Concerning, the floors themselves,—­leaving the yardstick out of the question,—­even if they are covered by carpets six inches thick, it will not pay to lay poor ones.  They should be double for solidity and warmth, well nailed for stiffness, seasoned for economy, and of good lumber for conscience’ sake.  Seasoned for economy, I say, since nothing is more destructive to carpets, especially to oil-cloth, than cracks in the floor underneath them.  Yes,—­one thing; the warped edges of the boards, that sometimes raise themselves,—­that are almost sure to do so in spruce, which is never fit for floors, though often used.  It’s my conviction that spruce floor-boards, two inches thick and one and a half wide, would contrive to curl up at the edges.  If you have good floors, furthermore, you will not feel obliged to cover them at all times and at all hazards.  I remarked that the houses built when the good time coming comes will not be all alike.  I can tell you another thing about them, though you may not believe it; there will be no wool carpets on the floors,—­no, nor rag ones either.  The people will walk upon planks of fir and boards of cedar, sycamore from the plains and algum-trees, gopher wood and Georgia pine, inlaid in forms of wondrous grace.  There will be no moth or dust to corrupt and strangle, neither creaks nor cracks to annoy.  It’s a question among theologians whether the millennium will come “all at once and all o’er,” or gradually.  I think the millennial floors must be introduced gradually,—­say around the edges,—­for I do not suppose you or any one else in New England will give up the warm-feeling carpets altogether.  And yet one who has seen a carpet of any sort taken and well shaken, after a six months’ service, will hardly expect added health or comfort from its ministration.  If your observation of this semiannual performance isn’t sufficient, and you are curious to know how much noisome dirt and dust, how much woolly fibre and microscopic animal life, you respire,—­how these poisonous particles fill your lungs with tubercles, your head with catarrh, and prepare your whole body for an untimely grave,—­you can study medical books at your leisure.  They will all tell the same story, and will justify my supposition that you will cover the floors with dirty carpets.  Doubtless they will be shaken and “whipped” (they deserve it) two or three times a year, and swept, maybe, every day.  The shaking is very well, but though it seems neater to sweep them, yet for actual cleanliness of the whole room, carpet and all, I suppose it would be better at the end of six months if they were swept—­not once!  For whatever can be removed from a carpet by ordinary sweeping is comparatively clean and harmless,—­that which sinks out of sight and remains is unclean and poisonous.

[Illustration:  DUST TO DUST.]