BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.

CHAPTER II.—THE FAMILY PARLOR.

The room which above all others should be furnished with the most loving thought and lavish expense is the household parlor, or family sitting room. Here the father reads his evening paper, the mother busies herself with her ready needle, the children “with books, or work or healthful play.” This should be to eye and body preËminently a restful room, commodious, cheerful. If the reception room for visitors needs the cheer of firelight, how much more the living room of the household.

Whittier’s description of the homely comfort of an old New England farm house remains unexcelled in the literature of house furnishing:

For the sake of restfulness to the eye, the walls and carpet should be neutral in tone, making a good background to the family figures; the wall paper being of a good all-overish pattern that will not detract from pictures that may hang on it, and the carpet or rug well mixed, of not too loud a pattern, and without strong contrasts of light and dark. Blue wall papers are hard to deal with, but creams, fawns, soft greenish or olive-grays, and simple leaf patterns with slight variations of color or shade are all good for walls that are to be hung with pictures, as a sitting room should be. Common butchers’ paper, put on in sheets, the better textured cartridge paper, or sheathing paper with a pretty variation introduced by way of frieze or dado are all restful to the eye and good for the sitting room walls. The greens used should not be sharp and crude, but should be modified, making them yellowish, bluish, or grayish. So with reds, which will be better yellowish, slightly bluish (not purplish), or brownish; and yellows which must be modified into creams, old-golds, or fawns. This rule is for large surfaces. A little pure, bright color can be introduced here and there by way of decoration, and must appear somewhere in the room if it is to have a cheerful look, but wait till your pictures are hung before you introduce much brilliant color. It may take the life out of them. Picture-rods are a great convenience, and, after the first expense, save much trouble, and much marring of walls by driving nails. The picture-rod should run below the frieze, and a box of picture-hooks of suitable size for the rods should be kept ready to hand, and picture-wire so that a new painting or engraving when it comes home may find its place at once and not stand on the floor for a month waiting till the master can drive a nail. As for the wall decorations, there should be a looking-glass for family convenience either in this parlor or the entry way (the parlor is the better place), and the best pictures the house affords, always making sure that they are good pictures. Better always a good photograph, or wood-cut, or etching, than a poor chromo, steel engraving, or water-color; and better, a hundred fold, a good water-color than a poor oil painting. If your family portraits are poor, consign them to the garret or the upstairs hall, but, if possible, have at least one good painting in your home-room, even if it does cost money; and remember that a first-hand sketch by a good living artist is better than a second-hand copy of an old master. But one good painting in a house, whether a copy or an original, is a continual art lesson. A woman of taste will not mix all manner of pictures together on one wall. If possible, she will keep oil paintings by themselves, and not put them in juxtaposition with water-colors—nor will she put a picture suited only to a gallery in a family sitting room. Nor will she put Bacchantes in the same group with worshiping cherubs. There is a vast deal of stuff purely ephemeral that women are apt to load their walls with—Christmas, New Year, Easter and birthday cards, and painted panels, which may do very well to exhibit during the holidays or the day or two after the birthday; then, having had their day, they should cease to obtrude if not to be. There should be a box or receptacle for all this clutter; such souvenirs are admirable for their suggestions to the amateur decorator or embroiderer of the family, but they should not be allowed to spot the walls, to hang from the side brackets or to decorate the looking-glass. “God bless our home” is a devout aspiration which is better carried out in a godly life than worked in cross-stitch and hung over the sitting room door. I have seen Scripture texts deftly inwrought into the mural decoration of a sea-side cottage, verses from the sailors’ Psalm being painted in a decorative way between border lines of frieze or dado, where they did not seem out of place, but the summer boarders were well nigh driven from another cottage because of a card-board abomination hung over the mantel piece of their sitting room, with indigo clouds and grass-green waves, with a three-quarters-length Christ in all colors of the rainbow uttering the magic words worked in shaded reds—“Peace, Be Still.” The matter of mottoes has been overdone, and it is always safe to leave them out altogether.

Paintings upon plush must be exceedingly good to make them worth hanging anywhere. Usually such decoration is a waste of expensive material. Any way, plush is too easily spoiled by dust or careless handling to make it welcome in the family room. Painting upon picture and looking-glass frames is another misuse of decoration. A London artist with rare ingenuity paints a stalk of lilies to hide a flaw in his hall mirror, and straightway the “Decorative Art” salesrooms all over our land effloresce with blooming mirror frames whose unpruned vines straggle and trail over every glass. The beauty of a mirror is to have it absolutely clear and free from dust and dirt, finger marks or paint blotches, throughout its entire surface. Flower painting in polychrome upon frames and easels is utterly out of place, as it calls the eye off from the picture which the frame or easel holds, and reminds one of a servant decked out in finery surreptitiously borrowed from her mistress’s wardrobe.

Marble mantel pieces, to be good, must be expensive. A simple pine mantel piece with a little incised ornament is far better than white or cold gray marble. Raised, stuck-on ornament is objectionable, whether in wood or stone, but mantel pieces, book-cases and cabinets give a fine opportunity for domestic carving, and one can but wonder that more home ingenuity is not expended on the construction and carving of mantels and other woodwork in our rooms, such as doors and windows. I have seen a wooden mantel piece small, plain, and somewhat cheap and inferior-looking, so improved by a little carving, judiciously introduced by the man of the house—a small panel set in here, and the edge of the shelf prettily finished—that the whole thing grew dignified at once and became a worthy ornament of the “spare room,” when painted in harmony with the rest of the woodwork. The youngest whittlers might be taught to use tools for the family good, if parents were only willing to go to a little trouble and expense in providing models, tools and wood for their use, and a comfortable chimney nook where the work could be carried on. In the schools of Philadelphia Mr. Leland has shown how much may be done by boys and girls when their efforts are wisely directed.

When there is no room in the house specially set apart as a library, cabinets and book cases form an important part of the sitting room furniture. I would have book shelves of some sort in every room of a house; but in the room where the family gathers there should be a special shelf for books of reference. An encyclopÆdia is of as much value to the household as a wood lot is to the farm. Better wear your old silk gown or shabby overcoat another year, or two years even, and have your book of reference always at hand for the general good. The unabridged dictionary is a necessity, and should stand in its rack easy of access to school children and their elders as well. A household book of poetry, Dana’s or Bryant’s, or whatever may be better, and an equally comprehensive volume of religious verse like Gilman’s, or Palgrave’s choice “Golden Treasury,” should be well thumbed by the children, and should be placed temptingly at hand, not locked behind glass doors. Glazed doors are demanded by collectors who revel in vellum, uncut leaves, and rare editions, but cases that are well backed and that have leathern, or even moreen or flannel, valences tacked to the shelves, will serve well enough to protect books in a house where all the reading matter is for daily use or study.

A low book case three or four feet high and broad enough to fill a generous wall space, running, if need be, across one side of the room, may be found ample enough for a family whose library is limited. Pictures and vases can be ranged upon its top. I know a room that holds three or four such book cases of ebonized pine, filled with books and made gay with valences of scarlet moreen, which yet scorns to be called “the library,” and is only known as the family “sitting room.” Valences of leather or wool are sufficient to protect the books from dust if the cases are well backed.

In addition to the book case, hanging shelves for children’s books, or cabinets for collections of any sort, can be made of pine, and when absolutely plain, if neatly varnished, need not prove unsightly. They may even be made very ornamental by a bright curtain, plain or embroidered, with rings attached that run lightly over a brass rod or wire, and screen the contents of the shelves from the too inquisitive eye.

It is really a happy day for a household when one of its members develops a hobby and begins to make a collection—not of buttons or business cards, but of something on which genuine study will not come amiss, and there is hardly any line in which one is likely to interest himself where he may not often pick up for a mere trifle much that will be of special value to his collection, much that, by itself, would be comparatively worthless, but which in a collection has added worth and dignity; and any collection makes a new point of interest in a home. In a quiet country town where I once lived, the boys of the village took to collecting butterflies and insects. Farmers carried turpentine or benzine in their pockets, and would come home from their haying fields with hats gay with the captured moths and butterflies they were taking to the collectors of their several households. Thus homes hitherto utterly wanting in any Æsthetic influence, seemed to brighten into something positively charming, when father and mother, son and daughter clustered about the drawers in the front parlor, exhibiting to any chance visitor the fragile treasures so carefully arranged within them, and when a new specimen was captured the collector would

Think of the many lines in which the collector may work! The postage stamp craze was by no means to be despised; it was a good geography lesson for the children, and well up to the times, throwing in a little history as well. Coin collecting is yet more profitable in the same lines, and when confined to the coins of one’s own land, gives a wide enough range for the average collector. For the out-of-door student there are shells, sea mosses and birds’ eggs, flowers to press, and minerals to secure. One boy hunts up Indian relics, another collects weapons of various sorts, from

to an Australian boomerang or a South Sea Island club brought by the sailor uncle from some voyage of long ago. One dear, old lady has a choice collection of bits of lace all dated and named; another of pieces of brocade, an admirable commentary on silk manufactory. Here we find a treasurer of fans, and there of snuff-boxes; here of children’s photographs, and there of photographs or autographs of famous men; and everywhere, all over our land, will be found the covetous collector of rare, old china and pottery. Let the children be encouraged to interest themselves in some such lines as these, not so as to make nuisances of themselves and museums of their homes—there will be little danger of that—but enough to give them a wholesome enthusiasm in some particular line of study. A vast deal of general information is disseminated through a household, unconsciously absorbed, as it were, when each one has a hobby of his own, and gives out of his choicest discoveries for the common good.

As to the sitting room furniture, there are a few essentials that must be emphasized. There should be a table large enough for half a dozen people to sit around of an evening—a round one is best—strong, solid, and covered with a serviceable cloth. There are handsome woolen table covers that grow yet handsomer with age as their colors mellow together, but the best is expensive. A square of plain felt does very well, and is in better taste than the scarlet and green felt cloths stamped with black figures that were so prevalent twenty years ago. A figured cloth shows spots less than a plain one. If a mat of some sort, or even a newspaper, is always laid down under any lamp that burns kerosene, and if a blotter is always used where writing or painting is going on, a plain cloth ought to last for years. Light should abound where the family sit together, sunlight by day and good gas or lamp light by night should be generously supplied. A good duplex burner or a double student lamp uses no more oil than several small lamps dotted down here and there, about the room, and it brings the family together about the central table. So with the drop light, which is an essential where gas is used. The wise woman discards gas in her sitting room, however, and uses good oil, which is far better for the eyes. There should be a writing desk in the room. The old-fashioned secretary was a valuable piece of sitting room furniture, and many a good one has been recalled from the attic within the last few years, and, by a judicious use of soda water, has been freed from old paint, and when scrubbed and rubbed, it has shone as good as new, and much more useful than the modern Davenport. There should be large, easy chairs, not too low, for the use of the men of the house, and for elderly people who find it hard to rise gracefully and with ease from soft, low chairs. There should also be low chairs with broad seats, and short arms, or none at all, for those who must busy themselves with sewing, knitting, and embroidery, and comfortable camp chairs that can be lightly lifted by the children and carried here and there about the room. Let the chairs, in fact let everything be strong and comfortable in this room. A heavy man is often put to great inconvenience because the chairs at his disposal are too flimsy to bear his weight. There are countless stories told of the Rev. Phillips Brooks, and men of his build, who dare not laugh at a dinner party lest their chairs resolve themselves into kindling wood at the first mirthful shake. In my own parlor there is one chair deep, broad, and of marvelous strength, bought with an eye to the needs of a friendly neighbor of grand dimensions. “This is a chair that Mr. B. can’t break,” said the kindly donor who had witnessed the collapsing of ordinary parlor chairs under his ponderous weight. Remember that no chair should be expected to do service that has not connecting rungs between the legs.

There should be, also, a lounge or sofa in this room, with ample pillow, not a round horse-hair cylinder, but something useful, restful, and not too fine. Let the color be as perfect as may be, but if the material of which it is made be really too splendid for daily use, its glories should be veiled behind a strong, washable tidy. I have seen a gray linen square or towel, with drawn work at the ends, such as costs fifty cents, perhaps, at the linen shops, with a few long-stemmed poppies bending together in a row at one end, wrought in outline, with the familiar legend, “We are all nodding, nid, nid, nodding,” running sleepily down the center. That had just sentiment enough, and art enough for its place and use. Tidies are mere clutter if not intended to be brushed against and used. Paintings on blue satin, decked out with lace, are out of taste in any room, however fine, and out of place on any chair. No chair should be too daintily dressed out to be sat upon; and no painting should so hang as to invite shoulders clad in black broadcloth to rub themselves against it. “Tidies” or “chair backs,” if used at all, should be of a firm material, not easily crumpled, should be firmly attached, should give off little or no lint, and should be washed when they are soiled, or thrown away. They are better when off the white.

There should be a wrap of some sort, afghan, Mexican or army blanket, railway rug or shawl thrown over the foot of the sofa, with which to cover up the invalid of the household, or any one who is tempted to lounge awhile.

Other sitting room comforts, though not essentials, are a sewing table, stand or basket with drawers or pockets attached, for the convenience of needlewomen, a portable screen, two-leaved and not too large, that can shut off draughts from rheumatic shoulders, and an occasional hassock or footstool—“crickets” our grandmothers called them in New England.

The covering of tables, chairs, etc., affords an opportunity to introduce color into the room, but it is not at all necessary that the chairs should all be covered with stuffs of the same quality or color. Unless very well chosen, plain colors are apt to stare, like the sharp green “rep” that was so long popular, and whose good wearing qualities made it so hard to displace. If the manufacturers had only kept pace with the times, and produced the stuff in good, plain shades that would keep their colors, or figured in good designs, it would still hold its own against all the so-called tapestry goods that the upholsterers offer us. “Rep,” however, was utterly unsuitable for curtains; it was stiff and wiry, and hung in ungainly folds.

For our sitting room some light drapery at the windows is advisable. If the room has no blinds, there should be some sort of thick shades or venetian blinds. There is a yellowish brown holland that is admirable for the purpose; but with outside or inside blinds, a thin curtain like Madras muslin is all that is necessary to shade the blackness of the windows at night, or to temper the brightness of the sunlight by day. The advantage of Madras muslin or Cretan cloth over lace, muslin, or cheese cloth curtains lies in the color and figure; colored and figured curtains showing to better advantage against the light than plain white, and looking fresher much longer; they “furnish” a room more.

Whatever curtains are used, they should be hung with rings from rods of brass, bamboo, or wood—varnished pine is good enough—so that they can be pushed entirely to one side with ease. Rods should not be too large and should be finished at the ends with some simple ornament, as a plain ball which pulls off at one end, so as to allow the rings to slip over the rod. The curtains may be long, if hung outside the window frame, and just reach the floor, or they may hang from the upper sash and just reach to the window ledge, so as to cover only the window; or they may be half curtains hanging from a small rod or wire so as to screen only the lower sash. It is not at all necessary to treat the windows alike. A bay window may have a long, heavy curtain running across the bay and forming a nook where two or three may sit cosily together, and the other windows may be treated to sash or half-sash curtains of soft silk, Madras muslin, or even Turkey red calico. Where a window is filled with plants, the little half curtain running upon a brass wire and falling over the lower sash serves, on winter nights, as a slight protection for the plants from outer air, and can be thrust to one side by day, and tucked up out of sight. A little drapery is a great relief in a room where there are bare floors and much display of woodwork in doors and window frames. Then, a portiÈre in place of a closet door, a hanging before a book case, or curtains at the windows would relieve the bareness of the room as nothing else could. Curtains should not repeat the color of the walls, nor should portiÈres be of the same material and color as the curtains. Woodwork, however, when painted should repeat the wall color, though it should be somewhat lighter in shade.

There lacks but little to make our home parlor complete. A piano, if practice thereon will not interfere with the occupancy of the room by the household; otherwise let the piano be kept where music lessons given and studied will not disturb the family serenity; for many reasons the drawing room is the best place for the piano, it is more likely to be treated with respect by mischievous fingers there than in the living room; and a clock, the plainer the better—no little French fanciful affair, but something substantial, that can last like the tall, ancestral eight-day time piece. Should the clock stand on the mantel it is not essential to have balancing ornaments on either side. The choicest treasures of the house should indeed adorn the mantel piece, but it is never necessary to have two of a kind standing at equal distances from the center.

This is the room in which all things should seem to grow into a likeness to the household, and to grow old with it. Here no changes should be made but for good cause, and always for the better, never by the wholesale. Nor should furniture be introduced that is so staringly new and gay as to put the rest out of countenance and make it look shabby by comparison. There are plenty of good stuffs subdued enough in color to harmonize with any long used parlor, no matter how old the carpet nor how faded the chair seats. Whatever is good and old, though worn, let us respect, preserve, and repair.