FEW realize how dependent we are on sunshine and fresh air for good health and pleasant, cheerful homes. When shown into a dark and dismal parlor,--blinds all closed and heavy curtains dropped to exclude light,--and creeping forward in search of a seat, fearing, each step, to stumble over a chair or upset a table loaded with small wares on exhibition, we always feel suffocated, as if in a vault among dead men’s bones. And when the servant, after calling her mistress, returns and opens the shutters just far enough to allow one small ray of “light divine” to struggle through, what a relief it is! How we long to spring forward, throw back the curtains, swing the blinds wide open, and give admittance to the full glory of the free, glad sunbeams. But no! Health and comfort must be sacrificed rather than expose the costly carpet and rich curtains. Only so much light as will enable our friend to recognize us may be allowed to enter, and after a few moments’ conversation, as cold and spiritless as the room itself, how glorious seem the clear sky and pure air as we leave the house! We are so chilled and benumbed by our short tarry in those prison-like parlors, that it has penetrated to the heart, and we are not quite sure that we feel any great affection for the friend from whom we have just parted, until, having walked a few moments, we regain life and freshness by a full bath in the fresh breezes and invigorating sunshine. Strange that any will deprive themselves of blessings so rich, so free, and health-giving for a mere fancy,--particularly when we find that the richest and most beautiful fabrics are generally those which will bear exposure to open windows and pure light. That perfect ventilation and abundance of light and sun are indispensable to a healthy atmosphere all over the house, should be understood as one of the principles of good housekeeping. Servants are generally careless in airing the rooms committed to their care. Bedrooms, dining rooms, kitchen, and pantries are seldom sufficiently ventilated; and it behooves a housekeeper to maintain a constant watchfulness against such remissness. As soon as you are dressed, throw open the window, take off the bedclothes, spread them neatly across two chairs set in the draught,--taking care that the ends do not drag on the floor. Raise up the mattress; double it like a bent bow on the under-bed, or palliasse, that the air may circulate freely through and around it. Beat up the pillows and bolster, and throw them across a chair near the open window. Some hang them out of the window. All right, if you are careful first to brush the sill free from the dust that will, of course, accumulate there. When ready to leave the chamber, open the doors through from one room to another, even if some rooms have not been used; but be careful, in cold weather, to close the doors leading to the halls, that parlors and halls be not made uncomfortable by too much draught.