The character and grace of a room depend so much upon the hangings, that we cannot be too cautious in our choice of fabric. The kind of folds into which they fall, and the colour, must alike be carefully considered; and good sense will remember that the adage, ' Those laugh best who laugh last,' may be applied to furnishing materials - those look best which look well longest. In this age of shoddy and adulteration, it is difficult to know what one is buying, however high the price. No assurance on the part of the shopman is reliable, not because he rneans to cheat, but because he really does not know what the wearing capacity is of fabrics which look like silk, cotton, wool, but are in reality weighted with chernicals of a destructive kind. After much dismal experience, I am inclined to doubt every fabric containing the slightest stiffness, even when warranted at the best shops. Rich-looking, heavy satins, I know from experience, are largely doctored, and are useless for long or even reasonable wear, either in dress or furniture They can be tested by boiling a small piece before purchase: if they curi tip in the process, they should be avoided: unadulterated silks boil without curling up.

Fabrics made of wool and silk mixed may wear well, may clean, may stand sun and air, as modern 'silk ' and 'satin' will not; pure wool is most satisfactory of all. Beautiful as were the old honest furniture silks (however costly), stiff through close weaving, not gum, with their vast arabesque patterns and shimmering lights and shades; beautiful and durable as may be some modern copies of the old: the extravagance of using the specious rubbish which has taken their place recently does not justify me in recommending them, save to maniacs. When English trade in silk and satin has regained its ancient prestige, it will be time to uphold it, but not now. I propose then to examine certain fabrics which are worth buying, because fairly serviceable as well as beautiful; and I must confine my attention to woollens, cottons, and mixtures. And how beautiful such fabrics may be nowadays, I hope to show without frightening the fastidious public with a homely name. 1 began by condemning stiff fabrics, 'which would stand alone' (the old phrase when silk weaving was honest); and this applies to woollen goods as well as silk. A stiff woollen, or a stiff mixture, is probably aided by cotton, and the cotton is surely aided by chemicals.

This adulteration, termed 'dress' in the trade, or 'harmless preparation on the hack, without which the material would look very poor,' very soon becomes patent when the material is in use. The 'dress' will actually shake out in powder during the making. It will disappear in patches, making the stuff look unequal in colour and thread; and the first time the curtains are cleaned or dyed, they can never be put up again. This may be 'good for trade' for a while, but not in the long run.

The ancient tapestries which line our museums and many old houses in England were made of wool, or wool and silk. The wool was fast colour, and so strong and well woven that the threads have lasted until now. Every tint of fruit or flower, of sky or human visage, was reproduceable fairly well in wool. The brightest parts were put m by silk, or paint itself. Such tapestries are eminently suited to wall hanging, and every form of heavy curtain. Nothing looks better as a portiere than a tapestry of moderately conventional design; nothing wears better. These tapestries can be copied now with very fair success. I have seen some which certainly look as if they would wear as well as the old - that is to say, they are all wool, as thick as carpet, the ends clearly visible at the back, and the colouring soft and harmonious, such as ought to be fast. I have not, however, experimented with them. The warmth of such curtains when weight is needed, would be delightful. For my own part I would not even line them, to hide the honest-looking back, full of ends of wool, and the large folds in which they would hang would be suited to any dining-room or study where solid splendour seems in place.

Imitation tapestry, such as canvas painted or stamped in oils, looks very well on the wall, but the oil colour is apt to stiffen the fabric, to make the folds ungainly, to crack off white, and to smell a little in summer. They do not really 'wash down' as they are said to.

The ordinary cloth or ' tapestry' curtain, usually sold for dining-rooms, is very fairly worth the money; it is wool, mixed with silk, often in really fine conventional patterns, but the silk is apt to fade away from the wool. I admire very much the pretty 'tinsel tapestries,' made in delicate colours - pink, blue, cream, etc, interwoven with tinsel; the effect is charming; colour and design are both nice, if the tinsel do not speedily blacken, as gold in wall papers does.

Among the mixtures, the new velvet tapestry, in which I saw a very beautiful design, is an instance of what can be done with wool and silk. A creamy-grey silky ground, with large woollen flowers upon it, so well coloured and shaded, that, without any attempt at making the stuff a naturalistic anomaly, looking like real flowers attached impossibly to the perpendicular, the roses appear raised and velvety at a very short distance. It is costly enough and beautiful enough to please anybody, but apparently durable. I imagine it would tone down in wear all alike, and not need frequent cleaning.

A certain plush material, made of cotton, which Hel-bronner used to make in pretty designs, is now made by other firms reversible, in charming colours, such as fawn, with a dado literally imitating the Indian rugs so fashionable for 'aesthetic' drawing-rooms. These curtains hang in soft, long folds, are pleasant to the touch, and in every way attractive. Whether they would speedily spoil, as most plush must, and whether they would bear any cleaning process, experience only can tell. 'Roman satin,' which is a mixture, and cheap, is a very nice material. The coarse threads have a pleasant 'character' which does not offer comparison with one's gown, and I think there ought to be a distinction between furniture fabrics and the human garb. It is made in many artistic soft shades, and wears rather well. All these thick, heavy curtains ought to be cut just to the ground and no longer. The silly fashion of sweeping curtains, like a lady's train, is unsuited to these weighty materials, which would catch the dust sadly on the floor, and no hooks or ropes would support them in nice festoons. Drawn back, not looped or caught up, they will all be satisfactory as fabrics.

The colour, to be good, must depend upon the eye which selects it; the only safe rule to lay down is that none of the shades should be very vivid, not even the 'artistic' peacock shades, which are often aniline. All very vivid shades in furniture are odious. Proper relief and a just measure of brightness in effect must be got, not by spots of sharp colour here and there, but happy (i.e. slight) contrasts. For instance, a room wholly draped in monotone, however nice in shade, will always be dull and gloomy. A room wholly furnished with fine old tapestry must be so too, many as the colours are in tapestry. A hanging here or there of deep red or yellow, or some other self-colour, will be probably wanted for balance, just as in a very gay-coloured room the eye turns with delight to a mass of quiet tone. It is wonderful how bright a room may be made to look by skilful contrasts without a single really vivid colour.

Draperies about a room always add to the home-like feeling of it. They not only exclude draughts, but they conceal the sharp edges and angles of woodwork, which uncovered always seems unhappy. I like curtains at every window, and over every door. I like pretty stuffs, furs, embroideries, and mats, flung loose over couches and pianos. They fall then at every corner and every wrinkle into nice natural folds, so much pleasanter than tightly fitting cases, further tightened by buttons-.

Curtains ought to be fuller than they usually are; and such massive folds as I have been describing, for every kind of room, gain much from an alliance with thinner ones. Thin curtains, such as net, lace, etc, actually exclude sunlight, I suppose-, but they seem to bring it in; a room with pretty lace curtains always looks sunnier than one without them. The modern fashion of cream instead of pure harsh White, is one which ought never to go out - yet how we used to puzzle over the ancient taste for so tinting lace, and marvel why they did not like it quite white ! The cream-tint softens any contrast, and the shades of folds against the light are far more picturesque. The ' Madras muslin,' that simple fabric now in vogue, with its velvety touch and good straightforward patterns, is charming for any purpose, and, at least in a good quality, cleans quite as well as the horrible old 'lace' curtain, smothered with vague sprawling attempts at fancy vegetation.

Some intelligent person has devised a thorough novelty in the shape of black lace curtains with pattern in 'old-gold' colour. They are very pretty, and ought to be durable. They would not suit every room: but one in which black panels, or other dark masses occur, would be improved by such curtains in lieu of white. They are sold under the mysterious name of - Cabul.'

How pretty black muslin might be stamped with gold or silver, like that worn long ago for veils, ruffles, etc. Properly stamped, it would be capable of being renovated by pressing out.