Perhaps it will not try your patience too much if I lay before you
my idea of the fittings necessary to the sitting-room of a healthy
person: a room, I mean, in which he would not have to cook in much,
or sleep in generally, or in which he would not have to do any very
litter-making manual work.

First a book-case with a great many books in it: next a table that
will keep steady when you write or work at it: then several chairs
that you can move, and a bench that you can sit or lie upon: next a
cupboard with drawers: next, unless either the book-case or the
cupboard be very beautiful with painting or carving, you will want
pictures or engravings, such as you can afford, only not stop-gaps,
but real works of art on the wall; or else the wall itself must be
ornamented with some beautiful and restful pattern: we shall also
want a vase or two to put flowers in, which latter you must have
sometimes, especially if you live in a town. Then there will be the
fireplace of course, which in our climate is bound to be the chief
object in the room.

That is all we shall want, especially if the floor be good; if it be
not, as, by the way, in a modern house it is pretty certain not to
be, I admit that a small carpet which can be bundled out of the room
in two minutes will be useful, and we must also take care that it is
beautiful, or it will annoy us terribly.

Now unless we are musical, and need a piano (in which case, as far
as beauty is concerned, we are in a bad way), that is quite all we
want: and we can add very little to these necessaries without
troubling ourselves, and hindering our work, our thought, and our