Warren sheaf., 1905-07-06

sometimes great steamers passing on
their way across the ocean. into which
the bay poured its waters. The at
mosphere of the place was permeated
with repose.
When one is obliged to thread his
way gingerly through a drawing-room
that is filled to the overflow with
easels and statues and busts and spin
dle4egged tables and fragile chairs
and obtrusive footstools, in danger
every second Of stumbling or knock
ing something over, things are wrong
with that setting.
Another mistake is to have too little
light. Why darkness and gloom
should be sought in any portion of a
house where people must live, has al
ways been to me an unsolvable problem.
Mysterious corners are in order in a
cob-webbed attic or an underground
cellar, but they are seriously out OF
place in a pleasant room into which
visitors are ushered, and which is sup
posed to be rallying spot for ue
family.
Light does no harm Although the
strong rays of the sun may somewhat
impair the first freshness of uphol-
stery, yet they tone down crudeness
of color. and in the end are an i'm
provement. Throw open the windows
and glorify the room,' was the cheer
full order for the day of Sydney Smith.
Ones spirits are apt to go down in a
dull. dark crypt-like room; they rise
to sparkle and effervescence when the
sunbeams come dancing in, and the
house looks glad and gay.
1t is wonderful how ones things re-
spond to ones mood. Certain easy
chairs welcome you to their embrace
when you are tired out. and rest you
almost as if they knew they were do
ing it; they seem to have caught the
spirit Of the house. and have a per-
sOnaity Of their own
Certain chairs and footstools belong
to certain people. l knew a dear Old
lady, blind for years, who always oc-
cupied one corner of a large and COM
Portable sofa. Children and grand
children were careful not to usUrp this
throne of the serene and beautiful
matron, who dwelt in the dark, but
liked to have everything CHEEKY about
her. Sometimes a stranger. not know
ing the traditions OF the home, would
install herself in the mothers place.
but was always gently conducted to
another seat. The setting of that
house was not perfect unless the moth
er took her accustomed place. When
she was gone forever, the mistress OF
the house rearranged every room, and
carried that sofa to another part of her
domain. She felt that, for awhile at
least, no one else could sit there; the
Old sofa in her thought was sacred and
would almost feel profaned if used by
others than the one to whom it had
belonged, through so many pleasant
seasons.
All this Of course Is sentiment, and
Mr.. Gradgrind does not understand it:
with his incessant demand for facts
and statistics, he cannot enter into the
joy that comes from feeling. Yet feel
ing is the chrism Of life
1t is possible to make too much Of
life's setting. as l have said, and to
spend so much labor on, externals that
there is no time for satisfaction in the
inner life, but while women continue
to be queens regnant in their homes
they will take pleasure in having the
homes beautiful, neat, harmonious,
and to some degree sumptuous 1t is
their privilege thus to do. A home is
not a penitentiary, nor a counting
room, nor a shop; it is, as l said at
first, the background whence we issue
into the open for business or pleasure.
1t is our fortress against all invaders,
our refuge in distress. In the day of
calamity and disaster. we hide our
selves at home. In the day of triumph
and good fortune, we invite our friends
to rejoice with us there We are with
in the bounds of reason in making the
setting of home as beautiful as we
can