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.