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and of polished oak has been obtained by the trouble and cost expended on the work. The floor prepared either by varnish simply, or by staining and varnishing, or by paint and varnish, should afterward be kept clean by dry rubbing, and by beeswax and turpentine. There is nothing really so clean, and nothing so healthy. After a short time the varnished floors take the wax very well, and by that firm and smooth surface nothing is absorbed to create bad air. The floor is easily dusted. Loose particles of dust, feathers, and woolen fluff are readily detected, and the fact that there is any collection of dust or dirt on the floor is at once made obvious. There are no crevices or rough places in which the dust and fluff can be concealed.

There can not, I think, be a doubt that for the bedroom-floor dry cleansing is always the best. Water destroys the varnish on stained and painted floors, making them patchy and dirty-looking; water destroys the evenness of surface; water makes the adoption of the waxed floor almost impossible; water when it is used often percolates into the joints of the floor-boards, causing them to separate and become holders of dirt; and, lastly, if water be used for cleansing the chances are many in the course of a year that the room will be left damp and chilly. The floor will be washed on some damp and foggy days, the boards will dry imperfectly, and, though at bedtime they may be to appearance dry, they will not be so entirely, while the air of the room will be still charged with moisture; so that, although the sleeper doe snot get into a damp bed, he does get into a damp bedroom, which in some respects is equally injurious.

I have seen such very bad results from damp sleeping-rooms, in which the dampness of the air has been caused by washing the floors, that I do not press the lesson I wish to enforce at all too forcibly or earnestly.

When from any circumstance the floor of the bedroom can not have given to it a varnished or waxed surface-when, for example, the floor is constructed simply of deal planks-it may seem to be absolutely necessary to clean the surface with water. These floors, moreover, are just the floors that hold water the longest, and for all reasons are least adapted for water-cleansing. How, then, it will be said, are such floors to be cleansed? They are most easily cleansed in one dry way, viz., by dry scrubbing with sawdust. The servant takes up a small pailful of clean, fresh sawdust, and, taking it out by handfuls, spreads it on the floor, and with a hard, short-bristled brush scrubs with the sawdust as if she were using water itself. When the whole surface has been scrubbed in this way, she sweeps up the sawdust, and finds beneath it a beautifully clean and dry

floor: or, if there be left any part still dirty, she easily remedies the defect by an additional scrub at that part. When all is finished she carries the dirty sawdust away, and destroys it by burning it in the kitchen fire. White sand may be used instead of sawdust for this same purpose, but it is not so convenient, and is not so quick a cleanser as sawdust. The same sand, if sand be used, can be applied several times if it be cleansed, by washing and afterward heating it over the fire until it is quite dry.

I have to speak next about carpets in bedrooms. I need hardly insist on the fact that the old-fashioned plan of covering every part of the bedroom with carpet-stuff, so as to make the carpet hug the wall, is as bad a plan as can possibly be followed. In these days everybody is beginning to recognize this truth, and the change which has taken place within the last ten years, in the matter of carpets for bedrooms, is quite remarkable. In some instances I notice that an extreme change, which is neither wanted nor warranted, has been instituted; that is to say, instead of the carpet that at one time covered all the surface of the floor with the greatest nicety of adaptation, there is no carpet at all. This extreme change is not at all desirable. It is good to have carpets in every part of the room where the feet must regularly be placed. It is bad to have carpets in any part of the room where the feet are not regularly placed. These two rules govern the whole position, and the most inexperienced housewife can easily remember them. By these rules there should be carpet all round the bed, carpet opposite to the wardrobes or chests of drawers, carpet opposite the washing-stand, carpet opposite the dressing-table, but none under the beds, and none for a space of two or three feet around the room-that is to say, two or three feet from the walls of the room. The carpets that are laid down should be loose from each other, each one should be complete in itself, so that it can be taken up to be shaken with the least trouble, and each one should be arranged to lie close to the floor, so that dust may not easi ly get underneath.

Carpet-stuff for bedrooms should be made of fine material closely woven, and not fluffy on the surface. Felt carpet-stuff for bedrooms is what is commonly recommended in the shops for bedroom service, and after that Axminster. The first is all wrong; it never lies neatly, it very quickly accumulates dust, and it is really not in the end economical. Axminster is more free from these objections, but it is not so good as Brussels. There was a form of Brussels carpet called "tapestry," which some years ago was very largely used. It was as warm as the thickest blanket, and it was almost like wire in fiber; in fact, it

was tough enough to last half a lifetime, and it was the best carpeting for bedrooms I ever remember. Fluff adhered to it very slightly, it held an exceedingly small quantity of dust, and it was always in its place on the floor. As a matter of course, "tapestry" went out of fashion in due time and season.

The advantages of small carpets in the bedroom are many. They cause the footsteps to be noiseless, or comparatively noiseless, they prevent the feet from becoming cold while dressing and undressing, they make the room look pleasant, and when used in the limited manner above sug

gested they save trouble in cleansing, by preventing dust and dirt from being trodden into the floor.

And now, having seen to the lighting of the bedroom, to the position of it in regard to aspect, to the ventilation, to the warming, and to the construction and covering of the floor, I ought to pass on to the walls, and the curtains, and the beds. But I must ask the reader to wait until next article for the final installment on the bedroom.

B. W. RICHARDSON, M. D. (Good Words).

I

THE SEA MY
SEAMY SIDE.

BY WALTER BESANT AND JAMES RICE.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

HOW STEPHEN HEARD THE NEWS.

HAD almost forgotten Mr. Bragge," said Augustus, opening one of his letters the next morning.

He resolved to spend it with the writingmaster, but thought he would drop in at the office first. In fact, after taking a turn round Lower Thames Street, Idol Lane, Eastcheap, Rood Lane, and a few other places dear to a boy of imagination, where the stream of Pactolus runs with the deepest, strongest, and yellowest current, he found himself in the square of Great St. Simon Apostle, about half-past two in the afternoon. He exchanged a few compliments in whispers with the junior clerks, and then mounted the broad stairs, and began to ramble idly about the passages. He passed with reverence the doors of Mr. Augustus and Mr. William Hamblin, the partners, and presently stood before that on which was still to be read the name of Mr. Anthony Hamblin. He shook his head gravely at sight of this. Then his eyes lit up, and his white eyebrows lifted, and his pink face shone with mirth and mischief, and he laughed in silence, shaking all over in enjoyment of the imaginary situation.

This was a note from the private detective, stating that the last clew which promised remarkably well had terminated with no useful result; in fact, it ended with a laboring-man who was suffering from delirium tremens. He regretted that this research had turned out so badly, but, he added, another clew had been discovered, the nature of which he would for the moment keep secret. He proposed to follow this up vigorously; he had no doubt that it would end in a complete solution of the case. Meanwhile, he inclosed an account of his expenditure up to date, and would be obliged if Mr. Hamblin would send him another check for twenty pounds on account. It was a dreadful blow for Mr. Theodore Bragge when he received a settlement in full of his account, with the information that the case was now closed, and his services would be no more required. He had long made up his mind that there was nothing to find out, and that he might go on, for the rest of his natural life, following up clews at a large salary with a percent-oaken table, without cover, which had probably age, so to speak, on his expenditure. Meat and drink-especially drink-the case had been to him. He will never, he owns with tears, again find employers so generous as the firm of Anthony Hamblin & Co.

"If they knew," he murmured; "if they only knew!"

Then he turned the handle softly, and looked into the room.

No one was there: the room had not been used since the death of its owner: the familiar furniture was there, the old-fashioned, heavy,

been built for the very first Anthony, remained in its old place, with the wooden chair in which the last Anthony had been wont to sit, and the blotting-pad which he had used, before it. In one corner stood a low screen of ancient work

The day was Wednesday, which was young manship, also a family heirloom. There were Nick's half-holiday.

portraits of successive Anthonys on the wain

VOL. VIII.-21

scoted walls, and there was a cabinet in massive mahogany, with glass doors; but the contents of the cabinet were kept secret by means of curtains which had once been green.

In spite of the boy's possession of so great a secret, he felt a ghostly feeling creep on him as he softly closed the door behind him, and entered the room on tiptoe. He shuddered, as one shudders when reminded of a dead man. Then he recovered himself again, and began curiously to examine the room and its contents. First he opened the drawers: in the one immediately before the chair was a novel-" Ho! ho! that was the way in which Uncle Anthony spent his time in the City, was it?" in the other two he found an heterogeneous mass of things-cigar-cases, portraits of Alison, memorandum-books, letters, menus of dinners, cards of invitation to civic banquets, and so forth; things which the boy turned over with interest. Then he thought that he would at last discover the contents of the mysterious cabinet. He opened it; three of the shelves contained Indian curios, covered with dust they had been brought home on one of the earlier voyages by the first Anthony, and had never left the office. But on one shelf stood a decanter, still half filled with sherry, and a box of biscuits.

When there was nothing more to see, the boy solemnly seated himself in Anthony's chair, and, after a silent but enjoyable laugh, proceeded to meditate.

His reflections turned naturally upon the importance of the secret which he carried about with him, and of the grandeur which would be his whenever he chose to disclose it. Grandeur unheard of, grandeur never before achieved by mortal boy; the part, indeed, played in history by boys, save and except the drummer-boy, the call-boy, the printer's devil, has always been ludicrously out of proportion to the number of boys existing at any period. Grandeur? Why it would be spread all over the House how he, Nicolas Cridland, had not only discovered the secret, alone and unaided, but also kept it until the right time came. When would that time come? Surely, soon. Would Uncle Anthony resolve upon continuing his disguise as a teacher of writing while he, Nicolas, was received as a clerk in the House? while he rose gradually higher and higher, even in the distant days when he should be received as a partner? Surely, the day must some time come when he should be able to stand proudly before the partners, Augustus and William, and lay his hand upon his heart and say: "Anthony Hamblin is not dead, but living. I alone have known it all along." Then Mr. Augustus would get up from that chair in which the boy was sitting-he rose

from the chair himself, and acted it in dumb show-and say: "Young Nick-no, Nicholas Cridland, whom we are proud to call cousin— you have shown yourself so worthy of confidence, that we instantly appoint you principal buyer and manager at the dock-sales, for the firm. You will attend the next sale on Thursday afternoon, with the samples in your pocket."

The boy had got through this speech-always in dumb show-and was thinking how to reply with a compliment at once to the sagacity of the firm in selecting him for such responsible business, and to his own extraordinary discretion, prudence, and secrecy, when he heard steps outside. The room was at the end of a long passage, so that the persons to whom the feet belonged were clearly proposing to visit the room. The vision of greatness instantly vanished, and the boy rushed for shelter behind the screen. It was a low screen, about five feet three high, quite incapable of hiding Lady Teazle, had she been of the average height of Englishwomen, but high enough to shelter the boy, who, indeed, sat upon the floor with his hat off, and looked through the chinks where the screen folded.

The party which entered the room consisted of the two partners, Mr. Billiter, and Gilbert Yorke. To the boy's terror, the old lawyer, after looking about for a place to set down his hat, placed it on an angle of the screen. Fortunately, he did not look over. Then they all sat down, Augustus Hamblin at the head of the table. Gilbert Yorke placed before the chairman a bundle of papers. Everybody looked at his watch, and all wore an air of grave importance.

"Lord," said the boy to himself, “now, if I were only to jump up like Jack-in-the-box, and tell them who was teaching what, where he was teaching it, and for how much, and who was getting his boots downer at the heel every day, how they would stare! I've half a mind to do it, too."

But he did not, because just then his interest in the situation grew more absorbing; for the party was completed by the arrival of none other than Stephen Hamblin himself.

He arrived in the midst of an observation which was being made by Mr. Billiter, as if following up a conversation.

"Life," he said, "is a succession of blunders, chiefly committed through laziness, and a foolish desire to avoid present trouble.-Come in, Stephen, and sit down. I was saying that most crimes are the result of laziness. You are going to be told of a most amazing blunder which has led us all astray.”

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house. Lord! if he knew! Shall jump up and tell them all? I would if I thought that Anthony wouldn't go mad."

"I am here," said Stephen, who did indeed look black, "without my solicitor. The course is unusual, but the interview must be considered privileged. One thing, however, before we begin: if Mr. Billiter is going to revive old stories in his usual pleasant manner, I shall go away at once."

"I have nothing to say at this interview," said the lawyer; "at least, I think I have nothing to say."

"The communication we have to make to you, Stephen," said Augustus, "is of so grave a nature, so important, and so unexpected, that we have invited Anthony's solicitor, your father's solicitor, to be present. You will acknowledge that we were right?"

"Important and unexpected? Then you have, I suppose, found out that Anthony was never married?"

These were brave words, but Stephen was evidently ill at ease. In fact, he had passed an uneasy time. Alderney Codd's warning, which he had met with bravado, came back to him in the dark hours. And after a sleepless night he kept his appointment with shaken nerves.

"We have decided," Augustus continued, "on at once telling you everything."

"That is so far candid. Probably you have concluded between you that it will be to your advantage to tell me everything?"

"You shall judge of that yourself, Cousin Stephen." Augustus was very grave, and spoke slowly. "We have known you all your life. It was in this room that you received dismissal from the House in which you might even have become a partner."

He spoke as if no higher honor, no greater earthly happiness could befall any man than to become a partner in the House of Anthony Hamblin and Company.

The boy, looking through the chink of the screen, shook his head solemnly.

"D- the partnership, and the House too!" said Stephen. "I told you that I would not listen to the revival of old stories. If that is all that you have to say—"

He rose and seized his hat.

"It is not all; pray sit down again. We have to go back twenty years. Carry your memory back for that time. Where are you?

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excursion, how one of them eloped with a girl of eighteen, named Dora Nethersole, and how she had died deserted and neglected at Bournemouth.

Stephen listened with an unmoved countenance.

"This is the sort of information," he said, "which one gets from advertising, and church registers, and that sort of thing. How does it bear upon the case?"

"You shall hear immediately, Stephen. The man who eloped with the girl, who was married to her at Hungerford, who lived with her at Lulworth, and who deserted her there, leaving her to starve and die of neglect and sorrow, was not-Anthony at all. It was no other than yourself, Stephen."

"I allow you to put the case your own way," said Stephen, "because I am anxious for you to get to the point, if any, which bears upon present business."

"It was you, and not Anthony, who deserted Dora Hamblin; it was Anthony, and not you, who soothed her last moments, and consoled her in the hour of death. Here is a copy of her last journal, which you may take away and meditate upon."

"I know all about her death," said Stephen, callously; "Anthony told me of that. It is an old, old story; twenty years old, and forgotten. What has it to do with the business in hand, and the claims of that girl?"

"Everything; because you have been quite right all along-Anthony was never married—” "Ah!" said Stephen, a sudden flush of joy and relief crossing his face.

"Was never married at all, and he left no will."

"Then I am the heir of all."

He raised himself upright, and looked round with an air of mastership.

"You are the heir of all," repeated Augustus, solemnly.

"Good. I give you notice that I will do nothing for the girl-nothing at all."

"Stop," said Augustus; "more remains to be told. When Anthony wrote to you that your wife was dead, he did not inform you of what he thought you unworthy to know-that she left a child."

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"A child!"

A girl. She became Anthony's care. He brought her up to consider herself his daughter. "I am waiting to hear," said Stephen, sul- Alison Hamblin is the daughter of you, Stephen, lenly. and of Dora your wife."

Then Augustus told Stephen the same story which Miss Nethersole had told Anthony; almost, too, in the same words. He told how two men had visited a little town when on a fishing

"

"My gum!" This was the whispered utterance of the boy behind the screen.

Stephen's face became darker still. He gazed with hard eyes at the speaker.

"My daughter!" he said slowly. "Alison is deed of gift in favor of your daughter. Never my daughter? Have you proof of this?" "We have we have ample proof."

"Mind, I will not accept her as my daughter without it. I want no daughter. I shall require the most exact corroboration of this extraordinary statement."

"You shall have it," said Augustus.

"You are not worthy-" cried Gilbert, springing to his feet at the same moment.

return to England, and draw upon us for any reasonable amount of annuity."

Stephen was so dismayed by the prospect as presented by his cousin, that he made as if he would accede to these terms. His face was not pretty to look at.

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"Sit down, young man," said Mr. Billiter; much money; and she is a hard woman. It "there is more to say."

"There is something very much more serious to say," continued Augustus Hamblin. "Remember, Stephen, that Miss Nethersole, in answering your wife's letter, offered her an allowance of one hundred and fifty pounds a year, payable on the first day of every year. How often did you draw that money?" Stephen started.

"How often? till she died."

"We have here," he went on very slowly, "copies-they are copies only, and you can have them to look at if you please—of eight receipts, all drawn by you. Two of them are signed by your wife; six of them are forgeries-by yourself."

"It's a lie!" shouted Stephen, bringing his fist down upon the table.

"You did not, then, receive the money?"
Certainly not."

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Unfortunately," said Augustus, "the clerk who honored the draft every year knows you by sight, and is ready to swear to you; the experts who have examined the signatures swear that they are all in your writing; the lady who suffered the loss of the money is ready to prosecute criminally. You will be charged with the crime; you will be tried for the crime. You now know why I reminded you, at the outset, of the cause of your dismissal from the House."

Stephen said nothing. He looked round him stupidly. This was a blow, indeed, which he did not expect.

"We have anxiously considered whether we should communicate these things to Alison, your daughter. We would willingly have spared her all knowledge of them; but, out of respect for the memory of the man whom she will always regard as her father, we must tell her that it was not he who killed his young wife by neglect and ill-treatment. We shall have to let her know that it was the man who was always called her uncle who did this thing. As regards the forgeries, we think we have a simple means of keeping the matter in the background altogether."

"What is that?" asked Stephen, eagerly.

"It is this: Go away at once. Execute a

seems to me, Stephen, that the choice is one which does not admit of much consideration. Fourteen years in a convict's prison is not to any man's taste; you would get small enjoyment out of your wealth, if it were to be purchased at such a price. Disgrace and shame are before you on the one hand; on the other, safety and silence. If you care to think of such a thing in addition, you may consider that your daughter, who would otherwise know nothing of this episode in your career, would begin her new relationship with the horror of such a crime, and the disgrace of such a conviction."

"

"My daughter," murmured the unhappy man. "Yes, I had forgotten; that is, I had not thought about my daughter."

"It is in your daughter's interests that we have told you the whole truth. Otherwise we might have been tempted to let things take their own course, in which case you would probably have been arrested in a few days, without receiving the slightest warning.”

"I should, however," said Mr. Billiter, sweetly, "suggest Spain. It is a country which, under all circumstances, is likely to prove attractive to you for a long time."

Stephen grunted a response.

"All this," murmured young Nick, behind the screen, "is real jam-blackberry jam. I wouldn't have missed this for pounds. Wonder if they will find me out? Wonder if I am going to sneeze?"

He held his nose tight to prevent such a fatal accident, and listened and peeped harder than ever.

"Mr. Augustus," he said, "has got him in a cleft stick. My! if he isn't the miserablest of sinners. Some sense in going to church if you are such a sinner as Uncle Stephen. Looks it too, all over: every inch a sinner."

"It is absurd," said Stephen, "to deny a thing which you declare you can prove. If the thing demanded it, if it were necessary, the charge would be met with a complete answer."

"But it is not necessary," said Mr. Billiter. "As it is," said Stephen, trying to smile, "all I have to say is that-you have won. I retire. I am ready to renounce, in the interests of my

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