If we wish to make a complete conquest of the special suburban residence we are about to circumvent, there is no doubt whatever that the first battle of all has to be fought and won on the very doorstep. Nay sometimes one has to commence the conflict before we reach as far as that, for have we not the ‘carriage sweep’ to tackle and the slamming gate to minister to before reaching the front door? If we are cursed with the ‘approach,’ all we can do is to make the gate as inoffensive as we can, for alas! we must keep it or we shall have our front garden a gathering ground for all the curs in the neighbourhood. But we must e’en remove the latch altogether, and line the place where it was with indiarubber, and put a couple of stout indiarubber springs on the house side of the gate, which should have an inner lining of wire-netting, and a head-trimming of barbed wire, or else of rough nails, to prevent the demon boy seating himself thereon. Then, if by firm refusals to allow tramps to come up, and by never giving them one farthing—or indeed anything save a bread ticket redeemable at the nearest baker’s shop, and which, ten to one, we shall find torn up in our ‘avenue,’—we can induce them to mark our gate with some secret sign, which means we are unspeakable brutes and not good even for a ‘little hot water,’ we shall have ensured ourselves a certain amount of quiet, and shall, at all events, have begun our campaign in the right way. Our gate we should paint some good solid colour, and Indian red is a good shade with green hedges and trees about us, as is also a special shade of dark olive green. Then the name of the house should be painted on in white, not gilded letters, and if we put as well ‘Please shut this gate quietly’ on both sides of the top bar, we shall find that we at least are no longer noise-makers in general, and, as far as our special gate is concerned, the great slamming question is replied to satisfactorily.

I may seem to dwell unduly on the matter of noise, but I can assure my readers that every preventable noise is both a sin against themselves and also against their neighbours. They may be in rude health and inclined to jeer at all I say, but the day will come when their heads will ache and their nerves bother them and when noise will torture them, and then they will wish devoutly that they had legislated at first for peace, for they certainly won’t get it when they have not the strength to insist on it. I say preventable noise, and most noises are that, for even the wretched piano in the schoolroom can be placed in such a position that it only worries those to whom it belongs; while the person who encourages barrel-organs or screaming children, should be at once sent to the wilds of America, no other place being large enough to hold such a barbarian.

We know, of course, all English folk think their homes are their castles; well, if so, the castle should have appropriate surroundings. There is nothing much of the castle about a suburban residence, and the sooner this fact is realised the better for those who dwell therein and on both sides. Now, the carriage gate being painted and settled with, and arranged to be fastened back should we have many callers from three to six in summer, from three to five in winter, we can turn our attention to the front door. I have had to circumvent for myself and for many many other folk the ordinary suburban residence, and I have only in one case found the front door treated in a manner that showed me that the man who planned the house had the very smallest idea of what he was about. As a rule, the front door opens straight on the narrow passage called hall by courtesy, with the ladder-like flight of stairs going straight up at one side. Then just opposite the front door, and about eighteen or twenty feet from it, is the door of the third room, which becomes library, smoking-room, or even day-nursery or schoolroom, according to the tastes and the age and number of the owner’s family, and nothing can be worse than this arrangement. But in the exception of which I speak, the hall ends at the front door portion in a wall, and the front door is placed opposite, as in the diagram on the next page, and thus the wind which enters when the front

door is opened only circulates in the tiny vestibule, and is shut off from the hall and house by the inner door, beyond which is a small fireplace, so small as to be scarcely visible at all, yet large enough to ensure the equal temperature which means so much in this very evil-minded climate of ours. Now, it would not be an enormous expense, either to add the vestibule, or to make it by closing the ordinary entrance at A and opening one at B, while the vestibule could be shut off from the hall by curtains, should there be light enough to do without the extra window, or by a glazed screen, should light be otherwise an impossibility. In any case the gain to health would be enormous, while the comfort is of course at once ensured which is so absolutely necessary, and yet as a rule is so little understood. If one can have curtains, and expense is a great object, it is well to obtain from Oetzmann a fretwork arch, which is made for this purpose, and which is nailed on the wall and to the ceiling, and is at once simple and effective. The rod the simplest brass one which can be procured, should go behind the arch, which should face towards the end wall, and curtains of Wallace’s diamond serge should fall from the rod; there should be two full curtains, double, if possible, and edged with ‘grip cord,’ not ball-fringe. They will be constantly moved, and ball-fringe would soon spoil, while the cord is a hardy thing and capable of standing a certain amount of pulling about. As a rule the floor of the ordinary suburban hall is made from the roughest of boards which shrink apart coyly from each other as if they were youthful maidens at their first ball, but sometimes we are fortunate enough to come across tiles. And yet I don’t know whether I should quite say fortunate! For sometimes the tiles are more frightful than I can describe, and are often cracked and irregular, while one can manage the boarded floor if one resolutely tackles it and determines that it shall not conquer one instead of being conquered itself. If one has tiles one should place two or three rugs over them, the Abingdon Carpet Company’s charming ‘Arts and Crafts’ rugs for choice, made in the proper length and width for these places; but if one has not, the boards must first be stopped, planed and smoothed and ventilated, and then a plain cork carpet from Wallace, of Curtain Road, E.C. should be put down. This should be ventilated too, by piercing holes here and there with a gimlet, else dry-rot will ensue, a thing which once in possession is very difficult to get rid of, I can assure my readers. The cork carpet must be supplemented by rugs, and in any case the vestibule should be tiled with plain self-coloured tiles to harmonise with the decorations, for here would be shed the wet waterproofs and umbrellas of the way-worn traveller, who could then proceed towards the drawing-room undeterred by the despair that seizes one when one feels at a disadvantage owing to one’s raiment. This feeling often prevents people paying that kindest call of all, the call on a wet, dreary day, when we are dying with loneliness and boredom, and would give anything to see the friend who will not come because she would be ‘too wet for the pretty room,’ and ‘so dirty, she would really be ashamed to enter anyone’s house.’

Now, with the sensible short tweed skirt and tweed undergarments, which fortunate present-day damsels don unknown and unchecked, and a good plain, yet pretty waterproof, anyone is weather-tight; and if the parlour-maid pops the umbrella into the beaten iron ring for that purpose placed behind the front door, and hangs the waterproof up in Wallace’s handy P. T. C. wardrobe in another corner; and if the boots are carefully wiped on the mat placed in the sunken place in front of the door, the visitor enters the room spotless and as dry as if she had just emerged from her own house or from Lady Gorgeous Midas’s brand new brougham. The tiled floor should have upon it a pretty thick rug lined with American leather: one can be bought for about 8s. 9d. at Treloar’s: an outlay that no one need mind, but that ensures once more a certain amount of comfort.

The front door should, of course, never be grained, and it ought in these days to be quite unnecessary for me even to hint at such a thing. But mighty is the ‘local decorator,’ beloved of the suburbs, and his counsels will undoubtedly prevail, unless we put down our foot very firmly indeed, and keep it resolutely in that special attitude. He will ‘grain’ the door if he can until doomsday, I am convinced, but my readers must be firm and dignified, and above all must they give their instructions in writing, and keep a duplicate signed by the ‘decorator’ (save the mark!), else will they find he has gone his own sweet way after all, and they have no redress whatever. It is an axiom that whatever colour is chosen for the hall that colour alone shall be on the front door, but it may be in a darker shade, while the vestibule can often be treated differently to the hall itself, though of course it should lead up to and harmonise with it. Let me describe what I mean. The special vestibule I am thinking of has a couple of small, diamond-paned windows, one at the end, one opposite the front door, and below this latter is a wide panel painted with a tiger-lily, and then a wide wooden seat which lifts up and holds carriage rugs, and on which anyone could sit did he or she come with a message or a note and require to wait an answer. Both windows have wide ledges on which stand pots holding palms or aspidistras, and all the paint on the inside of the front door and on the vestibule side of the glass screen-doors included, is a special, beautiful soft grey-blue shade. The panelled walls are the same colour; the curtains are soft yellow silk, and the ceiling proper is yellow and cream. On the floor are dull blue tiles and a Scinde rug, and in one corner is the umbrella-ring, which one can get at Shoolbred’s for about 18s. 9d., and that is all. There is no room for the P. T. C. here, and the waterproofs are taken at once into the servants’ room to be hung up and dried, but it would be much better were there a corner wardrobe, only, alas! one can’t make space where one doesn’t possess it.

The screen is made somewhat like this. The top and side panels are all of leaded glass, as far as the brackets which hold pots for palms. The tops of the doors are more leaded glass, and all the base is wood painted on the vestibule side, the soft grey-blue spoken of before, and on the other a specially soft and deep ‘real ivory.’ The dado is of ivory, gold, and black Japanese leather paper, and the paper above is one of Smee & Cobay’s, and is a cunning blend of green and red, managed in such a way that the whole effect is a pinky red, which harmonises with the grey-blue, and is as original as it is undoubtedly most pleasant to contemplate. The stairs and all doors are curtained off with yellow diamond serge, and the passage—i.e. hall—is covered with plain green cork carpet, on which are laid rugs in which the grey-blue colour aforesaid predominates. Of course the ceiling is papered in yellow and white, and equally, of course, all the paint is one even surface of colour. Nothing can excuse picked out or striped and embellished paint: nothing! Genius is better employed on better work, and even genius is out of place in making ornamental that which after all is only going to be part of a harmonious whole, and merely a background to ourselves and our possessions. Therefore must there be plain paint everywhere, and no cornice should be more than a moulded band, merely coloured a plain cream or ivory colour. If the front door and the doors in the vestibule screen are not above suspicion of draughts, they should be at once surrounded with Slater’s patent draught-excluders, which can be procured anywhere almost, but surely at Shoolbred’s or Whiteley’s; for nothing is more trying than a draught. Have as much air and proper ventilation as possible. Have a vestibule window open for some time of the day in winter and all day long in summer, and have the staircase window open as well: a house that can’t have a thorough current of air cannot be a healthy one. But do not allow the insidious draught, and the cold and unwarmed halls and passages, which are ubiquitous save in a large house possessing a big, square hall, where one usually finds a good fireplace. However, one should manage somehow to make a fireplace there, ay, even if one can have nothing better than the small, round, moveable stove called the ‘Ideal,’ which burns patent fuel, and can be taken away at any moment. It should be placed on an iron corner bracket rather raised above the floor, and a guard should be round it, so that dresses could not come in contact with it. But one should never be tempted from the paths of virtue by the charms of oil stoves, for they always smell and are detestable, no matter what anyone says; for though they should not, of course, if properly cleaned and attended to, proper cleanliness and care mean personal attention in a small household, and I cannot think how anyone can touch oil, or whatever has held it without a shudder. There is a smell about paraffin that, let us ‘shatter the stove as we will,’ continues to cling about it and us in a way that is enough to make us and our friends very ill indeed. It’s an unnecessary smell, too. If we can’t depend on the maids, we must see to our own lamps, but we need not have stoves. They give a poor heat at best, and at worst—but there is no need to harrow our feelings by dwelling on that side of the picture. Be sure that whenever we can have real fires, we should have them, and that no house can be warm, and therefore healthy, if we have no fire in the passage. It need be only a wee one. It can be kept in for hours by using briquettes and small coal judiciously, and as it prevents colds and consequent suffering, and very probably doctors’ bills, it need not be omitted on the score of expense. Once see to the draught-excluder and the hall fire, we shall save in the sitting-room fires too, which are often twice as wasteful as they need be, because we pile them up to warm the bitter air that rushes in when the door is opened, and because the ceaseless draughts from doors and windows drive the rushing heat up the chimney and make the coal burn out doubly as fast as it otherwise would. Then too there is no labour about the modern small tiled fireplace. It is cleaned and laid in less than five moments, and indeed were we sensible about our houses, we should not have half the bother with our maids that some of us have, because we would minimise the amount of work by labour-saving appliances, instead of making it double what it need be, as we all of us do, more especially in those suburban houses, where, after all, the labour question is one of the most burning problems that the female part of the population has to discuss at its weekly gatherings on its special afternoons at home.

The hall grate should be on the smallest scale possible, should have a plain wooden mantel and small over-mantel consisting of a wooden frame and a slip of bevelled looking-glass, and should have tiles for a hearth and a surround, and should be provided with a high guard similar to those found in all nurseries, but in brass, not in common painted wire. On the mantel we could put one or two framed photographs and about four glasses for flowers, and also a small clock, should the hall not be sufficiently large to allow us to have the proper tall one there; but great care should be taken not to overdo the ornaments here especially, for a hall gathers dust in a dreadful manner, and too many ornaments mean dirt, and therefore should in no way be encouraged. The walls of the hall should have pictures on them; there is no doubt about that, and good autotypes and Burne-Jones’s photographs from Mr Hollyer of 9 Pembroke Square, W., are the best to have. They should be framed in the simple reeded frames sold by the Autotype Company, New Oxford Street, and should be hung judiciously. The lowest should just, and only just, escape the dado-rail, the highest should be only a couple of inches above it at the outside. There should, of course, be no pictures whatever in the vestibule portion of the hall, neither in the hall itself should there be any brackets for china, nor over-doors on which pots and vases can be placed, for the maid must always get the steps to dust these places and, in consequence, dusting, is, at the best very seldom, at the worst never done. But over every door in the halls and passages must be placed portiÈres of some kind or other. I have come to the conclusion that a couple of curtains is the best arrangement for this, if the doors open into the rooms, as they generally do in a small hall; if not, of course the rod, which opens and shuts with the door, and which Burnett sells for 4s. 6d. complete, must be used. The pair of curtains allows the servant to hold one back for the visitor’s entrance as she opens the door, but they must be crossed at the top by putting the last hook on each curtain in the ring that comes last on the one belonging to its fellow; this prevents them from gaping open, and always keeps them in place. Suppose each curtain has six hooks, one puts five belonging to the left-hand curtain on the left-hand set of rings; in the sixth, one puts hook No. 1 of the right-hand curtain; hook No. 6 of the left-hand curtain goes into hook No. 1 of the right-hand one; the other five rings are filled by the remaining five hooks then on the right-hand curtain, and this ensures the curtains remaining always in their place in the most satisfactory way possible. The best material for hall curtains is undoubtedly Wallace’s diamond serge, and it should be lined with sateen the same colour as that chosen for the curtains, and should be edged with grip-cord. The glazed surface of the sateen resists the dust, and the curtains should always be unhooked once a week and shaken out of doors, and the poles and rings rubbed over with the new Selvyt cloths, which are admirable, and far surpass the ordinary duster, as they polish as well as remove extraneous matter and dirt. This is the work of the housemaid, who is responsible for all dusting in the hall, and also for all brushing and shaking; the washing of the steps, cork carpet, etc., being the duty of the kitchen-maid, should one be kept; or else of the ‘tweeny-maid,’ who takes, in a measure, the kitchen-maid’s place in the ordinary small-sized establishment. One word now about this said cork carpet, and the best way to treat it, for it really is a very important matter indeed. People should never allow themselves to be talked into buying the orthodox and hideous-patterned linoleum, which gives a hopelessly ‘bourgeois’ appearance to any house, and at once puts a stop to anything like artistic decoration. ‘The pattern going through to the back, as it does, ensures that it can never wear off,’ says one person; ‘have the beautiful linoleum which imitates parqueterie,’ remarks another, regardless of the fact that such imitation is as vulgar as it is ugly. Why! it would be an advantage to me that the pattern should wear off, a pattern being generally a mistake on any hall floor; and, therefore, should the hall be untiled, or not made of the silent wood blocks which are the ideal component parts of any floor, and which are not likely therefore to be found in any suburban residence, one should be resolute, and refuse flatly to have anything at all but the soft-coloured cork carpet, which we can supplement with rugs. I am aware that at first one feels as if one were going mad over my pet material, for then every footmark shows, and every atom of dirt is visible, but I prefer to be able to see dirt, in order to ensure its speedy removal. Still if at first we give the cork carpet one thorough good rub with linseed oil and turpentine, and one only, all we need to do afterwards is to have it washed over with warm water, or milk and water. Soap should never be used on any account whatever, and then if once a week it has a real polish with beeswax and turpentine, it will wear for ever, and, after the first, will not unduly agitate us by bringing into prominence the erring footmarks of ourselves and our friends. But, of course, it must always be supplemented by rugs. Then we have an ideal hall covering, for the rugs can be taken up and shaken daily, and so is cleanliness ensured, and without that the house cannot possibly be habitable at all. On no account, not even in houses where ‘expense is no object,’ should a fitted carpet be allowed in the halls and passages, for it is utterly impossible to keep such an arrangement even decently clean. Think of the traffic in a hall! the muddy boots, the paws of the dear dogs (and everyone should have an unchained dog, it’s the chained-up victims that are the terrors of the suburbs), and the drippings from wet umbrellas and garments, and renounce carpets there for evermore. Besides which, we have to remember the fact that it is almost impossible to sweep out any corners in rooms or halls, and that should the housemaid attempt to do so, she only knocks great pieces off the paint in her endeavours, and finally has to resort to a damp duster to pick up the ‘fluff’ which congregates there. Damping woollen carpets is one of the easiest methods of procuring a visit from the fatal moth, so should not be resorted to unless we are quite at our wits’ end.

The ordinary suburban staircase is another of the things we have to approach with fear and trembling. As a rule, Jacob’s ladder has suggested its design, and it is so proud of its appearance that it thrusts itself on our notice the instant we enter the house. In this case we can only grin and bear it, the while we make its long expanse of open balustrade and wooden understructure as bearable as we can by covering in the first with Eastern dhurries or Khelim curtains, and filling in any panels in the latter with Japanese leather paper, which is invaluable for this purpose. But should it be modestly stationed at one side, as has been the position of the three staircases which have been my portion in the suburban residences I have dwelt in most complainingly; then one can curtain them off better with the same arrangement of a fretwork arch I described when writing about the vestibule; or by a couple of stronger arches which one can get at Wallace’s, one of which encloses the stair, and the other leads to the back premises and lavatories and cloak places. These arches are of course, curtained, and so the ordinary visitor sees nothing save the sitting-room doors or door and the hall itself, and is spared those awe-striking glimpses into unsuitable spots, which are all too often exposed guilelessly to the unhappy and much-embarrassed guest, who neither wishes to see into the parlour-maid’s pantry, nor to view a vast line of old hats, waterproofs and tennis rackets, and who much prefers to remain ignorant of these and many other secret arrangements of the innermost recesses of our home.

Now not only are the position and design of the staircase more annoying than I can say, but the stairs themselves are, as a rule, simply too painful for words. They generally consist of a series of short, sharp ascents, and are never by any chance low and broad, as a self-respecting stair should most undoubtedly be, and are moreover so extremely narrow and sharp at the edges that they are warranted to wear through any stair carpet in less than a twelvemonth, save perhaps a pile carpet, and that they will ruin in a couple of years at the outside. No one can alter either the steepness or narrowness of the stairway. Alas! they are both past praying for, but if the sharp edges are circumvented by carpet pads sold by any good upholsterer for a few pence or manufactured at home out of curled paper enclosed in linen covers, and made to resemble a very small, thick cushion, and if we put carpet felt under the carpet we shall find the carpet itself wear decently at anyrate, especially if we see it is carefully moved once a month in such a way that the portion that was at the top one month lives at the bottom the next, reversing this same position once more when the time comes to move it again. I have often remarked that there is no such thing as a cheap stair carpet, and that the cheapest article at first is the dearest in the end, and I have seen no reason to alter my opinion. Pile with only a small design as pattern and no fidgety border, is the best thing in the world, and can be bought at from 4s. 11d. to 7s. 9d. a yard. Next to pile comes Brussels at about 4s. 6d. Then comes Wallace’s ‘Dunelm’ at about 4s., and, finally, a new, self-coloured, all-wool material called ‘Roysse,’ sold by the Abingdon Carpet Company at 2s. 3d. three-quarter width—the ordinary stair width—and at 2s. 11d. a yard wide. Lower than this I cannot for one moment advise even the most impecunious among us to go; neither can I advise the ‘bargains’ and ‘odd lengths’ of pile and Brussels that are often obtainable at really good shops. If they are bargains as far as material and make are concerned, they are absolutely hideous, and are only got rid of because even the British taste has refused them; and if they are odd lengths we cannot ever match them, and that means replacing the whole carpet should an accident happen to one small part of it, which we could have replaced in one moment had we bought a proper carpet. Such an one as is always kept in stock by most of the best shops in London, the owners of which have learned that a good and pretty thing is a joy for ever, and that once it is pronounced such it can be always recommended and brought forward, not because it is the ‘last new thing,’ but because it is old, and has been well and truly tried and not found wanting.

The upstairs passages should be treated to more cork carpet and rugs, and under no circumstances must a ‘walk’ of carpet be allowed, neither may the rugs be put down in a wearisome, unbroken line unless the passage is very narrow and allows of no deviating from the straight path. If there be a landing, as a rule two rugs are required, and in the passage the rugs can be put one after the other in a somewhat similar way, less, as I remarked before, the passage is very narrow. In that case a ‘vestibule rug’ must be procured either from Shoolbred, Hewetson or the Abingdon Carpet Company. These can be had in lengths of about 6 feet by 4 wide, and 9 feet by the same width, while there are both longer and wider rugs to be procured, but then the passage should be long enough to allow of there being two in use, if not more, when they can be placed in any position save in a long, straight line.

The doors of the upstairs rooms must always be securely curtained, and here one wide, full curtain should suffice. There is not the continual exit and entrance to these chambers there is to the downstairs rooms, so then one curtain upstairs will be enough. These should be kept in place by putting the end rings past the bracket on which the brass rod rests, then the last hooks on the curtain are put into them, thus ensuring that the curtains are always kept drawn. Anyone who has passed by a vista of open bedroom doors, left open when the owners have, at the sound of the gong, rushed downstairs to meals in too great a hurry to put their rooms tidy, will not need to have impressed upon them the fact that it is absolutely necessary to decency to have portiÈres which fall into place behind the person who leaves his or her bedroom door open, and so discloses to all comers the ravages which getting up too often leaves in view. It is a good thing also to conceal the entrance to the bathroom and lavatories by a curtain, which should depend from a beaten iron arm which stretches straight out into the passage. This arm can be procured from Bartholomew & Fletcher for about 18s. 6d., while the curtain should be heavy; printed velveteen made double and fan-edged making an absolutely perfect if somewhat expensive curtain. Godfrey Giles has a charming velveteen, which is a mixture of blue and green. Wallace has a beautiful yellow and cream one, and Smee & Cobay have these velveteens in most colours, notably in a rich and exquisite red, which it is a pleasure to look at, and which also wears extremely well, even in windows where the sun has a certain amount of actual power, and is never really kept out at all.

Any cornice upstairs as well as down must be coloured ‘cream’ or ‘real ivory,’ and the ceilings here as elsewhere must be papered with some simple, inexpensive paper, in a colour which harmonises with the decorations. And now let me impress upon my readers that even if they have only taken their suburban villa on the usual tentative three years’ lease: which is so rarely renewed: it is always worth while to make their surroundings charming, even should they not remain in the house after the first term of the three, seven or twenty-one years’ lease is over. First because if the lessee and the owner combined would take trouble to ensure beauty and comfort, I am quite certain that moving would not be as continual as it is at present. The trouble taken over the house would endear it to the dwellers therein, while the comfort would cause them to think twice before they deprived themselves of it; for once let one’s roots really strike home, and no one who has not tried it can tell how difficult it is to drag them out of even an uncongenial soil. While from a congenial one! well, there is nothing on earth so hard to do and so fearfully difficult to bear, and no after-delights can cause these wounds really and truly to heal! Secondly, dear readers, it is always worth while to have beautiful and harmonious surroundings, ay, even for a few months and even if we have to leave them. For in this latter case, we shall have left them as an art legacy to our successor, who will not be very difficult to find if we leave behind us charming papers and appropriate decorations to mark where we have once made our home!

Of course each individual hall requires individual treatment, and it would be well-nigh impossible to lay down any hard and fast rules to be followed implicitly; but a dado, a real not a sham one, is an absolute necessity in any narrow hall, and no one should be afraid of one of coloured paper, bold in hue as in design, for a large, bold pattern makes a small place appear larger, and real colour must always be a pleasure, which a muddled, pale and timid tint can never be. A dado could be of wood, if the lease is long enough, and the purse too, to allow of it. In this case Godfrey Giles’s ‘goehring’ material and ‘Glastonbury’ panelling will suit those who cannot afford oak. Arras cloth, with a pattern printed on it is beautiful, especially if hung like the old-fashioned arras used to be, to resemble a gathered curtain. Then I am devoted to the plain, string-coloured matting, sold on purpose for dados at 10½d. a yard; and there are of course, anaglypta and Japanese leather paper always with us, while the printed arras cloth paper is a strong and good material which is not to be despised by any manner of means at all. In all cases there must be a real dado-rail, and the paper above, as indeed every single thing in the hall, should harmonise. I am devoted to a blue hall myself: the one described in the first part of the chapter can well be absolutely copied, while it should be remembered that a dark hall calls for yellow and cream, or red and cream a real, bold, sealing-wax red: let there be no mistake about the colour: and nothing should authorise the employment of either a green or a terra-cotta hall. Green can never be a success there, while terra-cotta spells fear and shows artistic hankerings which the owner is unable, or not bold enough to carry out. I am not devoted to any terra-cotta save some shades sold only by Liberty. I would never have even these, save in some bedrooms and an occasional, a very occasional, dining-room or library.

As a rule the lighting of the hall should be managed by placing first, in the vestibule, a gasalier in the very centre of the ceiling, where the gas should be enclosed in a bucket-shaped glass in a beaten-iron lantern frame; secondly, in the hall itself a similar treatment should be followed out, if the ceilings be high enough to allow of it: if not, side-brackets near the dining and drawing-room doors should be used. And finally more side-brackets should be upstairs, these again of beaten-iron, and with the same shaped glass. These can be bought very inexpensively of Shoolbred, while Messrs Strode & Company, of 48 Osnaburgh Street, Regent’s Park, make beautiful and more expensive brackets and lanterns and lamps on the same lines.

There should be as little furniture as possible in the ordinary suburban hall or passage. The really necessary furniture has been described as placed in the vestibule; but, if we have room we should undoubtedly have a tall palm on a stand, a grandfather clock in one corner, a couple of chairs: tall, high-backed ones for choice: and, if possible, between the dining and drawing-room doors, which are often close together, or at anyrate close to the latter door, have a nice plain walnut table. This would hold the necessary bowl for cards left during the afternoon, and taken away every day, because keeping them seems like parading the amount and quality of one’s friends; and, if we visit much a book is of course kept in which visits and addresses are entered. Beside this, have only a small vase of flowers and maybe a couple of books placed across each other at one corner. These give an air of life even to the smallest hall somehow; and on little touches like these, absurd as it may seem to mention them, depend the artistic completeness of the whole house.

One word more, hats, cloaks and umbrellas must be put out of sight somewhere; while all should recollect that it is extremely easy to over-furnish any place, but especially so to over-furnish a hall, and that in a narrow passage and in small quarters, one had far better have too few impedimenta than too many. The former state of affairs can always be remedied as we come to understand the capabilities of our new abode; the latter can only draw down upon us the objurgations of our friends, the while we collect dirt and dust, and can’t comprehend why we are as uncomfortable as we most undoubtedly are.