The suburban rooms I myself have personally encountered and conquered have been so truly terrible that, when I look back upon my struggles with them, I can only wonder that I have survived them in the least degree. For not only were they either unduly hideous or over-ornamented in a manner that would strike awe into the boldest soul, but every window and door gaped wide apart, and were with the fireplaces, put just where they ought not to be, while in one or two cases the floors had to be relaid and the doors bodily moved round before the rooms were even habitable. I could only wonder whether the folks who had lived in some of them before (two or three were quite new, and these were, save in one instance, the worst of the lot) had escaped with their lives, or whether they had all gone away crippled in health and in temper, on a voyage of discovery to some better and more suitably-designed, eligible villa residence.

The first room I ever approached with an eye to decoration appeared to be everything it ought to be, and seemed simply perfect. It was large and lofty, had two wide and beautiful windows, and a good, deep fireplace and an excellent floor; but alas! I was not as wise then as I am now, for my only acquaintance with houses was confined to two family houses, in which I had lived all my life, and which were properly built, whatever their other faults might have been: and, in consequence, my sufferings during the first month in that special dining-room were so acute that I have never forgotten one of the numerous pangs and torments I endured: silently, it is true, because then I thought them inevitable, and it is never any use grumbling against things which must be borne! But presently sense awoke in my brain, and I saw that nothing which had caused me such woe need be put up with any longer, and I verily believe the knowledge I have since developed on the score of house-furnishing and decoration first became mine in that special house, for I was roused to the fight with cold and discomfort inseparable from a quiescent residence in a suburban house, and soon discovered cold could be expelled did one rise to the occasion and determine that, somehow or other, one would conquer, and no longer play the ignoramus or the very painful rÔle of the conquered.

In the first place, the door opened straight on the fireplace, and as the front door—a frail thing of boards and sham stained glass—was about 6 feet away from it, the cold air rushed in the instant it was opened, and the heat of the fire flew mainly up the chimney, insuring that the rest of the room should be more like Siberia than any other spot. And in the second, the windows need not have been glazed at all so little did they keep out the outside atmosphere, notwithstanding the curtains which liberally adorned them, and which used to wave right out into the room at the very smallest approach of a breeze. When there was any amount of real wind, the room wasn’t a room any longer, it was one and the same thing as being in the garden, and anyone can easily understand how pleasant it was to come down to breakfast there with a roaring fire going up the chimney and a north or east wind playfully careering around the table, which, place it how we might, could never be in anything save a thorough draught.

The first thing to do was to transpose the door, and make it open with its back to the grate. Then it had to be surrounded with the ever-useful ‘Slater’s patent’; and, as it opened into the room, a species of shelter was arranged behind it, while a curtain was hung on it—on one of the rods which open and shut with the door—and a pair of curtains put outside it. These hung straight down in good heavy folds when we were alone and there was not very much going in and out; and, as we had a ‘hatch’ into the kitchen, there never was much; but on ‘dinner-party nights’ the curtains were tied back, and so did not interfere with the coming and going, as a single undraped curtain always must interfere either more or less. Then attention was turned to the windows, and these were surrounded by more ‘Slater’s patent,’ which was liberally supplemented by putty, because the frames began to shrink away from the glass in a truly hideous manner, and, in consequence, there were two gaps, one there, and one where the frames were supposed to fit into the woodwork round the walls. The woodwork, in its turn, shrank from the brickwork, and the space had to be filled in with mortar and then painted over.

Now this special house was not a regulation £60-a-year villa, but was rented £160, and had a fair garden and good stabling, and was altogether what may be termed a ‘residence for a gentleman’s family;’ nay, even by some house-agents, ‘a mansion,’ because it had a second staircase; yet such is the material used in the suburbs! I repeat, this special house was a good specimen of the kind, and was not, as might be imagined, a ‘fearful example’ or an isolated case, so I leave my readers to imagine what the less-expensive buildings can be like, even when they can truly be advertised as possessing tiled hearths, electric bells and all the latest improvements, including a fixed bath, hot and cold water laid on; and other items familiar to those who have gone on heart-breaking journeys in search of a house, liberally supplied with a sheaf of pink and fallacious orders from a house agent. In fact, before the dining-room was livable in, we had to almost reconstruct the windows and doors; and I only regret that my improvements did not then rise to putting in a proper grate, for I am sure, if I had done so, the conquest of the room would have been complete. But unfortunately I did not realise the horrors of it until all the decorations were done and we had settled in, and then expense barred the way; not only the expense of the new grate: that would have been saved in the difference in our winter’s consumption of coal: but the cost of replacing the Japanese leather dado, which could not be matched, and, in consequence, would have had to be renewed entirely, because the grate and mantelpiece could not have been moved without spoiling at least a yard of it on each side of the fireplace. A new grate without a new mantel was also impossible, because the moulded mantelpiece, being round above the grate, was not available for the slow-combustion stoves, which are always made square. Everyone should refuse to own a round mantelpiece, because of the impossibility of adapting such a possession to the proper and only really useful grate. If, by the way, Japanese leather paper is used for the dining-room dado, or indeed anywhere for any dado or frieze, an extra piece should always be purchased at the same time, and kept carefully in some dry place, and indeed an extra piece of all wall papers should be secured. Japanese paper particularly can never be matched. I do not think, in all my large experience, I have ever come across a second consignment of a pattern I have seen before; therefore it is easy to see how necessary it is to secure more than one requires at first, else, should an accident occur, or as in my own case, an improvement be contemplated, one either has to leave the accident unrepaired or the improvement undone, because one cannot afford to replace perhaps 24 yards, when a couple at most is all that one really requires.

I have remarked before that in a new house it is absolutely imperative to have large fires going before we begin our decorations, but it is such a necessary thing to do that I must repeat the hint once more, for only after a succession of fires can we see whether the boards and window frames mean to shrink, and if they do we must apply our means of alleviation before we begin to paper and paint. At the same time, we may take it for granted that, try how we may to ascertain them, we shall not find out the real faults and real virtues of a house until we have lived in it, just as we never know our friends really until we have stayed with them or they have stayed with us. But for all that, Slater’s patent putty, and curtains will help us immensely, and more especially if we adapt ourselves to the house a little, and realise, for example, that the head of the table can be just where we like to make it, and need not be exactly between the door and window with the fire at the back, because the orthodox dinner-table seems able to stand in no other position.

Now I maintain that no one should ever buy the regulation long dinner-table, and that happiness and comfort, to say nothing of beauty, are much more likely to be found at one that is round or oval than at one that has the usual British head and foot. If it be round, the master of the house sits naturally where his place is put for him, but if not he as naturally gravitates towards the head, regardless of the fact that his back is scorched and he feels ill and uncomfortable, the while his feet and hands are in Siberia, and an icy blast plays about his head because the door opens straight on him, and in consequence he cannot get out of the range of the bitter wind from the passage or hall, try how he may to exclude it from the room. Talk about heredity how one will, and disguise if we dare its dreadful tyranny if we are sufficiently ignorant on the subject to do so with proper complacency, still I venture to remark that the dogma is proved to the hilt every day. An ordinary English family takes possession of the miserable hulks most of our houses are, and settles down without a struggle against them, to patiently endure the preventable miseries inseparable therefrom. There is no real need for any man to sit at the head of a dining-table, generally twice too long, too, for everyday needs. The side would be far more comfortable, far more common-sense in every way, but because the male of the house has always taken his seat in that special position, perhaps at the commencement of the family in a castle the walls of which were 3 feet thick, the present day man does the same and remains there, although he grumbles all the time and ‘wishes to goodness’ some way might be found by which he could be insured from being starved with cold or fried to death, or indeed often enough both at the same time. Therefore is it well to have a round table, for anywhere there can be the head or the foot, and the man at once accepts the new position, without demur; but given the ordinary table, nothing will move him, argue as we will and demonstrate as we may how infinitely better, in every possible manner, another seat would be for him.

Of course, if the house be accepted as it is, nothing can ever make it nice, be sure of that. If it be wind and water-tight, and that is a rare experience, the so-called decorations will either be terrible, or else will ‘swear’ continually at the belongings we bring to put amidst them. Lucky is the woman who finds dirty paint and torn and smudged papers and who does not come across an obstinate landlord and a ‘newly-decorated house.’ If she does and she possesses an ordinary husband who thinks anything does so long as it is clean and tidy, she should flatly refuse to enter it, for if she has artistic taste her life henceforward will be nothing but misery; for, absurd as it may seem, real pain and discomfort are given by ugly or incongruous belongings; and I venture to state boldly that people would be much happier did they own and realise this fact, and give over priding themselves on ‘rising above their surroundings,’ a thing no one possessed of the smallest eye for colour or form was ever really able to do. Superior folk always tell us we can, just as they say we ought not to be influenced by the weather, yet ‘ought’ doesn’t come into the matter at all. Maybe we ought not, but then we ought not to be ill or grow old, or be irritable, or anything but severely virtuous and good in every rÔle we have to play during life, but all these things are or are not. What they and we ought to be or to do is quite another matter, as anyone with a grain of sense will, I think, admit.

When, therefore, we have duly circumvented the draughts and dangers which await us in the ordinary suburban house, the next thing we have to consider is either how to paint and paper and furnish, or how to decorate to suit the goods we may already possess. If we have already got our furniture, the paint and paper must be bought with an eye to those. Yet as a rule it is so easy to re-cover dining-room furniture that no one should be debarred from having a pretty room because they have ugly seats to their chairs, or own perchance a set of frightful curtains. I am no advocate for cheap materials, which appeal to a ‘threepenny public,’ and scarcely last until they are made up, such fleeting joys are they: but I unhesitatingly say that, given the choice between ruby velvet and Wallace’s old gold diamond serge, or pale blue ‘Tanjore cloth’ from Shoolbred, the ruby velvet may depart as far as I am concerned, and I should put up the other colour in the cheap material, knowing full well that the beautiful colour would always delight me, while the velvet would disgust me every time that I entered the room. The same remark applies to the carpet. If it be ‘handsome,’ generally another word for something too hideous for words, put it into the next sale that is handy. Somehow ‘handsome carpets,’ always fetch splendid prices at sales, where even good furniture is almost given away. Then buy one of the many charming carpets Smee & Cobay, or Wallace, or Hewetson sell, according to taste and means; remembering that all carpets are merely backgrounds to the furniture, and should never attract attention to themselves in any way. One very soon tires of a pattern, an obtrusive pattern that is to say, while one never can tire of soft shades of the same colour, or else of the excellent ‘drawing-room’ Turkey carpets or Bokhara carpets, sold by Bartholomew & Fletcher and Shoolbred, which suit almost any room, and fit in with any style of decoration. If, in removing to a new house, the mistress has to consider her furniture and curtains and carpet, she must look at them carefully before she begins her instructions to the decorator. Suppose for example she has a big sideboard, ten or twelve walnut or oak chairs, with shabby leather seats, an orthodox table, and perhaps a writing-table, she will, as a rule, come to the end of her impedimenta. Her first endeavour should be to get whoever may be coming into her house to take curtains and carpets at a valuation; her second to put them in a sale; then she can proceed joyfully, spending the proceeds on new ones, which may be much simpler, but will be much more artistic, and so much more satisfactory to live with in every way. If however she has a pretty carpet and curtains, and they will not quite adapt themselves to the room, what is she to do? In the first place if the carpet is too large it is best to return it, if possible, to the shop where it was bought to be re-made into a square, and edged with a nice woollen fringe, if, indeed it was not born square as all carpets should be, and furnished with a good border. The worn parts are thus eliminated but should be carefully kept for mending purposes. In the second place, if it is too small and cannot be matched, it should be surrounded by matting, staining, or plain brown cork carpet according to the state of the boards, and should be supplemented by a large Eastern rug in the windows or by the fire unless the carpet is too small or too frankly British for such treatment. In that case it must be sold or relegated to another room. Unless this is done the result of any manoeuvres which may be made with it can only result in abject and total failure. If the carpet be available and be of the new kind of Turkey carpet, it is well to have a good yellow and brown scheme for one’s decoration; and, in any case we must have some kind of a dado and that must be sought after very carefully, for sometimes one can come across a real bargain in oak panelling, to be sought for with most chances of success at Hewetson’s and at Bartholomew & Fletcher’s; while Godfrey Giles’ ‘goehring’ and ‘Glastonbury’ dados are inexpensive and really good and what they are meant to be. Personally I am devoted still to Japanese leather paper, and these are all the materials I really care about for a dining-room dado, though anaglypta is not to be despised. At the same time it is generally 1s. a yard unpainted and one can get for the same price a good Japanese leather which does not require painting, so there is no reason for choosing the one in preference to the other. A gold and brown leather paper dado should be the first thing to procure, either at Liberty’s or Knowles’. Sometimes one has it, sometimes the other; it’s all a matter of ‘consignments’ after all, and knowing where to search for what one requires. Then all the paint everywhere must be ‘tea-pot’ or ‘earth-brown,’ while above the dado should be either a vivid yellow paper, an orange, or a soft brown, according to the aspect of the room itself. Orange and yellow look best in a sunless chamber, and a really soft brown, something like the palest shade of chocolate, or the deepest of cafÉ-au-lait, harmonises best with sunshine that pours into the room from the first thing in the morning until late in the afternoon.

Then attention should be turned to the chairs, and if expense bars them from being re-covered in soft brown leather, and take my word for it, there’s ‘nothing like leather’ where dining-room chairs are concerned, we can either fall back on ‘Pantasote,’ a species of crocodile-looking material sold by any upholsterer, or we can use stamped and ribbed velveteen from Shoolbred, or Wallace’s frisÉ velvet in golden brown, which will transform the chairs at once, and bring them into harmony with their surroundings, the while new yellow diamond serge curtains are hung, and a diamond serge tablecloth, with a darker velveteen or frisÉ velvet border laid on is placed on the table. If the awful sideboard must be kept, we must make it as bearable as we can by placing a coarse linen and Greek lace cloth on it which exactly fits the top, and just, and only just, hangs over the edge. We can keep three plants there when the sideboard is not in use at meal-times, but should, as a matter of course, allow nothing whatever in the way of plate and dinner-table accessories to spoil the appearance of the room. Such a room would be quite simple, quite inexpensive, yet always a joy to live in, especially if the rules of plain paint, ivory-coloured cornice and papered ceilings are adhered to here as elsewhere. Trifles these things may be, but on trifles depend success in furnishing, which never can be perfect if the smallest matter is passed over which is not quite what it ought to be merely because it is too ‘trivial to matter.’

There are about three different styles of windows in suburban residences, and these are the bow, the ordinary sash, and what I call the ‘Randolph Caldecott’ window; and all these can be most successfully treated without using the abominable and expensive roller blind to which Britons are so deeply, so almost irrevocably attached. We have less sunshine than almost any other nation under heaven, yet we of all people cling to the useless and truly ugly window blind with a devotion worthy of a nobler cause. Still I have hopes that constant preaching may do something, and that in time we may realise the fact that nothing but outside blinds are of the smallest use in really hot weather, and that curtains are meant to draw, and that should they fail to be anything save melancholy wisps at the end of an expanse of glass, they are not only useless but absolutely ridiculous in the eyes of any artistic person. The ordinary bow window, if small has been so often written about that I really cannot think it necessary to dwell upon it again; and is it not illustrated not only in From Kitchen to Garret, now a respectable classic nine years old, but in Wallace’s catalogue, and Smee & Cobay’s, and doubtless in others too? But a larger one has not been illustrated that I know of, and while the fundamental lines to go on should be those of the small window, the material curtains should be long, there should be no window-seat in the dining-room—unless there are a couple of windows and no third sitting-room—and the muslin curtains, which are fixed on the window frames and take the place of blinds, should be supplemented by four long muslin curtains, frilled each side, to go under the material curtains in the centre of the bow, and two, frilled one side only, to go one each side at the end of the bow. These curtains should be crossed at the top, and held back high up with wide frilled bands of muslin similar to that used for the curtains. As a rule H. Gorringe’s spotted muslin sold ready frilled is the best material for this purpose, but I am very fond of Wallace’s ‘Guipure vitrage’ for the curtains on the window. If this be used, the long curtains should be of Guipure too, taking care to have a double edge to the centre curtains, and a single one to those which go at the end of the bow.

The ordinary sash window, if short, should be treated like the centre window of the small bow window, but if it reaches from floor to ceiling it should have the double set of muslin curtains which I have just been writing about. Then we have only the Caldecott windows to

deal with, and these, unless we are much overlooked, should have one set of stout material curtains only. As a rule these windows are divided into two parts, the top filled in with stained glass and immovable, the second plain glass and opening either straight out or straight into the room. The rods for the material curtains should come below the stained glass, and each curtain should be placed to go down the wooden part of the window frame only, and each small curtain should be drawn to keep out the sun as required. If muslin must be had in addition to the material, it must, should the window open out or into the room, be fluted on a couple of rods, which are placed top and bottom of the window itself. But if the window open outwards frilled muslin curtains can be arranged on rods on the window frames, to remain in place whether the window is open or shut, an arrangement which is imperative should neighbours be close, or at anyrate, if we are provided with ‘Caldecott’ windows in our bedrooms. I do not advise a window-seat unless we have two windows, because no one should ever sit in the dining-room unless it is positively necessary to do so, and, moreover, it is well to use the space for a writing-table and chair in any but a really large house, and that is a place about which I am not writing at this moment. Here can the husband devote some of his time to household matters and letters of friendship when he is at home, while if there is no third room the mistress can use the desk in the day-time, albeit I trust she may have her own in the drawing-room, that is, if she cannot utilise some upstairs room, although under no circumstances can I advise the stuffy and stupid muddle of so-called ‘boudoir bedroom.’

Now one word about the curtains which may possibly have to be used, which may be artistic and pretty, and yet may not quite fit the bow windows. If they are too long and wide anyone can tackle them; if they are too short it is easy to make them longer by adding as much holland at the top as is required, and then covering that with an adaptation of Mr Ernest Newton’s turned-over draperies. If the original curtain is a plain material, as, indeed, all curtains should be, the holland should be covered by a deep flounce edged with trellis fringe, of some figured material, either a good tapestry or my pet printed velveteen. If the curtain be figured the turn-over drapery should be in plain Bokhara plush or velveteen, while cheap serge curtains can be lengthened by merely joining on more serge at the top, and hiding the join with a narrow piece of ball-fringe merely tacked on. If the curtains are too narrow, they can be widened with a deep flounce or frill of soft Surah silk, or even sateen, in some plain colour, but these devices should only be resorted to if the curtains are really worth saving; if not, it is far better in every way to sell them, or give them away—the ever-ravenous Kilburn establishment is always open to such gifts—and purchase others, which can not only fit the windows, but at once allow us to have, perhaps, far more harmonious surroundings.

Of course, if we are in the heavenly position of having no old furniture, and can set to work with a free hand, and sufficient money to enjoy ourselves, we can at once do just as we like. But no! even then we have to consider the special room and how best to circumvent its idiosyncrasies. As a rule the door is on the same side as the fire-place, or else exactly opposite it, and we may have recesses on each side of the fire-place, or we may have only an expanse of straight wall beyond the door, and not a recess in the whole place. This latter is the worse fate of the two. The recesses can always be filled either with the charming buffets made both by Smee & Cobay, and Wallace, or by colourable copies of the same without backs, made to fit the recesses, which I do not advise, save in cases where money is a great object: then and then only such an arrangement could be allowed. The shelves could be on brackets and the wall behind hidden by little sateen curtains, sateen curtains replacing the doors in the cupboard part. These shelves could

be made by any amateur carpenter and are in any case much better possessions than the dreary, little, badly-made sideboard one finds all too often in far too many suburban residences. These sideboards are machine-made and are cheap and nasty, generally coming to pieces after the first fires have been lighted and always smelling of varnish, and looking more depressing than I can say. If the wall be recessless, and long and hopelessly flat, we should have a good buffet-sideboard in the centre of the wall, in either some good brown wood, or else in my pet stained

green material with copper hinges and fixtures, but with no looking-glass about it anywhere, and with nooks and odd places generally for china and odds-and-ends. Then on one side of the fireplace should be the dinner wagon, as illustrated, made from my ideas by Wallace. The wood can be stained green, and the tray is copper. This is removable, and allows the maid to carry out plates, china, etc. without an effort, thus very greatly simplifying the mysteries known as ‘clearing away.’ There should be about ten chairs in the ordinary dining-room and these could have stained green frames, and either orange or bright red leather seats. In this case the wall-paper should be real sealing-wax red and cream over a stained green dado, or else real bright orange over the same kind of base to the wall. If money is a great object the seats can be rush, but leather should be managed if possible, and the real orange or bright red are as novel as they are artistic and beautiful with the green furniture. A soft green carpet with very little pattern on, should be chosen, and soft green curtains. The other colour selected should be introduced at the top of the curtain in the turned-over top, which should be of printed velveteen; and if the rush-seated chairs are used, a couple of arm-chairs for the master and mistress should be procured. If there be no third room, leather arm-chairs must be bought and placed one each side of the fire; for here, alas! the husband must smoke if he indulges in that detestable habit, for unless there is a tiny conservatory, and there often is fortunately, even in quite small suburban houses, he will have no other place. But given the conservatory he can smoke there. It can always be made warm and pretty, and his smoking will be good for the plants, and that at anyrate will be some small consolation to him.

Let no one ever persuade suburban residents either to purchase their furniture in a desperate hurry, or to buy what is called modern or Flemish oak, or that most hideous material of all real pale, light oak, which can never be anything save an absolute abomination. As a rule, the modern oak is flimsy to a degree, and is also detestable in design and in manner and style. I would rather have the simplest possible deal furniture, stained brown or green according to my fancy, than either of these materials, which nothing can make bearable in the smallest degree, and I am sure anyone who has had the experience of modern oak I have had—not in my own person, I know better than that; but in the person of others—would never contemplate it for one single moment. If by the way, the hall of the house is blue, it were well to keep the dining-room to the brown and yellow scheme, taking care the draperies in the hall are Wallace’s diamond serge, and that the inside portiÈre is in yellow printed velveteen, which can be repeated in the turned-over draperies in the curtains. Or we can have orange and cream, having brown wood and orange leather, and a real Eastern carpet with an orange ground which can be found, and therefore must be hunted for, for I have seen them now at Cardinal & Hertford’s, now at Bontor’s in New Bond Street, now at Hewetson’s, and again once more at Liberty’s. Know what you want dear readers! and have that and that only, and not the ‘next article,’ so shall you achieve artistic salvation and in no other way at all; for be sure if one shop does not possess the real thing, another will, and that patience is required in shopping, as well as faith and many other of the cardinal virtues.

But let not the very smallest householder that exists allow herself to have gas in her sitting-rooms on any account at all, neither let her condescend to keep above her head the hideous centre-piece in plaster work which is always provided for house-owners save in the more artistic (and more draughty) houses which have panelled ceilings, the plaster part of which should be coloured cream, and the panels themselves filled in with anaglypta, or else with ordinary ceiling paper judiciously arranged. The plaster rose can be removed in a moment, and replaced by a hook from which a good duplex lamp from Benson & Company in New Bond Street, should be hung, with either a pierced copper or opal glass shade, and this gives light enough for any ordinary occasion; extraordinary ones can have extra light from candles placed on the buffets or sideboard, and in sconces on the mantel and over-mantel, as shown in sketch, the duplex lamp being lighted or not as the mistress likes much or little light, or possesses, as she may possibly possess, branched silver candlesticks, or the equally beautiful Sheffield plated ones which she can place on her table on very grand occasions.

Of course, endless schemes of decoration can be evolved every year, whenever the new papers come out and new materials are produced, but there are certain things which never alter and which should always be recollected. First among them is the fact that we cannot possibly have too much real colour, and that far from demanding the timid compromises so dear to English folk, our climate and atmosphere clamour for real sealing-wax reds, deep oranges, clear yellows, and beautiful blues, and that nothing should make us temporise and have instead the smudgy terra-cottas, crude greens, ghastly lemons, and dull greys and browns which are so liberally provided for us by the usual paper-hanger. Then we must recollect that anything we buy must harmonise with what we have, while, if we have nothing—and happy is she who can begin anew and unhampered by old horrors in the fresh abode—we must buy nothing in a hurry, nothing that does not suit the special place it is meant for. We had better have one good chair than a dozen ugly ones. Also we must recollect that pictures, plants and ornaments are the hallmarks of a home, which cannot exist without them, for these things judiciously chosen and arranged, and not overdone, are after all what turn the worst suburban villa that ever was designed into an artistic abode. But then not one detail must be forgotten, neither the bell handles, the fenders, fire-irons nor finger-plates nor door handles which should be all artistic and all in one material, either beaten iron or copper, or the humbler yet satisfactory plain and untortured brass.