If woman's rights would only usurp one more of what have hitherto been almost exclusively man's rights—the profession of architecture—she would in truth become the architect, not only of her own fortune, but of the fortunes of a suffering sisterhood, whose great plaint is, "So many things and no place to put them!" For who ever knew a mere man, architect and artist of the beautiful though he were, who had even the beginning of a realization of the absolute necessity for closets—large ones, light ones, and plenty of them? In his special castle, boxes, bundles, and clothing seem to have a magic way of disposing of themselves, "somewhere, somewhen, somehow," and so it does not occur to him that his own particular Clorinda is conducting a private condensing plant which could put those of the large packers to the blush. But let him have just one experience of straightening out and putting to rights, and then only will he appreciate that closets are even more essential than cozy corners and unexpected nooks and crannies for holding pieces of statuary and collecting dust. If a woman could be the "& Company" of every firm of architects, there would be an evolution in home building which would lengthen the lives and shorten the labors of "lady-managers" in many lands. When that comfortable wish becomes a reality, let us hope that "Let there be light" will be printed in large black letters across the space to be occupied by each closet in every house plan, for the average closet is so dark that even a self-respecting family skeleton would decline to occupy it, evil though its deeds are supposed to be. The downpour of the miscellaneous collection of a closet's shelves upon the blind groper after some particular package thereon, gives convincing proof that absence of light means presence of confusion; while it also invites the elusive moth to come in and make himself at home—which he does.
THE LINEN CLOSET
But after all, it is a blessed good thing to have some closets, even dark ones, and proper care and attention will go a long way toward remedying their defects. Clothes closets we must have, china closets we usually have, and linen closets we sometimes have, not always. To the housewife who possesses a linen closet it is a source of particular pride, and the stocking and care of it her very special pleasure. Its drawers should be deep and its shelves wide and well apart—not less than eighteen inches, and even more in the case of the upper ones, for the accommodation of the reserve supply of blankets, quilts, and other bed coverings. Arrange on the lower shelves the piles of counterpanes, sheets, and pillowcases in constant use, linen and cotton in separate piles, and those of the same size together. Washcloths and towels, heavy, fine, bath and hand, have each their own pile on shelf or in drawer, according to room. Shams and other dainty bed accessories go into the drawers, one of which may be dedicated to the neat strips and tight rolls of old linen and cotton cloth, worn-out underclothing, etc., as they gradually accumulate. Where no provision is made for a linen closet, a case of the wardrobe type, built along the inner wall of a wide hall, answers the purpose very well, and is not unpleasing to the eye if made to harmonize with the other woodwork. A closet of this kind may vary in width from four to six feet, with swinging or sliding doors, preferably the latter, and drawers and shelves, or shelves alone. Or there may be a cupboard above and shelves below, or vice versa.
CLOTHES CLOSETS
Clothes closets of this description can also be built against unoccupied bedroom walls, the objection to the number of doors thus introduced being offset by the great convenience of having one's clothing immediately at hand, exposed to light and to view directly the doors are opened, for we find things by sight here, not by faith. Angles and recesses which have no special excuse for being are easily converted into closets, one to be used as a hanging place for the various brooms, brushes, dustpans, and dusters in use about the house. Brooms, by the way, must never be allowed to stand upon their bristles, but must either stand upside down or hang. Another nook becomes a convenient place for hanging canvas or ticking bags filled with odds and ends of dress goods, white and colored, news and wrapping papers, balls of twine, and other pick-me-ups.
THE CHINA CLOSET
The china closet is designed for the accommodation of everything in use on the dining table, with drawers or cupboards for linen and silver, and shelves for dishes. The latter should be arranged with an eye to artistic effect as well as to convenience, platters and decorative plates standing on edge and kept from slipping by a strip of molding nailed to the shelf, pretty cups hanging, and those of more common material and design inverted to keep out the dust. Stand the large and heavy pieces, vegetable dishes, and piles of plates on the bottom shelf, and on the next cups and saucers, sauce dishes, small plates, etc., placing the smaller dishes in front, the taller ones behind. The third shelf may be devoted to glass alone, with tumblers inverted and bowls and odd pieces tastefully arranged, or to both glass and silver. On the fourth shelf place such pieces of glass and silver as are only occasionally brought into service. Personal taste and convenience dictate to a great extent the placing of the dishes, but absolute neatness and spotlessness must hold sway. No other closet is more prone to disarrangement than the china closet, where the careless disposal of one dish seems to invite the general disorder which is sure to follow. For this reason it demands the frequent rearranging which it should receive. Its walls should harmonize in color with those of the dining room. Small, fringed napkins or doilies on and overhanging the shelves help to impart an air of daintiness and make a pretty setting for the dishes. When the china closet does not connect with the dining room, but is a "thing apart," its shelves may receive the same treatment accorded those in the pantry—white paper or oilcloth covering and valance.
While well-filled linen and china closets appeal to the aesthetic side of the housewife, clothes closets speak directly to her common-sense, managerial side. If she had a say-so in the matter, their name would be Legion, but she must not think over-hardly of the few she has, for they are invaluable developers of her genius for putting "infinite riches in a little room"; while the constant tussle in their depths with moth and dust induces a daily enlargement of her moral biceps—and her patience. May their shadow never grow less (perish the thought!).
CLOSET TIGHTNESS
Before anything goes into a closet see that all the cracks in the floor are entirely filled with putty, plaster of Paris, or sawdust, for otherwise dust and lint will accumulate in them, and there the beetle will find a house and the moth a nest for herself. Whiting and linseed oil mixed well together until the paste is smooth will make the putty. The plaster of Paris is easily prepared by mixing the powder with cold water till it is of the right consistency to spread, but it hardens so quickly that only a little can be made ready at a time. Or, dissolve one pound of glue in two gallons of water, and stir into it enough sawdust to make a thick paste. Any of these preparations can be colored to match the floor, put into the cracks with a common steel knife, and made smooth and even with the boards. A better way, however, seems to be to omit the coloring and give the entire floor two coats of paint after the cracks are filled. There are those who prefer covering the floor with enamel cloth; but try as we will, it is all but impossible to fit it so closely that dust and animal life cannot slip under it.