Such are the words of a well-known artist of the present day. I feel them to be true as I begin this paper on the House Beautiful. Taste differs so widely that it would be futile to try to set up a positive standard of beauty. Furniture has its fashions, too, though they change but slowly. So we can only lay down broad general rules with regard to the plenishment of our homes. We cannot insist on detail. There is no single point on which a gentlewoman is more jealous of disparagement than the question of taste. Yet it is a lamentable fact that this very quality is often--I may say generally--deficient even amongst the most cultured classes. The bubble of fashion is blown in our drawing-rooms just as surely and even more foolishly than elsewhere. Individuality is seldom seen. In order to have lovely homes inside four commonplace walls we must remember that _simplicity_ is one true element of beauty. The best and most picturesque furniture of all ages has been simple in general form. Next, good design is always compatible with sturdy service, and can accommodate itself to the most fastidious notions of convenience. Thirdly, every article of manufacture to be really beautiful should indicate by its general design the purpose to which it will be applied. In other words, shams and make-believes must be utterly tabooed. Taking these three principles as the basis of our plans for our own particular House Beautiful, let us consider how best we may secure such. Our halls and kitchens are perhaps the best instances of simplicity of design. In them we seldom have more utensils or articles than we need. Parquetry, or inlaying with various-coloured wood, is an ideal floor covering, even for our modern narrow hall. Next to it ranks tiling, and a plain linoleum is admissible. All these secure cleanliness. Warmth must next be suggested. To obtain this, we lay down rugs of various colours and hang heavy curtains. An oak chair, solid to look at (N.B.--Curves in furniture should suggest repose, which is out of place in a passage), a chest to hold rugs and cloaks, a small, narrow mirror to lighten up the gloom, and you have all that is necessary. A few brass dishes on the wall, a tall palm by one curtain, elks' antlers, etc., are permissible where space is obtainable. Do not, however, ever be tempted to hang muslin in the alcove or to drape with flimsy materials. Leave plenty of room for visitors to pass in and out, without finding entrance or exit blocked with exasperating detail. Colour is what really redeems a hall from monotony. This the wall-paper and curtains and rugs should give without help from trivial ornamentation.