short, it was one of those becoming rooms which would put even a grace in additional good humour.—By the bye, what a barbarous, what an uncharitable act it is, of some people to furnish their rooms as they do, against all laws of humanity as well as taste! We have actually seen rooms fitted up with sea-green, and an indigo-coloured paper: what complexion could stand it? The most proper of becoming blushes would be utterly wasted, and perhaps at the most critical moment. Mrs. Fergusson never would let her daughters visit at Lady Carysfort's, on account of the unabated crimson of her walls and furniture: as she justly observed, the dancers looked like ghosts. For ourselves, when we furnish our rooms, we have decided on a delicate pink paper; it lights up well, and is such a relief to the foreground of whites, reds, and blue. The hangings, &c., certainly of French rose: windows are favourite seats; and who knows how much may be effected in a tête-à-tête, by the crimson shade of the curtain flitting over a fair cheek à propos? But we are patriotic people, and write treatises for the Society of Useful Knowledge.
Emily Arundel stood by the dressing-table. The last curl of her dark hair had received its
