Husband and wife must
each possess a studio; on the woman's sanctuary I hesitate to dwell,
and turn to the man's. The walls are shelved waist-high for books,
and the top thus forms a continuous table running round the wall.
Above are prints, a large map of the neighbourhood, a Corot and a
Claude or two. The room is very spacious, and the five tables and
two chairs are but as islands. One table is for actual work, one
close by for references in use; one, very large, for MSS. or proofs
that wait their turn; one kept clear for an occasion; and the fifth
is the map table, groaning under a collection of large-scale maps and
charts. Of all books these are the least wearisome to read and the
richest in matter; the course of roads and rivers, the contour lines
and the forests in the maps - the reefs, soundings, anchors, sailing
marks and little pilot-pictures in the charts - and, in both, the
bead-roll of names, make them of all printed matter the most fit to
stimulate and satisfy the fancy. The chair in which you write is
very low and easy, and backed into a corner; at one elbow the fire
twinkles; close at the other, if you are a little inhumane, your cage
of silver-bills are twittering into song.
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