That a quaint old-fashioned house should be filled with quaint old-fashioned pieces of furniture, in size proportionate to the size of the rooms, and that rush-bottomed chairs and rag-carpets have no place in a marble hall, need not be pointed out.  But to an amazing number of persons, proportion seems to mean nothing at all.  They will put a huge piece of furniture in a tiny room so that the effect is one of painful indigestion; or they will crowd things all into one corner—­so that it seems about to capsize; or they will spoil a really good room by the addition of senseless and inappropriately cluttering objects, in the belief that because they are valuable they must be beautiful, regardless of suitability.  Sometimes a room is marred by “treasures” clung to for reasons of sentiment.

=THE BLINDNESS OF SENTIMENT=

It is almost impossible for any of us to judge accurately of things which we have throughout a lifetime been accustomed to.  A chair that was grandmother’s, a painting father bought, the silver that has always been on the dining table—­are all so part of ourselves that we are sentiment-blind to their defects.

For instance, the portrait of a Colonial officer, among others, has always hung in Mrs. Oldname’s dining-room.  One day an art critic, whose knowledge was better than his manners, blurted out, “Will you please tell me why you have that dreadful thing in this otherwise perfect room?” Mrs. Oldname, somewhat taken back, answered rather wonderingly:  “Is it dreadful?—­Really?  I have a feeling of affection for him and his dog!”

The critic was merciless.  “If you call a cotton-flannel effigy, a dog!  And as for the figure, it is equally false and lifeless!  It is amazing how any one with your taste can bear looking at it!” In spite of his rudeness, Mrs. Oldname saw that what he said was quite true, but not until the fact had been pointed out to her.  Gradually she grew to dislike the poor officer so much that he was finally relegated to the attic.  In the same way most of us have belongings that have “always been there” or perhaps “treasures” that we love for some association, which are probably as bad as can be, to which habit has blinded us, though we would not have to be told of their hideousness were they seen by us in the house of another.

It is not to be expected that all people can throw away every esthetically unpleasing possession, with which nearly every house twenty-five years ago was filled, but those whose pocket-book and sentiment will permit, would add greatly to the beauty of their houses by sweeping the bad into the ash can!  Far better have stone-ware plates that are good in design than expensive porcelain that is horrible in decoration.

The only way to determine what is good and what is horrible is to study what is good in books, in museums, or in art classes in the universities, or even by studying the magazines devoted to decorative art.