very sparingly, particles of the thinnest
possible glass from the glass-houses. The
graining of oak papers is done by putting an
iron comb in the place of the smoothing
brush, when the paper receives its first
coat.

Among the papers shown in the warehouse,
where the completed goods are deposited, the
most beautiful in our eyes was a broad
panelled paper of white, watered with a panel
border of roses. We looked in vain for the
sort of hanging which we must think will be
in demand ere long; a hanging which, being
dark near the floor, becomes gradually lighter
towards the ceiling. At present, decorators
depend on a dark carpet and a light ceiling
to give the effect indicated by decorative
principle and required by a trained eye, some
aid being given by a dark skirting board,
and a cornice of light and bright colours; but
there seems to be no reason why the hangings
on the walls should not do their part,
and there can be no doubt that a wide new
range of design would be opened by following
out this principle.

What we owe to the designers of good
paper hangings can hardly be estimated by
those who have not travelled in countries
which assume to be highly civilised, but have
no time to get things done in the best manner.
Even at home, and in good houses, one meets
occasionally with a mistake in the choice of a
pattern: a mistake which causes irritation
and annoyance to the visitor, from hour to
hour; as when a pattern, which is
everything that could be wished in the single
breadth, gives birth to an imperfect form
when joined with the next breadth; a
diamond, for instance, which turns out a little
smaller on one side than the other, or a curve
which is not freely carried out. But in some
parts of the United States, among other
places, where money is not spared in decorating
dwellings, but workmen are scarce and ill-
qualified, one sees extraordinary spectacles
on the walls of good houses. We were once
standing in perplexed contemplation of our
chamber wall, when our hostess entered, and
told us how vexed she had been about it.
She had employed an emigrant paper-hanger,
who had passed himself off as a first-rate
workman. She gave him the papers, and left
him to his work. In a wonderfully short
time, he came to her, exulting: he had done
the job—capitally—he would say that for
himself; he had "made every crease show."
And so he had—with the most perverse
ingenuity—by now spoiling the pattern, and
now leaving a white thread of space between
the breadths. There was no upholsterer's
store within many miles, and therefore no
remedy. Our hostess was English, and
annoyed accordingly. The Americans care
less for such things, or do not even discover
them, unless the blemish is very flagrant.
We remember a curious instance of this
difference between the American, and the
English eye, which met our notice as far off
as Lexington in Kentucky. We were taken,
of course, to the Senate Chamber at Lexington
— merely our own party—to see the room.
A picture over the President's chair hanging
awry, we naturally stepped upon a bench
which stood below, and set it right with a
touch; after which the party went home,
to one of the best houses in the neighbourhood,
where a young Englishman of rank
and a Mr. Clay were to join us at dinner.
Our hostess and her guests fell into
conversation about furnishing drawing-rooms, and
attention was drawn to the paper of the
handsome room we were sitting in. All
admired it; but we observed on the oddity of
the workman having put up two breadths, in
different parts of the room, upside down. The
hostess laughingly doubted it, had never
heard of it, could not see it now: would ask
the young Englishman, and see if any body
thought so but ourselves. Presently came a
Mr. Moat with Mr. Clay. Mr. Moat was asked
to look round the room, and say if he saw any
blemish anywhere. He glanced round, and
pointed to the two breadths that were topsy-
turvy, to the amusement of the good-humoured
hostess, who said the English eye was
something past her comprehension. Upon this,
Mr. Clay related that he had just been taking
Mr. Moat to see the Senate Chamber, and that
he had mounted a bench to set straight a map
which he declared to be hung awry, though
nobody else could see it. The laugh was now
louder than ever; and then followed a
discussion whether it was a privilege or a
misfortune to be so particular as we English had
proved ourselves. Perhaps we should suffer
more from our particularity in a new country
than the thing is worth; but we should be
sorry to lay it aside at home.

The omnipresent gutta-percha is among
the paper hangings already. It presents
itself in the form of consolation to the owners
of houses which are cursed with a damp wall
or corner. As for a generally damp house,
one has only to quit it, if one has ever been
foolish enough to go into it. But there are
many excellent houses with some faulty bit—
some corner or projection which got wet in
the building, and could never be got dry;
and here comes in the gutta-percha paper
most consolingly. The housewife may have
rubbed, and warmed, and dried, with toil and
pain, every summer; but in winter, the stains
come again, and, towards spring, the green
moss. She may have battened that end or
corner; but then, there was the uneasy thought
that the damp and the moss were growing
behind the screen. In case of damp from
driving rains, in exposed situations, it may
be true that there is nothing like a mantle of
ivy, under whose leaves dry dust may be
found at the end of the wettest winter. But,
if the damp be incurred in the process of
building, the ivy is not the appropriate cure;
and besides, it takes some years to cover the