An avowedly modern room (one in which modern upholstery prevails) always seems to .me injured by the introduction of antiquities, which, like peculiar shades of colour, and certain classes of ornament, always require carrying out of the picture. They injure the modern manufactures by putting out their light (according to the connoisseur), or by 'looking shabby' (according to the Philistine); and after all they almost disappear in their places, lost and overpowered by the more self-asserting shapes and dyes of machine-cutting and distillation, like timid waifs hunted about and pecked to death.

Thus a modern eclectic room may admit modern Oriental objects in sufficiently small quantities, Indian, Chinese, African, and the like, modern German, Swiss, and Russian carving and casts, Italian mosaics, Doulton ware, Minton's china and tiles, and all the best efforts of the nineteenth century. But a medley overstepping the limits of a few hundred years, unless for some very good reason, becomes unpleasant, because the incongruities are powerful enough to strike even the most ignorant.

The distinction between an eclectic room furnished upon some reasonable system, and a room furnished after a given period, must here be noted. The one is really a medley, directed with taste; the other reproduces a scene which a contemporary might have viewed, and must have no anachronisms.

Balance

In laying down abstract rules for beauty, and for distinguishing what is beautiful in form from what is ugly, we must remember that two great laws chiefly determine the lines and dimensions of curves, the folds of garments, etc. - one is the law of gravity, the other the law of balance. It is the law of gravity, or attraction downward, which draws a thin fabric into small and delicate plaits as it hangs, and a thick one into large, round, weighty ones; it is the law of balance combined with gravity which sends out the tree-boughs into tortuous, wide-reaching arches, which nevertheless do not uproot the tree. When the Japanese acrobats came to England some years ago, and climbed into strange groups, balancing ladders and chairs at angles apparently impossible, at least new to English spectators, we stared with unobservant eyes that never had marked how a slight flower balances its stems of blossoms, directing its arms this way or that as it seeks the sun, and settling its main stalk or body into the precise attitude which shall support their weight with least distress and strain - a sight which we might have marked and learnt a lesson from, as the Japanese discoverer of those strange groupings doubtless did.

They are artists at heart, the Japanese, because they love and study nature so deeply; and the feats of those climbing jugglers, and their surprising knowledge of the proper distribution of weight, now familiar to their British imitators, were founded upon the natural laws of balance which the flower obeys.

Many people possess, unconsciously, a sense of proportion and balance, which is technically called an 'eye for form,' a 'correct eye;' just as others possess a subtle appreciation of the value (or balance) of tints, also called an 'eye for colour.'Both are derived from observation, conscious or not, of natural effects. Of some it is a 'birthright;' by others it may be acquired, like Jacob's.

These persons always know when a certain combination of curves and colours 'looks right;' they feel instinctively when such a curve, mass, or 'tone' wants supporting by such another; they can never tolerate a lop-sided or top-heavy effect, and will say, 'this must be so, I know not why.' In reality, the nice sense of balance or proportion is satisfied or outraged by right or wrong (i.e. natural or unnatural) positions or qualities; and persons who, by nature or grace - and the first is best - possess the happy instinct, are certain always to surround themselves with things beautiful and pleasant, as a plant selects the nourishment it wants from the medley of outward forces, and draws in its native blue or red from the sun's white rays.

The same laws which direct forms direct hues. Very-deep or pronounced colours never look well when placed above light and delicate ones - e.g. a pale blue dado surmounted by an Indian red frieze. The latter ought to form the dado as it is the heavier, hotter colour of the two. Dark green above and pale green below are equally uncomfortable - why? Because in nature we are accustomed to dark colours nearest our feet and pale ones nearest the sky. Yet a dark mass may surmount a pale one if maintained by dark-toned columns of colour, because (nature again !) the columns may seem to hold up a cornice in shadow.

The distribution of colours demands thought and understanding, like the distribution of forms. A very insignificant, plainly-furnished room should never have a gay, large-patterned ceiling, or it will seem to be descending on the heads of folks; for in nature all heavy masses are supported by equal masses, either in dispersed or condensed matter - an umbrageous tree has its mighty trunk, a mountain its width of base - the very Rocking Stone of Ireland is balanced on the same principle as a standard rose - otherwise great were the fall.

In my first chapter I have shown that there ought to be a nucleus, or minor point of interest arranged, pending the major point, the people, to which the colours 'work up.'

For determining the position of the various pieces of furniture in the room, and the various masses of colour which they bring within sight, the proper distribution of masses must always be studied, so that the room may not look lop-sided; but by this I do not mean that everything is to be symmetrically arranged, with chairs 'to correspond! and tables 'to correspond,' placed at regular intervals along the walls. Balance must not be confounded with symmetry, and monotony, either in colour, shape or place, is as fatiguing to the eye as it is disastrous to the happy impression of the room.