which encircles the room at the junction of the ceiling and walls. The drapery is thrown open, also, or closed, by means of a thick rope of gold loosely enveloping it, and resolving itself readily into a knot—no pins or other such devices are apparent. The colors of the curtains and its fringe—the tints of crimson and gold—form the character of the room, and appear every where in profusion. The carpet, of Saxony material, is quite half an inch thick, and is of the same crimson ground, relieved simply by the appearance of a gold cord (like that festooning the curtains,) thrown upon it in such a manner as to form a close succession of short irregular curves, no one overlaying the other. This carpet has no border. The paper on the walls is of a glossy, silvery hue, intermingled with small Arabesque devices of a fainter tint of the prevalent crimson. Many paintings relieve the expanse of the paper. These are chiefly landscapes of an imaginative cast, such as the fairy grottoes of Stanfield, or the Lake of the Dismal Swamp of our own Chapman. The tone of each is warm but dark—there are no brilliant effects. Not one of the pictures is of small size. Diminutive paintings give that spotty look to a room which is the blemish of so many a fine work of art overtouched. The frames are broad, but not deep, and richly carved, without being fillagreed. Their profuse gilding gives them the whole lustre of gold. They lie flat upon the walls, and do not hang off with cords. The designs themselves may, sometimes, be best seen in this latter position, but the general appearance of the chamber is injured. No mirror is visible—nor chairs. Two large sofas, of rose-wood and crimson silk, form the only seats. There is a piano-forte—also of rose-wood, and without cover. Mahogany has been avoided. An octagonal table, formed entirely of the richest gold-threaded marble, is placed near one of the sofas—this table is also without cover—the drapery of the curtains has been thought sufficient. Four large and gorgeous Sevres vases, in which grow a number of sweet and vivid flowers in full bloom, occupy the angles of the room. A tall and magnificent candelabrum, bearing a small antique lamp with strongly perfumed oil, is standing near the head of my sleeping friend. Some light and graceful hanging shelves, with golden edges and crimson silk cords with gold tassels, sustain two or three hundred magnificently-bound books. Beyond these things there is no furniture, if we except an Argand lamp, with a plain crimson-tinted glass shade, which depends from the lofty ceiling by a single gold chain, and throws a subdued but magical radiance over all.
