CHAPTER IX.

THE DRAWING-ROOM.

It is quite useless to attempt to have a pretty drawing-room, unless the owner really means to have it in constant use, and intends to sit in it regularly. I am quite convinced that rooms resent neglect like human beings do, and that they become morose and sulky-looking if they are kept closed, or only opened when strangers are expected.

It is no use then to bustle about to arrange this antimacassar, or to put yonder chair just a little bit out of its constrained position, to put flowers in the vases and books on the tables, in a spasmodic attempt to give an air of life to the dead chamber. Something will betray you, the chill atmosphere will inevitably chill your friends, your constraint in an unaccustomed room will communicate itself to them, and you will infallibly all be as stiff and unhappy as you can be, without perhaps being able to define the cause.

Therefore, as your room is to be lived in, let me beg of you to buy nothing for it that you cannot replace easily, to have nothing gorgeous, or that will not stand a certain amount of careful wear and tear, for as sure as your room is too grand to be lived in every day, so sure will your acquaintances find you out, and put you down at once upon the list of dull folks to be avoided, that we all of us keep somewhere mentally or otherwise.

A light hue for a drawing-room has been found to be a necessity ever since the days--those awful days--of white papers covered with gilt stars. There is always something a little depressing about the evening. One is tired with the day’s work, worried by domestic duties, or disappointed at the very little fruit the long twelve hours have given us; and therefore we should be careful to arrange our evening-room with the intention of having cheerful surroundings, if we can have nothing else, and that is why I should like to have our drawing-room in blue, or else in yellows and whites.

I must say I still hanker after a dado, because in the drawing-room I like to hang all sorts of odds and ends upon it, which give an original air to the room, and also insures favourite photographs, fans, or pretty hanging baskets with flowers in being close to one’s chair, or near one’s eyes, should we wish to look at them. A very pretty effect is obtained by stretching a cretonne material round the base of the wall for a dado, hiding the nails with a dado rail of bamboo. Liberty’s blue and white cretonnes are invaluable for this, but then it is rather difficult to

obtain a blue paper to match. Still it is to be done and we are repaid for the trouble, I think, by the effect when it is up. A yellow-and-white paper looks charming with a blue dado, also a terra-cotta paper and paint are not amiss, though I confess myself rather disappointed with this effect in a drawing-room I once had; but then the paint was put on in my absence, and I feel convinced it was not the shade ordered. If people are really tired of dados, and will have none of them, the walls can be papered blue to within about two feet of the top; then a frieze of pale yellow and white can be put on either of paper or cretonne, the join hidden by a rail, on which are placed hooks which hold pictures. These then are brought down to the proper level for light, and are not suspended out of vision, as are so many paintings and engravings in houses of people who are artistic enough by birth and education to know better; then, too, by using these hooks the great expense of picture-rods going all round the rooms is saved, without damaging the walls either by hammering in brass-headed nails.

I think a panelled room painted blue for a drawing-room is perfect; but unless the house that Angelina takes is panelled already, this is no use for her, as panelling is expensive work, and would be the landlord’s property, too, when the lease is up, so that is out of the question. Still, I know of panelled rooms yet existent whose owners look at their grained walls and wonder how they can make them less hideous, and perhaps some of them may see this book, and may resolve to do away with that terrible eyesore, a grained device, and set to work to paint the walls a delicate sparrow’s-egg-blue, furthermore embellished by long designs of rushes and grasses, either stencilled or painted on by some one of the many girls who can paint, and who can be found always at Mrs. McClelland’s studio, should we number not one of those useful damsels among our acquaintances. Whatever style of decoration is adopted, I hope we may have a blue wooden mantelpiece and over-mantel; brass bells, brass locks and handles to the doors, and finger-plates must replace the china abominations provided by the landlord; but these must be carefully marked down as belonging to the tenant, and the china ones must be put away carefully too, to replace the brass ones again when Angelina’s lease is up, or she will have to feel that her money has gone into the landlord’s pocket, which is never a cheerful subject for contemplation.

Now for the carpet, the style and price of which can range from 35_s._ 6_d._ to almost any amount that you like to spend. The cheapest ones are the Kidderminster squares, which can be purchased at Mr. Treloar’s, on Ludgate Hill, or at Shoolbred’s or Maple’s. In fact, at the risk of being vituperated by these gentlemen, I say, in low tones of caution, go to all of these establishments, and, taking as usual plenty of time over your choice, see all the blue carpets they have: at one or other of the shops you will be sure to see exactly what you want. I do not think the cheap squares are ever really artistic; but they are inoffensive, and most wonderfully inexpensive, and wear beautifully. Still, the colours and patterns are not quite my beau-ideal of a carpet design, but beggars cannot, alas! be choosers, and if we must really be very economical we can but be thankful for these carpets, because they replace the hideous Dutch carpeting and frightful ‘Kidderminsters’ that used to be the portion of such of our ancestors as could not afford Turkey or Axminster, and had to fall back on these, and on the ‘best Brussels,’ the crude and frightful greens and reds of which haunt my dreams sometimes, when I am meditating on furniture and remember the days that are no more; being duly and sincerely thankful that they are no more, as far as carpets and furniture in general are concerned.

Rising above the ‘squares,’ we ascend to the delightful blue carpets, also in Kidderminster, that are sold by the yard. I once possessed one which was the joy of my heart, which I bought at Shoolbred’s. But I took a friend there the other day, having roused her to enthusiasm over mine, to find no more were made; ‘for customers,’ said the polite man who served us, ‘will insist on novelties, and grumble frightfully do they see the same goods on show as they saw some years ago, whether or not that they were as pretty as they can be. No, the cry is always for some new thing.’ And so we could not buy any more of my blue carpet, and I look at the one I have apprehensively, and cannot bear any one to walk upon it, because I know, once gone, I can never replace it. It was about 4_s._ 6_d._ a yard, and wears beautifully. However, we were shown another that quite put my poor carpet out of court, both in colour and design; but then it was 5_s._ 6_d._ a yard, and though that did not matter to my friend, fortunately, it mattered to me; and so I was left carpetless, until I saw some beautiful self-coloured felt, which looks very well with rugs on, but shows dirt, and what housemaids call ‘bits,’ in rather a depressing manner. However, blue carpets are to be bought, I feel convinced, and they are certainly worth the search.[1] If money is forthcoming for a really good carpet, I should propose, first, the blue Kidderminster, at 5_s._ 6_d._ a yard, made into a square, and edged with woollen fringe, put down over, first of all, brown paper, and then a carpet-felt. This insures warmth, and trebles the chances of wear. Secondly, a really good Oriental carpet with a good deal of white in it. Mr. Smee has a charming one, that harmonises beautifully with blue, and that costs about 10_l._ for rather a small room. Thirdly, one could have a nice matting (putting this down over the brown paper) at about 1_s._ 6_d._ to 2_s._ a yard, with good rugs scattered about. These are expensive items, and would cost 8_l._ or 9_l._ to provide enough, and of the right sort; but the wear of really good rugs is marvellous. I have two large ones I bought at Treloar’s nearly ten years ago; they are in the dining-room, where there is a great deal of wear and tear, and they are as good now in appearance as the day I bought them, but I think they cost me a little over 2_l._ 10_s._ each.

[1] Since writing the above I have found my blue carpet at Messrs. Colbourne’s, 82 Regent Street, where it can always be procured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While not emulating a good friend of mine, in whose house the putting on of coals partakes of the character of a protracted and arduous ceremony, I must say I dislike to see coals standing in a room, but the receptacles made for them in brass are so pretty now that they may almost be forgiven, though I would rather not see them in a drawing-room. However, if one is required, the brass baskets, _without_ covers, are the best, and hold quite enough coals for the evening, indeed more than enough if the grate is as I described before, and moreover judiciously laid and managed. Brass fire-irons and dogs are a necessity, but then a little black poker, price 1_s._ 6_d._, called a ‘pokerette’ in the shops, and ‘the curate’ in the drawing-room, must supplement the brass one, or that will very soon be black and spoiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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