A swinging shelf—­double or single—­held by supports at the four corners, securely nailed to the joists of the floor above, is almost indispensable to the convenience of the cellar.  It should be about three feet wide and from six to eight feet in length, and may be covered on three sides with galvanized wire fly netting, the fourth side to have double frame doors, also wire-covered, and swinging outward.  Ordinary cotton netting can he used instead of the wire, and is of course cheaper, but must he renewed each year, while the wire will last indefinitely.  And so we have evolved a cool, flyless place for our pans of milk, meats, cooked and uncooked, fresh vegetables, cakes, pastry, etc.  If poultry or meat is to be hung here for a little while, wrap it in brown paper or unbleached muslin.  Wash the shelves once a week with sal soda water and dry thoroughly.

A windowless closet as far as possible from the furnace, and best built under some small extension, thus giving it three cool stone walls, is the place where preserves and jellies keep best.  Label each jar and glass distinctly and arrange in rows on the shelves, taller ones behind, shorter in front.  If there is no closet of this kind, a cupboard, standing firmly on the floor, can easily be built, for preserves must have darkness as well as coolness; otherwise they are apt to turn dark and to ferment.  The shelves of the fruit closet must be examined frequently for traces of that stickiness which tells that some bottle of fruit is “working” and leaking.  Pickles keep better in crocks on the cellar bottom.

Laundry tubs and scrub pails are usually kept, bottom up, in the cellar.  All articles stored there should be well wrapped in strong paper and securely tied, and it will be found a great convenience, especially at cleaning time, to hang many things from the ceiling beams.  The cellar should be swept and put to rights every two weeks, cobwebs brushed down, and all corners well looked after.  Here, as nowhere else, is the personal supervision of the housewife essential.

THE ATTIC

It is with a lump in our throats and an ache in our hearts that we turn our thoughts wistfully backward to that place of hallowed memories, which is itself becoming simply a memory—­the attic!  What happy hours we spent there, rummaging among its treasures, soothed by its twilight quiet, and a little awed by the ghosts of the past which seemed to hover about each old chest and horsehair trunk and gayly flowered carpet bag; each andiron and foot warmer and spinning wheel and warming pan!  Roof and floor of wide, rough boards, stained by age and leaks; tiny, cobweb-curtained windows; everything dusty, dim, mysterious!  Where is it now?  Gone—­pushed aside by the march of civilization; supplanted by the modern lathed and plastered attic, with its smoothly laid floor, which harbors neither mice nor memories.  And though we sigh as we say so, the attic of to-day is a better kept, more compact, more hygienic affair than its ancestor; for we have grown to realize that sentiment must sometimes be sacrificed to sense.  Whatever comes we must have hygiene, even at the expense of the little spirit germ which seems sometimes to develop best in the “dim religious light.”  For we cannot forget Victor Hugo and Balzac and Tom Moore in their attics.