The first few days in a new house are replete with misery. On the commencement of our tenancy we are literally besieged by the tradesmen coming to endeavour to secure our custom; but we should be wise if from some friend we were to obtain a list of those who are really reliable, until we are able to send round to the butchers, and obtain lists of prices from all for comparison, and have time to discover which of the local grocers will serve us at co-operative prices for ready money. But under no circumstances do I advise allowing a grocer’s man to call for orders: a grocer’s bill being the one of all others that is liable to swell to gigantic proportions. The moment a daily visit is permitted, the maids appear to rack their brains to see what they can order, and I have saved myself at least five shillings a week since I put a veto on the daily call, which seemed a signal for them to discover that hearthstones, vinegar, treacle, and similar ‘intangible’ objects were required; and by ‘intangible’ I mean articles that might be wanted, as it is impossible to regulate the supplies of these as one can other goods; and as I have had far less of all since I send a written order to either Shoolbred or Whiteley--whose men are not naturally in the least likely to press for orders, and whose sole duties consist in bringing the things, and receiving payment for the same--I strongly recommend all housewives either to deal with them, or to go to the local grocers themselves, and at once impress on them that no orders given in the kitchen are to be attended to under any pretext whatever. The tradesman difficulty is the first misery, and then come the miseries of making acquaintance really with our house and surroundings. We are sure to discover a thousand small vexatious omissions in the house itself, and above all--‘_miserere mei!_’--will we see with dismay that the furniture which looked quite beautiful in our old home has suddenly, and in the most unprovoked manner, become absolutely shabby and miserable. This is an unanswerable problem, but it is a fact, and I can only account for it by suggesting that the new paper and paint are to blame, and that the sooner we get our furniture done up and rejuvenated the sooner shall we become reconciled to our new house; but, of course, this costs money--at a time, too, when money has been flowing away a little too freely to be pleasant--and, no doubt, we may have to wait: another reason why a move is trying, and why, like marriage, it should never be undertaken lightly or unadvisedly; and at first we must make the best of our surroundings, being duly thankful for the square carpets and the light short curtains that save us so much piecing and planning, and looking forward to new cretonne and tapestry as soon as we can afford it.