry to notice a very strong attempt made by those who

ought to know better to revive that truly unhealthy and impossible thing

in a properly managed house--the wooden bedstead. I hear that these

detestable things are considered artistic--that to have a heap of

feathers sunk into a carved oak box in the height of luxuriance and

æstheticism, so I must beg my readers to carefully consider what a

wooden bedstead means and used to mean.

It meant immense trouble with certain small animals that came there

mysteriously with the clothes. It meant a taking to pieces, a

scrubbing, and a putting together again continually; and, above all, it

meant a bonfire were any person with an infectious disease to sleep upon

it; and, in fact, I do not know one single thing in its favour, and yet

folks in their craving after a false sensation of antiquity are actually

thinking of going back to the wooden bedstead.

One of the worst and silliest things I know is to go back into the

middle ages for those very articles that used to make our foremothers--I

don’t think our forefathers troubled much about their houses--miserable,

and when I see tiny diamond panes of glass, for example, when invention

has given us large sheets of glass through which light comes, and by

throwing open which we can admit as much air as possible; or when I hear

of the wooden bedsteads, I feel like a Philistine entirely, and long to

uplift my testimony on the great superiority of this present nineteenth

century of ours, when we are nothing if we are not sensible, and ought

to know enough to make use of all the beauty of past days, while we

reject unconditionally the futile, unhealthy nonsense that clings to

them. Still, after this no one will be surprised to hear that I consider

a brass or iron and brass bedstead a _sine quâ non_. Nothing is so

clean, so cheerful-looking, and so healthy. There are no draperies to

catch dust or to give the sleeper a headache, and, moreover, I never

have a valance--never will allow one. Why should there be one? Not one

single thing of any sort or description should be put under the bed,

which, in a servant’s room, or the room of an untidy person, serves as a

regular hiding-place for boots, boxes, even soiled linen, and if there

be nothing to hide there is no necessity that I can see for a valance. A

brass and iron bedstead can be bought, full size, at Maple’s for 3_l._

10_s._, and, of course, very much handsomer ones can be procured; but

plain beds are much the best, for they can be rubbed free from dust in a

very few moments, and always look clean because they are so.

I do not think any one who has ever tried it can for one moment doubt

that a spring mattress made entirely of finely woven chains is the very

best and healthiest sort of bed that one can have, it never seems to get

out of order, it is quickly made softer or harder by being wound up

tighter or unwound, and, above all, it is easily kept clean, and is as

easily disinfected, should any fever or other infectious disease attack

the owner thereof.

I have had, and still possess, one of the old-fashioned spring beds that

resemble very large mattresses, and, though this is extremely

comfortable, it is not to be as highly recommended as a bed one can

brush and know is quite clean, for it is covered with a tick, and has a

mysterious internal arrangement of spiral springs that is apt at times

to get out of order, and invariably groans and squeaks in an agonising

way whenever one turns in bed, while the noise and motion are both very

trying when one’s nerves are a little unstrung and one is restless and

cannot sleep. It is expensive to have it taken to pieces and cleaned,

and the tick washed, which is not done half as often as it ought to be,

because it is costly and tiresome. There are several sorts of

chain-spring mattresses, and the ‘Excelsior,’ which is inexpensive,

answers every purpose; but I personally much prefer a very fine woven

chain, almost like chain-armour, which is expensive, but wears

splendidly, and only requires a nice hair mattress over it to be

complete. I always put over the chains themselves a square of brown

holland, tied to each of the four corners of the bedstead. This should

be washed twice, or even oftener, during the year, and it is also an

excellent plan to put the nice new hair mattresses and pillows into neat

brown holland pinafores, or cases; which can also be frequently washed

in order to keep the ticks themselves clean as long as we possibly can.

Unless this is done, the ticks become soiled and nasty-looking and

shabby, because housemaids are but mortal, and will not remember to wash

their hands and put on spotlessly clean aprons when they go up to make

the beds. If brown holland is too dear, ‘crash’ serves every purpose,

but the glaze on the holland resists dust better than anything, and

insures cleanliness.

If people suffer very much from cold, I am luxurious enough to allow

them a feather bed on the mattress. I always feel I am doing very wrong,

and that it is a most unhealthy practice, though I have one myself, for

in the winter, and indeed during most of the year, I hardly know what it

is like to be even moderately warm in bed; but I still think I should be

doing well were I to put away my feathers entirely, and only use the

springs and the hair mattress, but I am not strong-minded enough, so,

though I know feathers are unhealthy in every way, I still use them,

believing that now I am too old to change my undoubtedly evil ways.

A brass and iron bedstead furnished with the spring mattress, nice hair

mattress and bolster, and four pillows if a double, two if a single,

bedstead, is the beau-ideal of a sleeping place for health, and should

furthermore be provided with two under blankets--one in use, one in

store in case of illness--and two good pairs of nice Witney blankets,

and these should be marked in red wool with the date of purchase,

initials, and number of the room to which they belong. If the four

blankets are too much, those not in use should be very neatly folded

under the mattress, thus insuring that they are always aired and ready

for use. An eider-down quilt is also nice in winter, and should have an

extra covering made from cretonne like the window curtains, or in a

pretty contrast, edged all round with a two-inch goffered frill, and

furnished with buttons and buttonholes, in order that it can be easily

removed and sent to the wash.

Three pairs of sheets are the least that can be allowed to each bed;

the top sheet of each pair should be frilled with Cash’s patent frilling

two inches and a half wide, and should have a large red monogram in the

centre to look really well; these can be worked by Angelina, if she has

clever fingers; and as it adds so very much to the appearance of the

linen, I do hope where she can she will embellish her house-linen with

nicely embroidered initials, repeating the same in the centre of the

pillow-cases; which should be frilled and placed outside the bed during

the day to look nice, the frilled cases being removed at night and

replaced by plain ones, from motives of economy. Four plain pillow-cases

for each pillow, and two or three frilled and embroidered ones for the

top pillows, are the least that can be allowed when the linen is bought;

for if Angelina have to stay in bed--and no doubt she will--a change

from the plain pillow-case of night to the frilled one for day, and a

removal of the plain counterpane for a pretty one, is as good almost as

a change of room, and makes far more difference in one’s feelings than

can readily be believed. Now one especial word in Angelina’s ear: I have

never yet found in all my experience a servant who can really and truly

be trusted to properly air the bed. Her first idea is to cover it up and

get it made, and unless Angelina copies me I am quite certain she will

find the bed stuffy and disagreeable, because it has not had time to get

properly aired, and because it has been made up as soon almost as

Angelina got out of it.

Now there is not one single thing that should be left on the bed once

one is out of it. Do not be content with turning all the bed-clothes

over the rail; see they are all pulled out from under the mattress,

separated, and hung up, if possible. Then remove the pillows, and dot

them about on chairs and sofas; hang up separately the under sheet and

blanket where they will receive a current of air from the open window

wet or dry; and then pull off the mattress, placing it as close to the

window as it will go, which only takes about five minutes, as, of

course, Edwin will help with the mattress, and then, when dressed, open

all the windows possible. Leave the door wide open too, unless there are

torrents of rain and a windy tempest going on; and I venture to remark

that the bed will be all right and properly aired, even if Mary Jane

rushes wildly upstairs from the breakfast table and sets to work at

once.

May I also add: don’t fold up your night attire! I used to be informed

by my governess that no lady ever left her towels on the floor--as if

any one wanted to--or went downstairs without neatly folding up her

night-garment. Now this I will not do. It should be left to air with the

beds, and should then be folded up, with the soft, woolly slippers in

attendance, and put neatly into an embroidered case provided for it. How

fussy and old-maidish all this seems, yet on these trifles depend so

very much that I feel I really cannot say too much about them. It may

seem silly of me here to tell most of my readers of things they may all

do daily, just as they have their meals, but I know a great many women

who never think of these items, and of course there may be a very great

many others who just want to be given the same sort of little hints too;

and as for the servants, I do not believe one exists who out of her own

head would air a bed daily, and who does not regard such airing as a

useless fad.

While we are on the subject of beds, I may mention that a matchbox, the

boxes of Bryant and May’s, painted with enamel paint, and embellished

with a tiny picture, nailed to the wall just above one’s head, is an

excellent thing; and so is a bracket provided with either one of Mr.

Drew’s small paraffin lamps with a chimney, or else one of Field’s

candle-lamps, also with a glass shade; and that a bed pocket made out of

a Japanese fan, covered with soft silk, and the pocket itself made of

plush, and nailed within easy reach, is also very useful to hold a

handkerchief or one’s watch; and, furthermore, that great comfort is to

be had from a table at one’s bedside, on which can stand one’s book or

anything one may be likely to want in the night.

The counterpane of the bed should be one of these nice honeycomb quilts

with a deep cotton fringe; in winter and summer both, the eider-down

should be always on the bed ready for use, for some of our English

summer nights are as cold and chilly as many of the autumn and winter

ones; and very charming-looking day coverings for the beds can be bought

for one guinea at Marshall and Snelgrove’s, and are called Madras

quilts. They have more substance than Madras muslin itself, and are

ready trimmed with a neat fringe. Guipure and lace strips make nice

quilts too, and very nice covers can be made of cretonne like the

curtains edged by the pretty nine-inch goffered frill of which I am so

fond; but if Angelina works, beautiful ones can be made from crash or

workhouse sheeting, embroidered in scrolls and pomegranates in red chain

stitch, a deep border of thicker work, also in a pomegranate pattern,

forming an appropriate and very handsome finish to it. These quilts can

be bought ready traced and begun at Francis’s, Hanway Street, Oxford

Street, W., at 30_s._; they should be lined with sateen, and finished

off by a wide border of furniture lace, turned over a band of sateen of

any colour that will harmonise with the room itself.

A careful servant should brush under the bed daily to pick up any little

bits of fluff or dust, and once a week, without fail, all the corners

should be turned out and the room thoroughly cleaned. The floor, to be

perfect, should be stained all over, polished and rubbed bright, and be

furnished with nice rugs, which can be shaken daily, for nothing keeps

so clean, and it is undoubtedly healthy, for, much as I like matting,

and largely as I use it, it must fill up the corners entirely, and dust

cannot help accumulating there, in a bedroom.

Furniture for the room itself could be had cheaply, did we know of any

man willing to work under our orders, but this seems impossible.

I do not know if there are any trades-union rules among carpenters that

prevent them working for themselves; but, if not, I am quite sure an

honest mechanic could make a large fortune if only he set himself

seriously to work, and would keep to reasonable prices.

[Illustration: FIG. 19.]

Of course, skilled cabinet-making is one thing, and the sort of work I

mean is another; but I am constrained to remark on this, because

ordinary shops, even the very cheapest, charge such terrible prices for

furniture, and I have had such useful things made from my own

descriptions by a man in our own employ, that I am sure such a man near

London would soon be of almost world-wide fame, and we should all have

useful furniture, even if it were not of polished ash and oak, elegantly

finished, and in exquisite style.

We should, of course, all prefer the very best furniture possible, if we

could afford it; but, as we cannot, I should like to find a carpenter as

good as my old one, who would work for himself and really give us honest

work at honest prices.

There are some dressing-tables which I possess which this man made for

2_l._ 10_s._ out of strong, good deal. They have three very deep drawers

each side and one in the middle, and underneath the top drawer in one

case there is a rod to hold a curtain, and in the other there is a

species of cupboard for boots. The curtain also hides boots, but I

prefer the cupboard, as it is the tidiest, and has two divisions, one

for shoes and one for boots. These were stained deal, but I soon had

them painted, one turquoise blue, one terra-cotta, and added brass

handles, and they are now not only useful but extremely pretty. The

frames of the looking-glasses were painted to match, so that all was _en

suite_.

There are, of course, many different sorts of dressing-tables, but I

like mine at 2_l._ 10_s._ as much as any for use. My own happens to be

much more expensive, because I had it, in the room I spoke of before, to

serve for both a toilet-table and washing-stand in a confined space; but

this came to about 9_l._, which is not so very much when one considers

it was instead of two things. This has a very large glass in the centre,

and drawers and recesses, which hold china odds and ends, and is very

pretty too. The part that was used as a washing-stand is tiled, but now

the tiles are covered, as I have at present plenty of room for another

stand, and it no longer does double duty.

Mr. Smee has designed a charming table, and has given me the drawing,

which is produced here. This is without exception the very best style of

table for a small room, as the drawers are extremely deep, and would

hold an immense quantity of things. The looking-glass is in the centre,

the drawers extending as far back as they are in front, and the table is

provided with two brackets to hold either china or flowers. This is

painted any colour, and the handles are brass. In the very best quality

the price is 6_l._ 18_s._, but it can be made cheaper, and Mr. Smee

would no doubt tell any one who wrote to him how much cheaper it could

be made. He has not told me exactly the lowest price, but it is an

extremely charming piece of furniture, and it is as decorative as it is

undoubtedly useful.

Then there are those truly abominable dressing-tables, the deal frame

covered with muslin and lace and glazed calico, like the frock of a

ballet-dancer, or else with some serge material that resembles nothing

so much as a church altar; and that should never be used except in cases

where the others really cannot be managed on the score of expense; but,

as there are many nice sets of furniture to be bought for about 12_l._

12_s._, I think, somehow, a dressing-table can be managed by Angelina

that shall not serve as a dust-trap, a hiding hole for all sorts of

débris, or an attraction for fire; for many a death has been caused by

these flimsy petticoated things catching alight and flaring up in one

moment.

I had one once which was rather a good possession, as it was in reality

a deep square box. I believe it had once been an old wooden crib,

retired from active service and covered with a lid; and although it was

very useful, and held all my spare blankets, I never could bear the look

of it, and it was finally shorn of its legs and turned into an ottoman

with a chintz cover. But it is desperately heavy, and I never see it

without feeling cross at its unalterable ugliness.

I never use the ordinary white toilet-cover; this is another of my pet

detestations. I invariably have neat tapestry covers made to fit the

tables &c., and edged with a ball fringe to match. I use, moreover,

self-coloured felt and velveteen, also edged with furniture lace or

fringe, and this I use also to cover the box pincushions that are in

every room, and are invaluable for holding odds and ends, the gloves one

has in wear, shoestrings, and so on. For these, a large-sized cigar box

is an excellent foundation. This should be lined with wadding and glazed

lining, the top carefully wadded too, and all the outside covered with

lining; then cover it tightly with either plush, velveteen, or tapestry,

and put fringe round in such a way that the opening is hidden. Very tidy

folks tie these boxes together with ribbons. I do not; life is too

short, and I find the fringe hides any gaps, and looks very nice too.

The top part does for pins or one’s brooches, though I prefer to keep my

pins in a china Japanese dish, shaped like a fish, because I can’t bear

the pin-stuck look of a cushion; and I put my brooches away in their

boxes, because they are apt to be knocked off and lost or bent, unless

you are possessed of a maid or housemaid who is as careful as she ought

to be, and yet somehow never is! The brushes and combs live in a middle

drawer, the paper in which should be changed once a week, when the room

is properly cleaned. They should never be placed on the toilet-cover,

and, if there be no centre drawer, two cedar-wood trays covered with

tapestry covers over pieces of washing stuff should be provided, to

insure that they are not left on the toilet-covers, and that cleanliness

is duly respected. In front of the toilet-table, however the room is

covered, there should be an extra rug. Of course, if the carpet be new

the first beauty of the carpet may be used if you like, but this I do

not advise: first, because you may like to change your furniture--I

love changing mine--and in this case you could not, because the carpet

would be marked; and, secondly, because it is a pity to wear it out more

in one place than another, which you could not avoid doing if you do not

put a rug down in the place you use most. In the case of matting or

staining a rug would be imperative, and I strongly recommend one for a

carpet for the reasons mentioned above. Before we leave the

dressing-table for the washing-stand, I should like to say a few words

about the way to light it. Careful survey should be made of the room

before the gas-brackets are put in, and, if possible, one should be so

arranged as to bring the light over the centre of the glass.

In a big room a bracket each side is advisable. Long brass brackets

should be used, which should be able to be moved either to the side or

to the middle of the glass, bringing the light well over the top

whenever it is possible, thus doing away at once with any necessity for

candles and the attendant dangers. If candles are used they should be

invariably protected with Price’s candle guards; but once more I say,

have one of Messrs. A. and A. Drew’s perfect little 1_s._ 6_d._ lamps in

every room. They are quite safe, and can be carried from room to room

without the very smallest danger. They never smell, are lighted and put

out in a moment, and are invaluable to any mother who pays domiciliary

visits to her children, and puts down her light to tuck up or kiss the

little sleepers, for she can place this lamp even in a draught and at

the same time need not consider if a curtain is blowing close by, for if

it did it could do no harm. They are useful even to the reader in bed,

as they give sufficient light for that, although they do not come up to

the excellent candle lamps recently invented, but which cost a guinea,

as contrasted with our modest 1_s._ 6_d._, and have no protection for

the flame, which, however, is far back in the lamp, and not easily

reached. Another item must also be mentioned before we leave the

toilet-table subject. Every scrap of hair should be collected by

Angelina herself before she leaves the toilet-table, and be placed

somewhere out of sight, to be burned by herself in the nearest fire.

Avoid those terrible things called toilet-tidies, which make me shudder

whenever I see them hanging up; but do not leave this item near a

servant’s hands: they cannot resist combing out the brush either into

the washing basin or the toilet-pail. The drains become clogged--no one

knows why, until that miserable creature the plumber has to be called

in, when, after spoiling all that comes within his reach, he discovers

the cause, and sends in a tremendous bill, all of which need never have

happened had Angelina looked after this item herself. If the nursery

fire be handy it can be disposed of every morning; if not, a little box

could be kept in one corner of the dressing-table drawer, and the

contents burned when the room is cleaned, which should be done with the

very greatest regularity once a week, on a stated day, which should

always be rigorously adhered to, and which, if properly done, minimises

in a remarkable manner the discomfort and disagreeables of that

abomination to the male mind, and to some female minds too--the spring

clean. Whatever Angelina is, I do hope and trust she will duly

appreciate her table-drawers, and not look upon them as a store-place

for rubbish. She will, of course, have a store of gloves, handkerchiefs,

and ribbons at first in her trousseau; and I most strongly advise her to

keep in the toilet drawers the things she has in use, not her whole

store. She should never allow herself more than three pairs of gloves in

wear, one of which should be for evening wear, nor more than a dozen

handkerchiefs in use; and she should never put away her gloves unmended

or lacking buttons, nor allow a fortnight to pass without putting every

drawer she possesses tidy, and seeing her handkerchiefs are correct in

number. Tidiness and tidy habits are great helps to economy of time and

money, and are therefore highly to be recommended for Angelina’s

consideration.

There is nothing so expensive as a muddle; nothing so sure to unhinge

the servants and make them cross, captious, and anxious to move on

elsewhere. Keep straight and work is easy, because it is expected and

looked out for; allow arrears to accumulate, and nothing is done.

And this also applies to the drawers in Angelina’s own wardrobe.

Unmended gloves, linen, or stockings should never for one moment be

allowed, neither should one set of linen be taken into wear until the

previous one is worn entirely out. This should be kept religiously, old

linen being invaluable for burns (if it be _linen_, not _cotton_) or

wounds, and to give away to the deserving poor who may be ill. Even in

one’s own illnesses old nightdresses are invaluable; as medicine,

poultices, and constant and daily washing soon ruins one’s nice new

things. I am no advocate for hoarding, but I do know the value of old

worn-out things, if only to have something to fall back upon if a friend

comes in, to beg for Kitty Jones’s ninth baby; or for old Mrs. Harris,

in bed and suffering agonies from rheumatic fever, when rags and old

flannel petticoats come in like a godsend for her use. If one’s servants

have good wages they do not need these things, and I do not think, in

any case, they should be given old clothes: they come to look upon them

as a right, and often enough one is prevented giving a far more

deserving object some cast-off garments because one fancies that

so-and-so will be offended; therefore I strongly advise Angelina to keep

one especial ottoman or drawer to go to for her charities. I am sure she

will find it a great help to her if she does so.

One of the palm-leafed baskets for soiled linen should be in every

room; they are a little more expensive than the ordinary soiled linen

baskets, but they stand three times the wear, and always look nice.

Albeit this is an article I always put as much as possible in very

humble retirement behind my cheval-glass, there is no choice in my mind

between the palm-leaf and the wicker-work for wear, and I strongly

recommend both the dark brown and the light-coloured ones; they are

about 5_s._ 11_d._ each.

If Angelina can possibly afford it she should buy a cheval-glass; of

course the long glass in the wardrobe shows one’s dresses pretty well,

but it cannot be moved about to suit the light like the cheval-glass

can, neither does it ever somehow act quite in its place. I dress very

hurriedly, for I have so little time generally for this operation. I am

always doing something up to the last moment before I go out either for

a drive or in the evening, so that I could not do without mine, and I

have often been saved quite fearful _contretemps_ by this faithful

friend, which truthfully points out strings and skirts out of place, and

has an unpleasant habit of suggesting that one’s hair must be done

again, by reflecting the back of one’s head in a crude, and startling

way, in the ordinary glass. Then it is of great use to visitors too, who

may not have a long glass at all in the spare-room wardrobe, and are

doubly thankful to find a cheval-glass there, lent of course out of

Angelina’s own room for the time being.

Another thing that I should like to speak of is the necessity of always

having a clean brush and comb in the toilet drawer. A friend comes in

unexpectedly to luncheon or dinner, and we are struck with dismay to

find that it is the day before our own particular brushes are to be

washed, and we have none fit to give her. If we always keep a ‘company

brush and comb’ we need never be put to confusion as we otherwise

should, for often, in dusty weather particularly, and especially if we

drive much, our brushes look black almost after once using, and are not

suitable to give a friend, without being really dirty.

This said washing of brushes is a vexed question. I have a friend who is

so particular about hers that she never uses them more than once, and

then has them washed rapidly in hot soapsuds. By holding the backs in

her hand so that they do not touch the water, and thus only immersing

the bristles, she gets them clean without spoiling them; they are dried

in the fender, and she always has six brushes in use. Now, I think if we

have three in use, and have them washed in routine, one a day, so as

always to have one clean one ready for a friend, we shall do very well.

And I think 5_s._ or 6_s._ ample to give for a brush; I have had some

excellent ones from Whiteley’s at 4_s._ 11_d._ and 4_s._ 6_d._ If we buy

extravagantly dear brushes, we grudge their wear and tear and their

numerous washings; but inexpensive ones can be kept cleaner, because we

can more easily afford to buy new ones if we do not give too much at

first. The old silver brushes at 5_l._, and beautiful ivory-backed ones

at almost any price we like to give, are delightful to possess; but

unless we can constantly renew the bristles, they soon get useless, and

as we can’t do that we must be content with ordinary ones; which same

remark applies to combs. I like a black vulcanite at 1_s._ 9_d._ or

2_s._ better than any, for a comb is difficult to keep really nice, and

one does not mind throwing a soiled or broken one away if one can easily

and cheaply replace it.

Still, if Angelina should have beautiful brushes given to her in her

collection of wedding gifts, I strongly counsel her to keep them by her

for visiting and travelling, and to get other cheaper ones for every

day; and this same remark applies to tortoiseshell combs. I like better

things for visiting myself, and I am sure Angelina should keep her best

brushes for this purpose. If the toilet-table is chosen with brackets,

cut and scented flowers should never be allowed there. A few ferns and

immortelles look nice, especially the pretty pink everlastings one can

buy in the summer, but scented flowers are bad for a bedroom, though I

much recommend a growing plant or two; they look nice, and are very

healthy; but no flowers here even; a fern, a small palm, or the

ubiquitous aspidistra being all to be preferred, because the leaves give

out a healthy atmosphere, and are therefore useful as well as

ornamental, while strongly scented blossoms poison the air and render it

heavy and unfit for a sleeper to breathe.

Without going to the outrageous lengths some lovers of fresh air

consider necessary, I strongly advise every one to try and sleep with

some little bit of window open. I always do in summer with all that I

can, in winter with one or two at the top only. The sudden change in

temperature that makes this dangerous is guarded against by having an

extra wrap handy on a chair, or thrown over the foot of the bed, which

can be drawn up if the change becomes perceptible; but I am certain that

two people in one room should never sleep with all the windows and doors

shut, and I have never slept with mine closed, since I can recollect,

without waking with a headache and a feeling of lassitude, though, of

course, when I lived in London itself the noise was very trying, yet I

became accustomed even to that; and I put down my singular immunity from

colds to this habit of mine, and also to the open windows and doors that

I always insist upon, and that for some part of the day always remain

open, winter and summer, though the moment the sun goes, or rather

begins to go, down, all windows, in the winter and autumn, should be

rigorously closed, with the exception of about a quarter of an inch at

the top.

But then, in connection with my open-air fad, I am a great advocate for

good, jolly fires, and I do believe bedroom fires save a great amount of

doctors’ bills. Open your window a little, and have a fire, if you can

possibly manage it, and I am sure you will all find a great difference

in the expense. Of course this adds to the servant’s work; but if she

objects, equalise matters by helping her with the beds, and in dusting,

and in a thousand-and-one little ways. I am sure you will not repent it.

Fires warm the whole house, take off the damp, raw feeling that is so

trying in our English atmosphere, and give a cheerful feel and look that

cannot be too highly esteemed. I would rather do without anything than a

fire, and even in the height of summer the instant it rains I have my

fires set going, with the windows open, not so much for the mere warmth

of course, but to dry the atmosphere and prevent the house-walls from

becoming chilled and damp and dangerous to health; while for three parts

of the year they are emphatically a necessity, unless we want the

doctor’s gig or brougham to be always turning in at our front gate.

[Illustration: FIG. 20.]

I could write pages about fires, I am so certain that in England nothing

is saved by scrimping the coal, but I must not dwell upon this subject.

I must pass on to the washing-stands, of which here are two drawings

from Mr. Smee’s designs, and which I consider the very perfection of

stands. I prefer the larger one of the two, not because I could for one

moment contemplate the odious notion of a double washing apparatus, but

because the smaller one does not seem to me to have room for sponge-dish

and all the etceteras one requires; but, of course, if the room were a

small one, the single washing-stand would be best, because in that case

space would be an object, and by placing a long painted shelf, or one of

those nice little hanging sets of shelves, half cupboard, half bookcase,

over it, we could obtain a place to put extra articles on. These

washing-stands in the best materials come to 5_l._ 5_s._ each. The

drawing, I think, will need but small explanation from me, as it will

show exactly the proper style for a washing-stand; but I should like my

readers to notice that the high-tiled back prevents the wall being

spoiled, and does away with the idea of a ‘splasher’ being required,

that the towels are to be hung on the round rails provided for them, and

that the deep cupboards are especially to be commended, doing away as

they do with any necessity for an extra piece of furniture, and they can

also be used for bottles of medicine, Angelina’s private duster, which

she should keep in every room, cardboard boxes, and other trifles that

are too useful to throw away and yet require to be hidden from sight.

[Illustration: FIG. 21.]

There is no doubt in my mind that the Beaufort ware sold by Maple is the

nicest and prettiest for bedroom use. It is pure white, and a most

charming shape. The jug has a double lip, and the handles are in the

centre, like a basket, simulating a twisted rope. The basin &c. have all

handles and embellishments of the same rope-like design, and the cost is

17_s._ 6_d._ The ware is most excellent, and though much cheaper ware

is, of course, to be procured, pretty blue and white sets being

purchasable at 3_s._ 11½_d._, my white set exists triumphantly, after

eleven years’ wear and two moves, while I have bought more cheap sets

for those all-devouring locusts the boys and the maids than I care to

think about. I am convinced, therefore, that very cheap china for

bedroom use is a mistake, for good ware stands rough usage much better,

and therefore is cheaper in the end.

It is well, too, to buy the ware as much alike as possible for two or

even three rooms, as nothing is so difficult to match as this. Before I

became in the least _au fait_ at these small contrivances that save so

much, I had quite a regiment of ewerless basins and basinless ewers that

had accumulated because I found it impossible to get them matched, and

having them made was almost, nay quite, as costly as a new set. Of

course, these were gradually used up, and not very gradually either,

alas! by the servants; but they were ever so much too good for their

heedless clutches, and I should have been saved a great deal had I had

the sense to buy two sets alike, instead of exercising my taste by

seeing how many different ones I could possess myself of.

Ware now is so extremely cheap that it is perhaps not of such vital

consequence as it used to be to do this; still, as I had the other day

to give 4_s._ for a jug to match a basin belonging to a set the whole of

which cost only 5_s._, I think it is still worth mentioning, as it may

save Angelina something, and every shilling is often a consideration to

young beginners. The blue and white ware at about 5_s._ a set is good

enough for any room, but, of course, Maple’s white Beaufort ware is much

prettier; and Mortlock, of Oxford Street, has or had some artistic pale

blue, yellow, and red sets that would be lovely in a room that was

furnished entirely in one of these colours. The soap-dish &c. are

included in the cheap prices, but not a sponge dish. This should always

be bought. Not only does it save the sponge from becoming sticky and

unpleasant, but it saves the wall and floor from those detestable

continuous dribbles of water that are the outcome of a sponge-basket,

that may be all very well in theory, but is worse than useless in

practice. A sponge-dish has all proper drainage, and may be more

expensive at first, but, like a great many other expensive things, saves

the whole of its cost in the long run.

The covers of the soap and toothbrush dishes should never be left on;

the soap lasts ever so much longer than when it is shut up, and, of

course, the veriest ignoramus knows the effect on one’s toothbrush if it

is kept covered over. I infinitely prefer to have a tall species of

spill-holder or a rack for tooth and nail brushes, as this allows them

to drain; and for servants’ bedrooms one can buy iron things at

6½_d._ to hold the soap and two toothbrushes as well. These are not

bad for schoolboys’ rooms, as they are not ugly, but are not suitable

for grown-up people’s rooms, who are supposed reasonably to take care of

their things; but with the Beaufort ware the ordinary dish for

toothbrushes is sent, and is therefore used, but without the cover.

I always keep on my washing-stand one of Perry’s invaluable sixpenny

sticks of ink-eraser. I sometimes ink my fingers dreadfully, but nothing

is too bad for Perry, whose delightful stick comes into use, and cleans

away the stains directly. This, too, must not be put into confinement,

as it becomes soft and melts away rapidly if it is.

For the tooth-water and glass, I most thoroughly recommend the charming

little sets we buy at Douglas’s glass-shop in Piccadilly. For 1_s._

6_d._, 2_s._, and even less (I have bought a green set there for 9_d._),

one buys the prettiest possible glass jugs and glasses, and they are

ever so much nicer than the old-fashioned glass water-bottles and

tumblers; they are charming to look at, and far more easily kept clean.

There are blue, red, green, and shades of opal; and the gas-globes

should match. The best gas-globes are the tinted green globes, pinched

in here and there in folds, which are 1_s._ 4½_d._ at Whiteley’s, and

3_s._ and 4_s._ at any other shop--why, I don’t know. The opal glasses

are prettier, but then they are dearer. A dozen towels should be allowed

to each washing-stand: four a week, or even three, are enough for most

people. One big Turkish towel is indispensable for the bath, and a clean

towel should be always on the second rail ready for the visitor, for

whom we have already provided the hairbrush.

To every room should be apportioned a hot-water jug or can. There are

none so good as the charming brass cans at 7_s._ 6_d._ The painted ones

soon become shabby, and always smell of paint directly the hot water is

put in; and not at all a bad plan is to have a brass label chained to

the handle of the can, with the room’s name on to which the can belongs.

Cheaper brass cans can be had, but they hold less water, and as they

have no cover the water very soon becomes cold. A larger oak-painted can

should be provided for the housemaid. This she should use for refilling

the ewers, and to bring larger quantities of water if a foot-bath is

required in one’s own room; but the foot-bath and also the slop-pails

should be all of white china, and intense cleanliness should be insisted

on, especially for the last-named articles, which never, even in the

smallest establishment, should be made of anything save earthenware.

These china ones cost 4_s._ 9_d._, and have a basket-work handle and a

china cover. They should be scalded out every day with hot water and a

little chloride of lime, chloride of lime being kept in any separate

place, ready for use where there are any drains.

Before passing to the dressing-room, which should open, if possible, out

of the bedroom, there are still one or two more trifles that can be

mentioned in connection with it, as on trifles after all depend a great

deal of our comfort, more especially in the upstairs department, and a

sleepless night might often be prevented were some of the commonest

precautions taken to insure rest.

One thing no dweller in the ordinary suburban residence should be

without, and that is a wedge of wood attached to a brass chain to each

window, ready to wedge the window closely together should a storm

suddenly arise in the night. Who has not risen irate at the dismal

rattling, and crammed in anything--toothbrush, comb, or what

not--sacrificing often enough one or the other in one’s rage at not

being able in a moment to put a stop to this intolerable nuisance? Now a

wedge ready to hand, nailed to the window by its chain, so that it

cannot be lost or mislaid, obviates all this, and the window is secured

at once and rest is insured simply by a little precaution and

forethought. I believe that Whiteley keeps these wedges, but I used to

buy mine of a clergyman in Dorset, who made them beautifully, and sold

them in bunches in aid of the fund for restoring his church, and so

popular were they that he made quite a nice little sum by their sale;

but then Dorset is a very windy county, and I think the windows there

rattle more than anywhere else.

Another thing should be secured, and that is a matchbox nailed to the

wall, close by the bed, and the servant should be strictly forbidden

ever to take the matches from one room to another; there should be a

match-box _nailed on_ in each room and in the passages, and Angelina

should see herself that matches are never lacking there. I buy Bryant

and May’s boxes, but not their matches, as they are expensive, but I

always have tiny boxes of Swedish matches at 5_s._ the gross, a gross

lasting me considerably over a year; naturally I keep them locked in a

store cupboard, in a room where there is sufficient warmth to keep them

dry, and the maids have to ask me for them when they are required. When

I used Bryant and May’s matches and had them in as wanted from the

grocer, I never spent less than 6_d._ and sometimes 1_s._ a week upon

them, so I consider my present plan worth mentioning, for the save is

really great, and in these small items much can be economised, if only

one has a little knowledge and keeps one’s eyes open. But the matchboxes

and wedges must be nailed on, or else they will disappear in the same

extraordinary way pins and hair-pins always contrive to do. Then, in

bedrooms and sitting-rooms alike, I have the most delightful tiny brass

hooks on which I hang a hearth-brush, for I have an immense dislike to

an untidy and dirty hearth. As my old nurse used to say, ‘These sort of

things don’t eat anything,’ and a brush lasts five times as long if it

have not to migrate from one room to another, and can instead have its

own especial hook. You can buy ugly black hearth-brushes at 1_s._ 3_d._,

but I always buy brass ones at 4_s._ 11½_d._ They last for years and

years, and then can have new bristles added at the cost of 1_s._; they

look nice too, and are always to hand when wanted.

One of the principal things to remember all through these household

arrangements surely is this: a place for everything, and everything in

its place; time, temper, wear and tear of nerves, and servants being

saved a thousand times over by this simple remedy. If the brush be in

its place there is no need for Angelina to ring up tired Mary Jane to

make a tidy hearth. The hot-water cans on their shelves in the

bath-room, or in the pantry if there be no bath-room, allow of Angelina

getting her own hot water if the maid be busy or out of the way, and so

on through all the details of domesticity, which will only dovetail in a

little house if this principle of tidiness and thought animates the

mistress. And here let me beg that Angelina will resist with her might

getting into the bad habit of putting her boots on and buttoning them on

her nice cretonne chair covers. I mean the habit of putting the foot up

on the chairs while she fastens the buttons. I once had a visitor

staying with me who cut out a whole set of chair cushions in the month

or six weeks she was with me; and I discovered she had brass tips to her

heels, and these had cut out tiny holes all over the cushions, spoiling

them utterly; all because she had acquired this very bad habit. If

Angelina cannot button her boots without this action, she should take

care never to put her heel on the chair; to keep to one for the process;

and, if possible, to put down something, if only a scrap of paper, under

the toe of the boot, which must soil the cushion, even if it do nothing

worse.

I have in my time suffered so much from careless and inconsiderate

visitors that I cannot help giving these little hints on which any newly

married girl can act if she will. Example speaks louder than precept,

and if Angelina scouts such actions herself, she influences her

servants, and suggests to her visitors tidy habits, that may benefit her

later on, if not on the first visit. I shall never forget one dreadful

visitor I had--a visitor who was possessed of the damp, unpleasant hobby

of searching in ditches and hedge-bottoms for clammy and awful things

which she insisted on bringing home and investigating by the aid of a

microscope. I should not have minded this one bit, if she had done it in

a room we had, where the boys made messes, and that nothing could hurt;

but I had just had my spare room done up, and the effect was so terrible

I have never forgotten it to this day. It was such a pretty flowery

room, too, that it deserves a word of description. The effect was purple

and green, and the paper was guelder-roses and heliotrope--not at all a

bad mixture of colour, remember, and one that lights up well; the paint

was all the dull Japanese green varnished that is _not_ arsenical; and

that is very artistic, and by great good luck I found a charming French

cretonne of the same style and almost the same pattern as the paper, and

this I used as dado fixed with a dull green rail of ‘scantling,’ and as

panels in the shutters and doors. I had a nice little brass bedstead,

with a gold and white embroidered Liberty quilt trimmed round with ball

fringe, and furniture, with gold, green, and blue and red tapestry

covers on toilet, chest of drawers, and a new pincushion box covered

with the same, and all trimmed with ball fringe. There was a nice new

box-ottoman for hats and bonnets, a most useful possession for any one,

especially if it be divided in two layers with a cheap tray, also

covered with cretonne, new matting, and nice Liberty rugs on the floor,

and several newly framed photographs on the walls; besides this there

was a pretty table covered with plush, for a writing-table, duly

furnished with blotter, inkstand, and wastepaper basket, &c.; a charming

basket-chair, and two other chairs in pretty cretonnes, and odds and

ends in the shape of ornaments. There were two gas brackets, so I did

not have any candles in the room. I never have if I can help it; the

servants are apt to light them and drop the grease about, so unless

specially desired I never put candles anywhere, and I am more than

thankful that in this case of which I am writing I did nothing of the

kind, for my excellent housemaid came to me one morning when my friend

was out ‘bog-trotting’--or whatever the word for the occupation is--and,

with a face of horror, begged me to come into the spare room before Mrs.

W. returned, as she really did not know how she was going to get it

straight again.

Shall I ever forget my anguish! On the bed, on the top of the new quilt,

were spread specimens of all the nastinesses she had collected; on the

brass rail and hanging on the dado, on nails stuck in for the purpose,

and from most of the picture-nails, were mounted ghastlinesses on sheets

of paper that were drying in a fine breeze coming straight into the

room, laden with any amount of September damp and mist; the oil from the

microscope lamp was on every chair and every table, and a perfect

regiment of muddy boots and bedraggled skirts, cast about everywhere,

spoke volumes of the extent of Mrs. W.’s wardrobe, and her ingenuity in

filling up every hole and corner of that new and once pretty room.

And all this was caused just by a little lack of thought and care for

other people’s things, for, as I said before, we had, and generally

have, a large unfurnished room, sacred to boys, where she could have

done her worst and injured no one, for she might have nailed her nails

and hung up specimens to her heart’s content, and only pleased the

legitimate owners of that chamber. I also forgot to mention that on the

newly painted mantelpiece was a row of bottles full of dirty water, all

of which either leaked or else had been put down there, wet from the

ditches from which they had been filled, and to find room for them all

my ornaments had been dislodged and were missing. We found them

afterwards in bits, more or less, at the bottom of the ottoman, the top

of which was spoiled by being used as a ‘boot-rest’ for Mrs. W. when she

either wished to button or unbutton those articles of attire. When she

had left me I simply had to do that room at the cost of 5_l._ or 6_l._,

which I did not want, naturally, to spend, but my friend has never been

to stay with me again, and she never will. I have told this long story,

which I did not mean to go in for when I began my chapter, to point out

to Angelina another caution. When ‘things’ are once nice and in order

they require incessant care, if Angelina has been carelessly brought up,

and if she has not acquired really nice habits; but if she avoids

messing and is duly careful, her possessions will last her years, and

give very little trouble. One more thing to remember is that, unless the

door be provided with a curtain suspended from one of Maple’s invaluable

7_s._ 9_d._ rods, nothing should induce Angelina to depend her dresses

from crooks fixed into the doors. It spoils them, as they are exposed

both to sun and dust, and the look of it is so unpleasantly suggestive

of Bluebeard’s wives that this is a habit that cannot, I think, be too

strongly condemned. Besides, I remember dresses being torn and spoiled

by being shut into doors and then taken down without seeing they are

shut in; which is an argument against hanging them there at all, even

covered with a curtain. Still, in a small house and with a large amount

of clothing, a door is sometimes very ‘handy’ as an overflow wardrobe,

and then a curtain arranged as suggested above is a _sine quâ non_.

One need not go to very much expense about bedroom chairs. Old worn-out

drawing-room occasional chairs can be made beautiful for bedroom use by

painting them blue to match the suite with Aspinall’s

hedge-sparrow’s-egg blue enamel paint; particularly if one buys

cushions, which are sold, I believe, both at Maple’s and Whiteley’s very

cheaply, for about 1_s._ 2_d._ These should be re-covered with odds and

ends of Liberty’s Mysore cretonne; the yellow and white, blue and white,

and terra-cotta and white being all admirable--with the particular

shade of blue paint, I mean. The best bedroom chairs are these painted

chairs, or else the black-framed Beaconsfield chairs, rush-seated, and

also supplied with cushions in frilled cases, the cases being buttoned

on so as to be easily removed for the wash, and the cushions supplied

with tapes, so that they are fixed to the chairs, and neither move about

when one is sitting upon them nor drop on when least expected.

There is no doubt that pictures should always be on a bedroom wall.

Pictures and picture-frames are so cheap nowadays that some can

generally be afforded even at first. Of course these gradually

accumulate, and in years to come the walla will doubtless be decorated

with photographs of the children at different stages; but Angelina’s

wedding photographs will be useful at first, and I cannot imagine a

nicer wedding present than some of the exquisite photographs from the

old masters that one buys ready framed at a shop close to Regent Circus,

the name of which I have forgotten, but which is between the Circus and

the meeting hall of the Salvation Army. These are not at all expensive;

for 10_s._ and 15_s._ each quite large and most beautiful photographs

can be obtained, and Angelina would have a vast amount of pleasure out

of 10_l._ spent judiciously on these lovely photographs for the

adornment of her house, especially of her bedroom. These make admirable

presents for young girls, who can none of them be taught too early to

take a great pride in their bedrooms, and to accumulate there their own

belongings in the way of pictures, books, and ornaments. I love to see a

girl ‘house-proud,’ as the Germans say; and my own house, when I married

first, was made habitable only because of the judicious manner in which

my dear mother had impressed on me to take care of, and pride in, the

many little sketches, engravings, and photographs I used to have given

me. We were exceptionally lucky in that way, as of course we had a great

many artistic friends; but still, all girls should remember they may

have houses of their own, and always must have one room of their own,

and should be taught to pride themselves on having pretty and artistic

chambers sacred to their own use.

Naturally two sisters often have to occupy one room, but this need not

alter the idea, and I would rather a girl cared for her room, and

collected pictures, books, and china for that, than see her crave for

ornaments and jewellery, which can give but very little pleasure as

contrasted with pretty and delightfully artistic surroundings.

Angelina’s task of making her bedroom pretty will be so much lightened

if she has begun collecting treasures as soon as she was promoted to a

room to herself, that I may, perhaps, be forgiven if I impress this fad

of mine on all my readers, young and old; for mothers of growing

daughters can perhaps benefit by an idea that may be useful to them,

and of which it is just possible they may not have thought themselves;

and I should let (as I do let) my daughter begin her collection as soon

as she is old enough to value having her very own things, even to the

sheets, pillow-cases, and towels, which she can embroider herself, and

to a small collection of silver and china and pictures, added to, on

birthdays and at Christmas, with an eye to a house of her own some day;

or even a couple of rooms, when she may end an honoured career of ‘old

maidism,’ made all the lighter and pleasanter by the store of pleasant

memories secured to her by her possessions, which thus serve a double

duty, and are both artistic and useful too.

If Angelina cannot afford pictures in any way, she can, no doubt, afford

brackets. These are very cheap indeed in carved wood (which can be

painted to match the room), would hold a scrap of blue and white china,

and can be made even more decorative if surrounded by a ‘trophy’ or

artistic arrangement of the ever-useful Japanese fans, one of which

should be covered with silk and plush, and made into a bed-pocket for

handkerchief, watch, or keys, although I like my watch in evidence, as

then one sees exactly what time it is, and if it is the hour to rise, or

to put out the gas, if one indulges, as I do, in the fascinating but

wrong habit of reading in bed. I have a long bookcase in my room, as

shown in the drawing on page 72, and this is full of bound magazines to

fall back upon, should my own book be exhausted before I feel inclined

to go to sleep. Even if the windows are open the serge curtains should

be drawn, I think, unless one requires to get up very early, as I do not

believe the brain ever really rests if there be much light in the room.

That is another objection to blinds; they are never _dark enough_. The

serge curtains are cheaper, and keep out the strongest sunlight there

is.

I do not think what are generically known as ‘short blinds’ ever look

nice in any bedroom. I can remember, however, when to have white

curtains there to match, or in some measure go with those in the rest of

the house, was considered the height of reckless extravagance, and a

sure index of the bad financial position of the person who was sinful

enough to indulge in them!

Of course if we live with opposite neighbours’ eyes straight upon us we

must cover our windows, or run the risk of being seen at our toilet; but

even then we can curtain them by using the frequently advised double

fixed rods, either covering the lower sash entirely with a full fluted

blind of coloured Liberty muslin, or by draping the entire

window--always the prettiest way of setting to work--with frilled muslin

curtains meeting down the centre and almost covering the glass, at all

events covering it completely if it be necessary to do so (see page

60). And now opinion on this subject has changed so much, we can afford

to have our windows all look alike without exciting dismal prophecies

from people who really know nothing at all about us.

Remember no house can possibly look pretty where white curtains are

conspicuous by their absence, any more than a girl can look pretty if

she has neither nice frilling or spotless collar and cuffs as a finish

to her costume. And by white curtains I mean muslin curtains of almost

any colour, with some white in them. Dark _thin_ curtains are an

abomination, I think. I once lived opposite some dark green muslin ones

that made me always feel the owners were dirty people, although I knew

quite well they were not. Muslin and guipure curtains, nicely made and

fixed, are my pet curtains, and next to these come Liberty’s printed

muslins and cheap artistic muslins, though I have seen soft-hued silks

used to great advantage in town houses; but this is, I should think, far

too expensive for us, modest beginners as we are. White Madras muslin is

not economical, as it cannot be said to wash well. It shrinks, pulls

crooked, and generally loses all its colour in a most distressing manner

the first, and always the second, time it pays a visit to the laundress,

and if we cannot have guipure and muslin we must fall back on plain or

printed muslin only. Cretonne curtains for a bedroom must invariably be

lined if no blinds are used; and a very good thing to do in a very sunny

room is to put an inner lining of very dark green twill inside the

cretonne lining, so that it shall not show, thus insuring the darkness

that I consider so necessary in a sleeping-room, the brain, as I said

before, refusing absolutely to rest if much light comes across the eyes,

and this is why a bed should never face the window, as this insures

light of some sort falling on the face of the sleeper.

To sum up briefly, one’s bedroom should be pretty, tasteful, and quiet,

and should be as much thought about and kept as carefully as the

grandest sitting-room we possess; and I may further mention, for those

who cannot purchase Aspinall’s enamel in hedge-sparrow’s-egg blue, that

a very decent substitute can be made from Prussian blue, middle

Brunswick green, white lead, oil, and varnish, and just a little black

paint or ochre to tone it all down. This must be mixed until the colour

is precisely that of a hedge-sparrow’s egg or very old turquoise, and is

very troublesome to get right; therefore the above receipt will only be

really of use to those of my colonial readers who may not be able to

obtain Mr. Aspinall’s invaluable enamels for home-decoration.