the furniture. Now there is nothing that puts people out of their way more than a change from their usual sitting-room; it is almost as bad as moving to a new house. Moreover, Mrs. Gooch's drawing-room had the cold and comfortless air inevitable on not being in common use. Every thing was so terribly neat, that you dreaded moving even a chair from what was obviously its proper and appointed place.
There was the handsome carpet, new on the occasion of Mr. Gooch's marriage, but it was carefully covered with a drab drugget; the curtains were of a pretty pink damask, but they were enveloped in brown holland bags, by which same material the chairs and sofas were covered. The chandeliers were shrouded in yellow gauze, so were the looking-glasses, while the dull brown and sickly yellow produced the most chill and unbecoming effect imaginable. The toys ranged, not scattered, about were chiefly the result of Mrs. Gooch's yearly excursions. There were "memorials of Margate," "a trifle from Brighton," a man and woman made of shells, divers pincushions ingeniously inserted in the same marine abodes, and an alum-basket, which looked as if it would crumble at a touch.
Mrs. Gooch felt as she were out on some formal visit: she was debarred from that ordinary amusement, looking through the blinds without being seen; she did not like to produce her ordinary work in the very face of the very handsome ivory box, which was for show, not use; and she was a little puzzled what
