The first part of the new house that should be attacked by the decorator’s art is undoubtedly the hall: and as undoubtedly it is here that the ordinary speculative builder surpasses himself; for, as a rule, the moment one opens the front door one falls up the staircase, or else one is confronted by a long, hopeless passage, which strikes a chill into the stoutest heart, especially if the owner of that heart has not had much experience in the art of ‘how to make the best’ of a very bad state of affairs.

But in these days of ours nothing in the way of amelioration is impossible; and, indeed, were I given carte blanche I would undertake to make the most hideous, square, ‘impossible’ house a bower of beauty. That sounds very egotistical, but I really do not mean it to be so; I only should like to impress upon my readers that never before has so much attention been given to decoration of houses as is given now, and that by the aid of carefully planned woodwork and by using arches on the plan of the Moorish fretwork first introduced by Liberty, a square room can be made picturesque, and a long narrow passage pleasant to contemplate, by simply putting up a series of slight arches, or else by curtaining off portions of it by aid of simple wooden partitions, such as are illustrated on page 25. I am very proud indeed of this sketch, as it was made from a brilliant inspiration of mine for a house where the instant one opened the door leading into the street, one was confronted by the stairs on one hand, and a long uninteresting straight passage on the other; and I was indeed pleased when I suddenly saw that a couple of arches could be cut out from what might have been a partition placed along the foot of the stairs from one side of the hall to the other, and that the arch at the stair foot could be curtained by a double curtain or pair of curtains, which would fall together when anyone raised it to go upstairs; while the other arch could be draped either to the left or right with a heavy piece of material according to the position of the wall, or whether there is anything in the way of a cupboard or door to be concealed.

Treated in this way, the ordinary tiresome little hall of a London house is metamorphosed, at once, and, as the wooden framework can be so arranged that it can be screwed into the wall and so be made removable at will, I am quite sure this notion of mine will ‘catch on,’ as the Yankees say, more especially as Messrs. Wallace & Co., of Curtain Road, E.C., are willing to erect it ready painted and varnished at about 1l. a foot; that is to say, if the

passage were six feet wide the arches would cost about 6l., if twelve 12l., and so on. The arches could be enamelled to match the hall decorations, and the curtains could be of some heavy material like the ‘Elvira’ tapestry, or the beautiful jute velvet or Bokhara plush, which is undoubtedly the material for draping, while even the humbler serge is not to be despised; but in this case the curtain in the stair arch should be made double and very full, a great deal of the appearance of this ‘notion’ depending on full graceful curtains and proper draperies.

It would even be possible in a hall arranged like this to have one of the hideous hat and coat rails which die so hard; but even here I again repeat my warning against these monstrosities; they can never look like anything save Bluebeard’s wives hanging up against the wall, and are always a temptation to the gentle burglar or the common area sneak who delights to make off with coats and hats even if he can find nothing else; but if the master of the house declines to allow himself to be educated up to keeping his garments out of sight, he may be humoured by allowing him a place behind the hall curtain, which should be then properly draped in such a manner that the coats and hats would be completely hidden; a china or brass receptacle for umbrellas could be put on the other side of the convenient curtain also, and so all these most undecorative items will be put out of sight, thus causing the arches to be as useful as they are undoubtedly ornamental.

In many houses the staircase goes up at the side and does not face the front door, and here, too, the arches come in with great effect. I mean in those houses where there is a straight passage from the front door to a room opposite which faces the door and so ends the house; in the passage there are usually two doors, one on either side, belonging to the dining and morning rooms, the end room being often enough a small back room, or, as was the case in our house at Shortlands, even the drawing-room itself; there the passage opens out on the right hand and discloses the staircase close by the door and a passage leading to the lavatory; here the arches conceal the staircase at once and also the latter arrangement, and make a decoration out of what is always to me a great eyesore. In one case where the arches have been erected the passage led to the servants’ pantry, the door of which always stood invitingly open, disclosing sink and washings-up generally to the eyes of the critical caller; the curtain conceals all that now splendidly, and the whole arrangement gives an idea of space and ‘veiled possibilities’ which is really marvellous.

When we came to our present abode the hall here struck me with dismay, and it was some time before I could understand in the least what could be done with it; it was exactly like a telescope, with a hideous window at one end, opening out on to several dead trees, and what looked like the family washing, with doors appearing just where such doors should be concealed, and, of course, it had beautiful marble papers and graining and a brand-new dado of a dark and hideous design in varnished paper too; the ‘decorations,’ however, I did not consider; but I racked my brains about the long, narrow, awful passage called by courtesy ‘the hall,’ and at last I had an inspiration. I ran a wooden partition across, about ten feet from the end of the place, and behind that put in a hot and cold water arrangement, and made it into a regular cloak-room; opening out another door into that, which previously opened out into a tiny passage leading into the fourth sitting-room, which would have been absolutely unusable had not this been done; and then, by the aid of bent laths and a little plaster, two arches were made in the passage, draped, one to the right, the other to the left, with a ‘khelim,’ looped with cords and tassels; and so I obtained what old Astley used to call a ‘wister’—i.e. a vista—and made a really decorated spot out of a most commonplace passage. Of course all the coats and hats are in the cloak-room, and there is nothing in the hall itself save the buffet illustrated on next page, which is in old oak, and which always looks nice, and forms a place where the cards of visitors can be placed, or the letters from the post, or other trifles; a couple of chairs for emergencies, the gong, and one of Mr. Pither’s beautiful red pots on a bamboo stand holding one of the long-suffering Aspidistras, which will live in draughts, and successfully bear uncomplainingly what would certainly kill at once any other plant, completing the furniture of this so-called hall.

My readers will be amused to hear that since I wrote ‘From Kitchen to Garret’ I have learned a very great

many things; indeed, if I had not, I should most certainly not be writing a second instalment of ‘furniture literature.’ However, as one of these items is undoubtedly about the hall, I am now going to mention it here at once. Reluctantly, but emphatically, have I come to the conclusion that where hard wear is expected it is absolutely necessary to have linoleum of some kind or the other on the floor. Of course a great many well-regulated households are provided with nice tiles, which I can never look at without envy; but as the majority of folks are not so highly favoured, and as most households possess boys, and many have dogs too, I have regretfully discovered that, if a house is to be kept clean and tidy, the hall must have some material to cover it that can be washed daily, and so can be perpetually and properly kept in order. There is a particularly pretty linoleum made by the Staines Linoleum Company in Queen Victoria Street, E.C., which resembles tiny squares of black and white marble, which looks very well down. Of course it is a sham, and as such is to be deprecated, but I cannot help recommending it, as it looks so clean and nice and bright, and would do admirably in some halls; while for those who will not allow any shams anywhere in their houses, nothing looks so nice as the darkest brown self-coloured linoleum put down all over the passages and halls, with some six-foot and even larger rugs about. The rugs must be as large as possible, as little rugs are apt to slip and move under the servants’ feet. They also have a most aggravating manner of turning up at the edges, and becoming shabby; while the large rugs will wear for years, and stand really very hard wear too. These are about 28s. at either Maple’s or Treloar’s, and measure about three yards long by about one and a half yards wide. I say about, as none of these rugs seem to me to be exactly the same size; but this is near enough to give my readers some idea of how many they would require if they elect to put them down in their halls. The smaller rugs are about six feet long, and about four wide. These should have a wide binding sown on at the back, top and bottom, with a few shots, or else those round leaden weights used in ladies’ jackets, underneath the binding to keep the ends down, and prevent the curling which is so unsightly and tiresome in these small rugs, and on damp hall-floors should be lined at the back with American leather.

Linoleum should never be scrubbed with soap and water, for this removes the pattern; but should be rubbed with a wet house-flannel to remove the dirt, and then polished with sour milk and water; plain brown linoleum should be kept in order with linseed oil (boiled) and turpentine mixed. This is specially required at first; for, like all materials which have no pattern on, it shows every footmark, and at first appears as if it were going to wear villainously; but the oil and turpentine soon restore it, and the rugs prevent the usual miserable effect of a plain material, which—I cannot think why—always wears badly if left to itself, and invariably looks untidy and shabby almost before it is down; therefore we may consider it an axiom that, if we are not provided with a good tiled floor, we cannot do better than have either the Staines linoleum to simulate marble, or the plain linoleum and rugs—this for preference. The linoleum should be washed daily with a damp duster, and the rugs shaken, and once a week all should be cleaned with the linseed oil and turpentine; this will double the wear, and insure all marks being quite removed.

Another thing which I have most certainly learned is, that, delightful as felt looks and feels, and that beautiful as are the colours in which it is made, it is absolutely worthless for real wear. I had it laid down in the Watford house, when we went there, all over the halls and passages, and on the stairs too, and was quite delighted with the soft, warm feel thereof, and the appearance was equally pleasing; but we had not been there six months before that wretched stuff became the curse of the household; every single drop of water, every thread, or morsel of dust, every footmark showed; and from morning until night something had to be done in the shape of brushing and dusting, and, even then, we were never clean and never tidy. And then, in addition to its other sins, if the abominable material did not begin to go into holes; all along the edges of the stairs tiny white spots showed where the under felt was working through, and before a year was out all the wretched stuff had to be removed, and replaced in the hall with dark brown linoleum and rugs; and on the stairs by Pither’s beautiful dark-blue blossom-patterned Brussels carpet, which after a year’s hard wear looks really better than it did the first day it was put down; and I can never understand how anyone can ever recommend felt, as I am convinced it is absolutely worthless as a floor-covering, and that nothing can make it at all satisfactory; and as I still see it in shops, and notice it pressed on the attention of those about to furnish, I consider it my duty to warn my readers against it, for if they succumb to its fascinating appearance, they will inevitably suffer from its possession in the same way that I did.

Another thing I most strongly advise my readers to possess themselves of, if in any way they can, is a really good stair-carpet. There should be no fidgety border or differently coloured pattern on them to attract the eye and tease the brain, but there should be merely a simple pattern in the lighter shade on a darker ground; this always looks well, and at the same time does not tire one as an accentuated pattern invariably does. I therefore recommend Pither’s excellent Brussels and Wilton pile carpets, 27 inches wide, the one at 4s. 6d., the other at 7s. 3d. the yard, for they are absolutely faultless, both in design and colour, and can be as absolutely relied on both for wear and appearance. Wallace & Co.’s ‘Stella’ Brussels at 3s. 11d. would be nice, if expense is a very great object, and their Burmese carpet with a design on is also to be recommended, and no one can go wrong about their stair-carpets if they make a judicious selection from these four qualities and designs. I am perpetually asked for a really good artistic and satisfactory carpet at a very low price, but I as often reply, You might as well ask me to supply you with a really good diamond necklace for a few shillings, for such a thing does not exist. You can get very artistic-looking carpets for a little money; the Burmese carpet is ridiculously cheap and very satisfactory, but for real hard wear Brussels or pile must be chosen, and for a really good thing one must always pay; and it is far cheaper in the long run to buy what is really good than to be perpetually vexed at the wear and tear which invariably surprises and annoys us, come when it may. I therefore very strongly advise all who can to invest in really good stair-carpets, even if they content themselves with something far less expensive for the other rooms.

Then, too, I should much like to impress on my readers that the hideous glass one usually finds ready for one, either each side of the front door, or else as elaborate fanlights over the doors in the passage, should be removed and replaced by cathedral glass in leaded squares, or by bottle-ends. If, however, this is impossible, though the expense is not great, and the effect thereof is admirable, let the grained and patterned glass be covered by a really excellent imitation of the cathedral glass. This is to be obtained from Graham & Biddle, Graham House, Oxford Street, W., and is floated on glass in the same manner in which the ancient and much despised ‘decalcomanie’ used to be managed, and really has quite a surprising effect; a third way would be to remove the glass and replace it with quite plain, clear glass, covered inside by a fluted curtain of good Madras muslin, in really artistic colours. No one who has not risen in rebellion against the builder’s arrangement of starred or patterned glass can imagine how immensely any place is improved by removing it altogether and replacing it with something else; and though this may appear a trifle to write about, I can assure you that it is only by strict attention to such trifles that one can produce an artistic whole, which shall be entirely and absolutely satisfactory in every way. And, after all, these small matters cost far less than the elaborately draped curtains, the fitted carpets, the giant sideboards, and the other expensive monstrosities against which I am always waging war.

To be really perfect, the hall should be a square space in the centre of the house, where a big fire could blaze in winter, and masses of flowers could greet the incoming guest when dear, delightful summer makes fires unnecessary; and naturally such a hall would require very different treatment to the ordinary long and narrow passage; but if the staircase sweeps out of the hall I should still suggest my arches here. They would hide the stairs—never very lovely objects at the best of times—and obscure the glimpses of ascending and descending legs, which, especially in the long-dead days of crinolines, made going up or down stairs a penance indeed to any one who had to perform the ascent and descent in the face of a numerous company gathered in the hall, besides which a sense of snugness would be given to the whole place, which it could never have were that open space left unprotected, stretching up into the air!

As a rule, the square hall should be treated, as far as mere wall-decoration goes, in the same manner as the passages which lead out of it are treated, but here it would be quite in character, were fresh colours introduced, or the style of decoration reversed: that is to say, if the dado, which is imperative in a narrow passage, were replaced by the same decoration used as a frieze, taking care only that the colours should harmonise: for example, supposing the passages themselves were decorated in brown and gold, the brown being the ‘Kenesaw’ design printed on real brown paper by Essex & Co., Albert Mansions, Victoria Street, S.W., at five shillings and sixpence the piece, the dados being of a really good and strong gold Japanese leather paper, the inner or square hall could be papered in the same manner, using, however, the Japanese gold paper as a frieze; the frieze-rail could be Giles’ picture and china rail, holding big jugs and blue and white china of all kinds, and thus a charming effect would be obtained suitable for the squareness of the hall, and yet harmonising absolutely with the passages which lead out of it.

In such a hall as this the ceiling should be divided into squares; this can be done quite easily nowadays by a series of laths or mouldings made on purpose; this is nailed into the laths above the ceiling with long thin nails. A very good moulding made on purpose is sold by Messrs. Haines & Co., 83 Queen Victoria Street, E.C., at about one penny a foot, and the squares thus made are filled either with a good ceiling paper or else by an admirably decorative material, exactly like moulded plaster, also sold by Haines, and called anaglypta; this costs about 2l. for a good-sized ceiling, and when up all should have a coat of ivory silicate paint, or else of the invaluable and admirable Aspinall enamel, also in ivory, for though builders may argue, and decorators implore, for a heavier and more ornate system of treating the ceiling and cornice, I cannot too emphatically condemn any colouring being introduced into the ceiling and surrounding plaster work in lines, and distracting contrasts of colour, thus bringing the ceiling down on our heads, depressing one dreadfully, and all too often bringing into notice much which would be better left to obscurity.

But my readers must not imagine from the above that I am recommending for one moment the ordinary ugly white-wash, the mere appearance of which ruins any room, or that I am ceasing to love the much-recommended papered ceiling—indeed I am not. Colour of some kind is necessary there as well as anywhere else, but the colour must be ivory, or faint terra-cotta, green, blue, or yellow, and must not be daubed on by the heavy hand of the decorator revelling in golds, and reds, and blues in bewildering confusion, and even introducing dreadful real or imitation oak beams, all well enough in houses where they are part of the fabric, and have the sentiment and beauty of age to defend their existence, but absolutely indefensible in an ordinary London house or small suburban villa, as indefensible as is old oak furbished up in Tottenham Court Road and made ghastly with sticky, varnished paint or stain, when placed in a house that has the nineteenth century and speculative builder written large all over it, in the bulging walls, its vilely drawn lines, and its rawness and newness and vulgarity of style.

For it is no use attempting to have a pretty house unless we are absolutely strong-minded, and begin by forbidding the decorator to do anything but what he is told to do; and it is much wiser to write down exactly at the commencement of our decorations ‘precept on precept,’ ‘line upon line,’ ‘word by word,’ for each room, exactly what we wish the room to be arranged like, putting on paper the name and number of the wall paper, the colour of the paint, and in fact every single thing, so that at the end there can be no mistake; and above all we must not be persuaded out of our own ideas by the builder or by the upholsterer, or by anyone at all, once we have made up our minds what we intend to have, for we may be quite sure that if we are we shall repent it for ever after. I am often much disappointed to find, after I have taken real and elaborate pains to tell people exactly how their houses should be decorated, that they have allowed themselves to be talked over by the builder or the decorator, and that in consequence I am again sent for (at double the expense of course), to tell them how to get over, or in some measure mitigate the horrors that have been perpetrated. ‘It is such a nuisance to run from shop to shop getting all the different papers,’ says one, ‘and the builder had almost the same sort of design in his book, and said his hung much better than those you recommend.’ ‘Oh! we hadn’t time,’ says another, ‘and so we left it to the builder, and now, please, dear Mrs. Panton, do help us again, for the house does look horrid, and we cannot think why,’ and of course I go, and could weep, really weep, over the waste of money, time, and material which would all have been saved had they handed the builder my written plan of decorations and told him that that, and that only, was to be the order for the work.

And decoration is really so easy nowadays, that, like moving, it need only be done slowly and in order to be an absolute success. All that is required from the builder is the plan of each room, you then write to the paper manufacturer for as many pieces of paper at so much, so many yards for the dados or frieze; this is ascertained by simply measuring round the room with a tape; to Aspinall for so much paint (a gallon at 25s. does quite a large room), and then having collected your materials set to work. The painter has not to exercise his genius (?) or discretion (?) at all, he has simply to do as he is told; and, this being understood, one is spared the endless discussions with the builder, who wants to sell you some of the reams of hideous paper he has bought wholesale, and for a mere song, at a clearing-out sale of the ‘Chamber of Horrors’ of some paper-manufacturer, and who makes a great parade of the printed prices at the back of the sheets, trusting that you are innocent of the knowledge that on all papers the regular discount is 33 per cent., and that his own particular stock has been purchased at almost waste-paper prices, because the manufacturer was only too pleased to get rid of what ordinary upholsterers and decorators had absolutely refused to take up; and who is persuasive and pleading, and finally impertinent, when he discovers he has an adept to deal with, and not one of the numerous victims erstwhile so easily bullied or fatigued into putting up almost anything he shows them in order to get rid of and see the last of him.

I think the hall and passage are good spots in which to once more enforce the above details, for all should be done at the beginning, at the entrance as it were, or else the worry and disappointments will be endless; therefore I cannot consider the disquisition in which I have indulged out of place, and I feel I cannot too much or too often impress on my readers the absolute necessity of being sure what they want themselves before sending for the decorator; he must only be the hands to execute the work; and he must be absolutely silent about colours and patterns of paper if the house is to be a success at all. There are several other schemes of decoration that are absolutely successful in a hall, which were not spoken of in ‘From Kitchen to Garret,’ and which can be mentioned here before passing away from the hall altogether, although there are several things still to be said about it; and, indeed, as in all that regards decoration, it is an absolutely inexhaustible subject, as new and pretty things appear daily, and good combinations of colour are constantly suggesting themselves to the decorative mind. For the ordinary long dark passage, I would suggest that yellow and white should be used, nut-brown taking the place of white should there be very much traffic in the place, or should there be necessity for a certain amount of economy; very small halls look nice with Pither’s ‘special’ yellow and white berry paper, at 2s. a piece; a matting dado in plain white with all ivory paint, and Maple’s yellow and white ceiling paper, at 4d. a piece; the matting dado being replaced by Liberty’s nut-brown arras cloth, at 9¾d. a yard, and all ‘nut-brown’ paint, where it is considered desirable to have a darker arrangement than would be obtained by the ivory and white. The arras is very wide, 54 inches, and would in consequence cover a much larger wall-space than the matting does, neither is it so difficult to manage as is matting, but both should be secured at the bottom by upholsterer’s tacks, and at the top by a light wooden rail, sold by Haines, of 83 Queen Victoria Street, E.C., at something under 1d. a foot. This should be screwed to the wall, and could be removed, arras, or matting and all at any time, which it could not be were ordinary nails employed, and a simple (and hideous) paper dado could replace the more expensive ‘properties,’ were the owner to remove and wish to take the dado with him, a plain paper-dado and a tidy wall being all that could be demanded of him by his landlord; beauty and Æstheticism are not in the bond that exists between him and his tenant.

Another arrangement would be Pither’s beautiful ‘Buttercup, C,’ at 3s. a piece, and yellow matting dado, and all ‘Mandarin’ paint, and a ceiling paper in red and cream; the ‘berry,’ at 1s., would do quite well with either of these schemes. Pither’s dull red pile carpet would be best for the stairs; and a good many Oriental rugs should be about the hall. Any draperies over the doors should be the dull red ‘Elvira’ tapestry, sold by Wallace, or of Mandarin yellow serge, this, of course, being much cheaper than the ‘Elvira’ brocade, which is 9s. 6d., as against the 1s. 11½d. of the ever useful serge.

If yellow should be objected to—and nothing is so useful or so successful in a dark passage—blue should be the next colour to be thought about, and Liberty’s blue tulip damasque is a most valuable paper for a blue hall. This is only 2s. a piece, and ‘hangs’ splendidly, and a very original effect would be produced by this paper, a high dado of red and gold leather paper, and all dull red paint; the red of the paint to match the curious dull-lacquered appearance of the red in the Japanese leather paper; the stair carpet should be red, and the ceiling paper yellow and white; as a rule Maple’s ceiling paper, at 4d. a piece, is quite good enough for anything; but if people do not mind spending a little more money, Haines has a charming ceiling paper at 3s., in yellow and white, which, being of a more geometrical and better design in every way, would be perfect for ceilings, although, as I said before, where money is an object, the yellow and white ceiling paper is all that is absolutely necessary, and really answers remarkably well.

Should a red hall be desired, Pither’s ‘Buttercup, B,’ at 2s. 6d., cannot be improved upon. Cream or else ‘Scindered’ paint should be used; a red and white matting for the dado, not a check matting, but one which has a red line in it, and dark blue art carpet on the floor, blue and white ceiling paper—Maple, 4d. a piece. Any draperies should be either blue or red, and the ever-useful Khelims would show off admirably in a house arranged and decorated in this way, for their Eastern colourings would appear to advantage against the red and cream walls. This is a bold decoration, but one that looks extremely well, as does even a bolder arrangement, consisting of the ‘Buttercup, B,’ all malachite-green stained woodwork, a dull green matting dado, Burr & Elliott’s (Oxford Street, W.) dull green cocoa-nut matting on the hall and stairs, dull green and white ceiling paper, and draperies of malachite-green serge. All the furniture should be Armitage’s stained green wooden furniture, his high-backed little settle being particularly adapted for use in a hall, where no more furniture should be allowed than is absolutely necessary, unless the hall can, by reason of its size and design, be used as a room, and treated and furnished like one.

I cannot and never do recommend either a terra-cotta or real green wall; the latter is such a nondescript and uncertain colour that the use of it in the entrance appears to me to strike the keynote to the character of the inhabitants, who are thus pronounced uncertain in their ideas, and not particularly satisfactory, and there are so many ‘builder’s horrors’ in the shape of dull, gloomy terra-cotta papers that inexperienced folks are apt to buy simply because the pure word ‘terra-cotta’ implies to a certain class of mind that the paper is artistic and high art, that I am impelled to taboo terra-cotta altogether at once; but if Liberty’s ‘tulip’ and ‘marigold’ damasque papers are bought a terra-cotta wall may be indulged in, though I can never pronounce this as totally satisfactory as are the red, blue, and yellow and brown walls. If the terra-cotta is selected, I advise ivory paint; if that cannot be indulged in, a shade of dull green should be chosen to harmonise with the terra-cotta, and the dado should be either green matting or else of green and gold (dull green and gold, please!) Japanese leather paper; the stair carpet should be green, and so should the draperies and ceiling paper.

A green wall could be arranged by using Liberty’s green and silver ‘tulip’ damasque, at 2s., and dull green paint, and a pale green matting dado, Pither’s dark red carpet, and dark red draperies, the red and cream ‘berry’ for ceiling, or else terra-cotta draperies, and the ‘Stella’ stair carpet from Wallace. This hall would be artistic; but a cooler effect, and one that would be specially adapted for a hot hall, one into which much sun pours, would be obtained by using the green and silver paper, sea-green paint, and all pale green draperies, and a green carpet, using white and green muslin on the windows, and any white and green china to hold flowers and plants that one can find.

Once the papering and painting are done and the stair-carpets are down and the draperies are up, serious attention must be given to the trifles which appear scarcely worth seeing to, but on which depend so much, and which I have spoken about in the beginning of this chapter; for it is of no use to put charming papers on our walls if we leave hideous glass in the doors, or allow our staircase windows to glare at us with strips of yellow, blue, and red glass for edges round a starred centre, in a manner found even in these artistic days in houses where people should presumably know better; and I therefore repeat my advice to my readers to look out for the trifles, and never to rest until all they possess has some beauty to excuse its existence.

Perhaps the most tiresome thing in the orthodox hall is the ordinary long staircase window; but this can be improved at very small cost if a little artistic talent is brought to bear upon it. If it can be afforded in any way the window can be made beautiful by filling it in with cathedral glass in leaded squares, and about three or four really good medallions in stained glass could be hung about. These can be procured from Mr. Pither, 38 Mortimer Street, Regent Street, W. A wide shelf should be placed at the bottom of the window, and china could be arranged there. On the landing could be placed a tall grandfather clock, in such a way that the face faces the hall, and, if there is room, a big palm in a stand adds much to the effect. This would obviate any necessity for draperies, always rather difficult to keep clean in this exalted situation. If this arrangement is too expensive, a wooden arch should be placed round the top of the window, and the woodwork should taper down each side to the bottom of the window (illustrated in Fig. 3), and a soft silk drapery should be caught up on one side. This is confined by a cord, passed over a nail, which can be loosened by releasing the cord; the curtain then falls over the windows, and either obscures the sunshine or the darkness, according to whether it is lowered at night or day, although I should personally prefer to leave it draped and to hang a lamp up in the arch, which could be lighted at night. Plants or china could be arranged along the ledge, and make a charming picture out of what is usually an intensely ugly spot.

Another great difficulty is the usual London landing half-way up-stairs, where sometimes a couple of chairs are put, on which no one ever sits, flanked by a table no one ever dusts or by a couple of palms everyone forgets to water. Here a really clear brain is required to cope with the difficulties; and I have had a sketch done by a friend of mine, who has made a perfectly charming corner out of this generally hideous spot, which I hope will speak for itself, and shows what can be made out of a similar landing with trouble and a good deal of really artistic feeling. In this same house the second door to the drawing-room, which is never used and only looks frightful to those who come up the stairs and see this door first of all, is turned into a cabinet, where various old-fashioned fans and curiosities

generally are kept, the sunken space between the wall and the door itself being amply deep enough for this purpose; and as all doors can be made to open into a room, the deep space can always be on the passage side, the flat side being in the room itself and hidden by a straight curtain, or, by a still simpler process, by taking off all the mouldings, handles, &c., and papering straight over the door, just as if it were a portion of the wall itself.

The simple over-doors, sold by so many furniture houses nowadays, should be placed over the doors, in most houses, in the hall, or else pictures should be hung there; and, indeed, one cannot have too many good pictures anywhere. If real paintings and excellent proof engravings are not to be afforded, do let me beg of my readers to indulge themselves in autotypes or photographs from really good pictures. These look specially well in a hall, and naturally do not serve as dust traps, as do far too many of the Japanese ornaments, fans, skins, and trophies of the chase, which are usually considered appropriate to this remarkably dusty and trying situation. Pictures can be dusted daily; other ornaments require more time and attention, though naturally one would rather have these than nothing, if one cannot afford pictures, in this spot, while the over-doors finish off the hall, and can have the five or six china ornaments, which look well and can be regularly dusted with a long feather brush and duly washed once a week when the hall is entirely turned out.

I most strongly advise the hall to be warmed in some way if it can possibly be managed, and I must own that I never can understand why houses are built year after year without this simple but most important convenience. One need not use a stove because one has it, but it should never be out of one’s power to thoroughly warm the house should one wish to do so, and I look forward to a day I have often spoken of, when women shall qualify as architects, and shall turn their hands entirely to domestic architecture. Until then I suppose we must go on grumbling and putting up with grateless halls, cupboardless houses, and rooms where no provision at all has been made for placing a bed or arranging furniture with common sense, to say nothing of artistic grouping, that of course is absolutely impossible in the ordinary square recessless house with which we are now so very liberally provided by the male architect!

But if in any way possible have a grate put into the hall, or else some kind of stove; of course a grate means a chimney, and this is not always forthcoming when wanted, but a grate is much to be preferred; in the first place it can mean a pretty mantel and over-mantel, and cheerful blazes in winter, and pretty flowers in summer; and in the second, the warmth it gives is separable from the fumes and stuffy feeling that one always finds with a stove, no matter how good it is. Then, too, a stove is hideous, it can’t help being so, and it is frankly frightful; still, if warmth cannot be got into a hall in any other way, a stove must be used, and I think the one sold by Mr. Pither in Mortimer Street, the ‘Eclipse,’ is as good as any; it burns a long time without any attention, and costs very little indeed—I think something like twopence for the twelve hours.

The reason why I impress upon my readers the necessity of a stove is that I cannot believe but that we should be saved an immense amount of illness were we yet more particular about an equal temperature than we are. As a rule our rooms are fairly warm, but in the winter our passages are like ice, they cannot help being so; windows must be opened and the outer doors cannot be kept hermetically sealed, and the moment we leave our fireside or the rooms where we have fires, we get a sudden chill which cannot fail to try us terribly, even if it results in nothing worse; besides which a fearful cold draught comes into our sitting-room the moment the doors are open, and we shiver and throw on more coal—coal that we should not require were the hall warmed as it ought to have been, and which would allow us to even leave our sitting-room door open should we desire to do so. Now our first exclamation to an incoming friend is: ‘Oh, please shut the door!’ and we dismiss him or her with the same pleasing but necessary injunction.

I was delighted to see in one of the papers the other day that there had been a most remarkable diminution in that fatal scourge of our ancestresses—consumption; for I am certain this is entirely due to the fact that we are far more sensible about our clothing, and much more lavish about firing, than our fathers used to be; and I feel convinced, were we to have still more fires, and were we to taboo low

dresses entirely, consumption would soon be a thing of the past. Therefore I cannot, I feel, say too much about the necessity for a stove or fire in the hall, which is certainly neither complete nor sensible without this most necessary piece of furniture; but I suppose we must await our lady architect before these are universal, or before we get a really perfect house, from a woman’s point of view at least. The furniture of the hall must depend entirely on its length and breadth, but once more I beg my readers not to allow of anything approaching the appearance of the ordinary ugly hat stand there; if Edwin will not remove his hideous hats and very ugly coats upstairs, Angelina must conciliate him by having one of the hall wardrobes illustrated here. The first one could go into a corner behind the door, and could be painted to match the decorations, or else could be of either American walnut or oak; the curtains could be of serge worked over in a decorative design in coarse crewels, or else of some pretty tapestry. Complete in art colours with serge curtains it costs 3l. 3s., in walnut 4l. 18s. 6d.; the straight one costs 5l. 15s. in art colours, and 6l. 6s. in walnut; but for the impecunious, and, alas! there are many among us, a V-shaped piece of wood could be put into the corner and screwed there with a straight piece to make a front, from which the curtain should hang down straight; behind this a V-shaped shelf could be placed for hats, and some hooks could be screwed on the wall for coats; but if in any way possible the real thing should be bought—it could be moved to any other house and would last a life-time. These designs are made by Wallace of the Curtain Road, where these capital hall wardrobes are to be had, and which will, I trust, strike a death-blow to the old-fashioned stands, which were as ugly as they were temptations to the ordinary area-sneak to come in and help himself to any coat or hat he takes a fancy to. Instead of the ordinary hall table I again suggest the buffet, illustrated on page 28; nothing looks better, and if a carriage is kept the oak chest, which can be opened like a cupboard, could hold the rugs, while the top could be ornamented with china and hold a big Imari bowl for cards, and a smaller one for the cards left during the afternoon or letters sent by post; a couple of chairs and the high-backed settle spoken of before would be ample for any ordinary hall, where there should be, furthermore, a good mat at the front door, but no small mats in each doorway or dreadful woolly mats about, things which are quite unnecessary and are as ugly as they are tiresome.

It is absolutely necessary that, whether artistic or not, the hall should be scrupulously tidy and as scrupulously clean; and I do not know a more difficult thing than to insist on the former of these two axioms, and to see one’s orders are carried out, especially when there are boys and dogs—those two fatal elements to tidiness and cleanliness, but which are absolutely necessary to the making of a complete house. One may go out leaving a spotless place, with no dÉbris to offend the eye, but one returns to find it scattered over with hats and caps, tennis rackets, bats and stumps, paw and footmarks, and a general air of distracting dirt all over, that is absolutely trying to the eye, that fondly hopes to see what it left; and the only way to cope with the human element is to make a species of pound, into which all is put, and from whence nothing can be extracted without the payment of some small fine. I have known a week’s pocket money go in one morning, but, as a rule, very few lessons are required; the unfailing exactment of a fine teaching even a boy that there is a place for everything and that everything must be put in that place. The dogs and footmarks have to be put up with, and I have known an unhappy kitchenmaid wash the front doorsteps five single times in one day, when the boys have been at home, and rain has, as is usual in Watford, been falling dismally. A back staircase is another thing no house should be built without. This spares the hall immensely, and saves the best stair-carpet, and prevents one meeting the servants as one goes up and down—a thing I personally very much object to. I don’t know why, but I resent hearing them go up to bed past the drawing-room door, and owe our present house yet another grudge, because, for the first time in our lives, we have here no second staircase. If there should be one, I again advise the oilcloth dado spoken of in my former book; nothing is so absolutely indestructible, or so clean, and with this dado a wall would remain tidy and spotless for an entire lifetime. A strong cocoanut matting should be put down on the stairs themselves, but the edges of the stairs should be carefully inspected, as back stairs, especially, are apt to be very roughly finished off; if this is the case, a carpenter should be called in, either to plane them smoothly, or mend them, or a wide, broad piece of brass should bind the edges; these, again, should have a pad of flock in a thin lining laid along them, finally covered with the cocoanut matting. These small precautions will not cost very much, but will certainly add immensely to the chances of the longevity of the carpets. It would be a good thing to have the ‘treads’ of the back stairs grained and varnished; but those in the principal staircase should always be painted white with Aspinall’s water-paint. This gives an indescribably clean and fresh look to the stairs, and the paint is so easily applied that the housemaid could do it herself yearly, or whenever an opportunity offers to re-paint the treads. Housekeepers should, in my opinion, raise a statue to Aspinall, for he certainly has removed the difficulties that lay in wait for the would-be artistic mistress of the household; for now she is rendered quite independent of the British workman, and can either paint her house herself, or give it to a man who can be trusted to apply the paint, albeit no amount of instruction will teach him to match a colour or produce anything save a hideous caricature of the paper we give him, and whose ‘heye’ is absolutely incapable of seeing what a ridiculous muddle he is making; and I, therefore, cannot too often impress upon my readers, especially on those who live far from really artistic workpeople, that if they want their houses to be really nice, they must indulge in Aspinall, and must insist on the unbroken, unpicked-out surface of paint that use of this most invaluable enamel produces most satisfactorily.