n
living, their song, which was not much louder than a bee's, but airily
musical, kept me in a perpetual good humour. I put the cage upon my
table when I worked, carried it with me when I went for meals, and kept
it by my head at night: the first thing in the morning, these
_maestrini_ would pipe up. But these, even if you can pardon their
imprisonment, are for the house. In the garden the wild birds must plant
a colony, a chorus of the lesser warblers that should be almost
deafening, a blackbird in the lilacs, a nightingale down the lane, so
that you must stroll to hear it, and yet a little farther, tree-tops
populous with rooks.

Your house should not command much outlook; it should be set deep and
green, though upon rising ground, or, if possible, crowning a knoll, for
the sake of drainage. Yet it must be open to the east, or you will miss
the sunrise; sunset occurring so much later, you can go up a few steps
and look the other way. A house of more than two stories is a mere
barrack; indeed the ideal is of one story, raised upon cellars. If the
rooms are large, the house may be small: a single room, lofty, spacious,
and lightsome, is more palatial than a castleful of cabinets and
cupboards. Yet size in a house, and some extent and intricacy of
corridor, is certainly delightful to the flesh. The reception room
should be, if possible, a place of many recesses, which are "petty
retiring places for conference"; but it must have one long wall with a
divan: for a day spent upon a divan, among a world of cushions, is as
full of diversion as to travel. The eating-room, in the French mode,
should be _ad hoc_: unfurnished, but with a buffet, the table, necessary
chairs, one or two of Canaletto's etchings, and a tile fire-place for
the winter. In neither of these public places should there be anything
beyond a shelf or two of books; but the passages may be one library from
end to end, and the stair, if there be one, lined with volumes in old
leather, very brightly carpeted, and leading half-way up, and by way of
landing, to a windowed recess with a fire-place; this window, almost
alone in the house, should command a handsome prospect. 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