For example, most of the modern houses, and certainly one in which I once lived, have not one single attempt at one, and have not even deep recesses in which hooks and a curtain on a rod could be a substitute for a cupboard, and in consequence we were compelled to spend a small fortune on wardrobes. I purchased some very nice cheap ones at Maple’s made out of deal, and painted a revolting drab colour, and also grained to imitate maple—bird’s-eye maple. I only wish you could have heard the chorus of anger when these arrived home, you would all have been amused; but I said nothing, sent for my friend the painter, and gave them into his hands, and in a short time they returned, one painted a lovely sparrow’s-egg blue, further embellished with Japanese leather panels and brass locks; the other an equally pretty shade of terra-cotta ‘treated’ very much in the same way. I am almost afraid to say how little these cost. One has a long glass in, and I think was 4l. 10s., and the other 4l.; but they have ample accommodation, and are extremely pretty pieces of furniture, and match the dressing-tables, washing-stands, and chairs, of which more anon. These painted wardrobes can be embellished at home, if we use Aspinall’s invaluable enamel paints, remembering that two coats of this make any old grained thing beautiful; all one has to do is to scrub the old paint well with strong soda-water, rubbing it down afterwards with glass-paper. All graining, by the way, can be treated like this, though naturally painters much prefer to add up a bill and insist on burning off all old paint. Should the graining be very thick, an application of ‘Carson’s detergent’ is advisable; this costs 5s. at La Belle Sauvage Yard, London, E.C., and removes the old paint in flakes immediately—a much cheaper and far less offensive proceeding than the burning off of the paint so dear to the soul of the ordinary workman.
In my own room I must confess to greater extravagance, for I had a large dressing-table in light wood, and so fancied I must have all the rest to match, and in consequence I had to give 12l. or 14l. for my wardrobe. This I bought of Messrs. Hampton, in Pall Mall East, and better tradesmen I for one do not know. After I had had that wardrobe a few months the glass suddenly cracked straight across from no reason that I could discover, save from pure ‘cussedness,’ as the Yankees say. However, I wrote to the firm, telling them what had occurred, and they at once sent down an employé, who discovered a warp in the wood, and without a word or an atom of expense to me they removed the spoiled glass and door, and sent me a brand-new one—a perfectly fair thing to do, of course, as the fault was in the manufacture, but one very few people would have done, I venture to state, without acrimonious correspondence, and an attempt to charge at any rate. Why, only the other day I bought an umbrella at a shop I should love to ‘name,’ as they do in the House, and when it went into holes, real holes, in less than a month they declined altogether even to re-cover it, saying it had not had fair wear. It was not worth a fight, but that shop will now lose my custom, and I most certainly will never recommend it to any one. If tradesmen knew how far a little civility and courtesy went, some of them would, I am sure, imitate the noble conduct of the Messrs. Hampton.
My wardrobe has a deep drawer for hats, a place for hanging jackets, and plenty of shelves and other drawers for linen and dresses, and I could not do without it in the least, though, of course, it may be too dear for Angelina, in which case I must strongly recommend her to buy a cheap deal one and have it painted to match her room, putting on brass handles—the drop handles are the best and most decorative—and filling up any panels that there may be with Japanese paper, or tightly stretched cretonne, like that used for the hangings.
If Edwin be a clever carpenter, he can easily make a frame to simulate a wardrobe. The top can be formed of very tightly stretched holland (it does not show, and the glaze resists dirt and damp, I think, better than anything else), and the front can be hidden by a nice curtain—serge lined with holland would be best. The sides of the frame should have rings on, like picture rings, to fasten them to the flat surface of the wall, and can be painted. Edwin could put in some wide shelves, but these make-believe cupboards are best for hanging one’s dresses and jackets in, as they will not stand much weight. A less costly thing even than this can be made with an arrangement of curtains, rods, and brackets, but the one suggested above should not cost 30s., curtain and all, would last years, and be removable from house to house, as no cupboard is.
The most valuable things I know, too, are Maple’s box ottomans. No one makes them quite so cheaply as he does, and they are invaluable for ball-dresses, spare blankets, ordinary dresses—in fact, for anything; and, with a judicious arrangement of cushions, form sometimes an excellent substitute for a sofa. Though, if the room be large enough, I recommend Angelina to possess herself of what I always used to call ‘a long chair,’ which was originally a camp bedstead, is made of iron and sacking, lets down to a bed or rises up to an arm-chair, possesses an extra leg for a sofa, and finally has a long cushion, covered with cretonne or serge, that can be made to serve as a mattress if a spare bed is wanted in a hurry. I think this curious article of furniture costs 30s., and there is nothing like it for comfort. The sacking gives with one’s weight, and never fatigues one, and it is even superior to a deck cane chair, which is very nice, but will creak and groan under one, and is apt to feel hard and ridgy after lying there for some time.
I do hope my readers will not think I am given to ‘lying
