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.