adness:
mongrel decadents that can see no dignity in the honourable scars of
a kettle. So they concentrate all their house decoration on coloured
windows that nobody looks out of, and vases of lilies that everybody
wishes out of the way. No: my idea (which is much cheaper) is to make
a house really allegoric: really explain its own essential meaning.
Mystical or ancient sayings should be inscribed on every object, the
more prosaic the object the better; and the more coarsely and rudely
the inscription was traced the better. 'Hast thou sent the Rain upon
the Earth?' should be inscribed on the Umbrella-stand: perhaps on the
Umbrella. 'Even the Hairs of your Head are all numbered' would give a
tremendous significance to one's hairbrushes: the words about 'living
water' would reveal the music and sanctity of the sink: while 'our
God is a consuming Fire' might be written over the kitchen-grate, to
assist the mystic musings of the cook--Shall we ever try that
experiment, dearest. Perhaps not, for no words would be golden enough
for the tools you had to touch: you would be beauty enough for one
house. . . ."

". . . By all means let us have bad things in our dwelling and make
them good things. I shall offer no objection to your having an
occasional dragon to dinner, or a penitent Griffin to sleep in the
spare bed. The image of you taking a Sunday school of little Devils
is pleasing. They will look up, first in savage wonder, then in vague
respect; they will see the most glorious and noble lady that ever
lived since their prince tempted Eve, with a halo of hair and great
heavenly eyes that seem to make the good at the heart of things
almost too terribly simple and naked for the sons of flesh: and as
they gaze, their tails will drop off, and their wings will sprout:
and they will become Angels in six lessons. . . .

"I cannot profess to offer any elaborate explanation of your mother's
disquiet but I admit it does not wholly surprise me. You see I happen
to know one factor in the case, and one only, of which you are wholly
ignorant. I know you . . . I know one thing which has made me feel
strange before your mother--I know the value of what I take away. I
feel (in a weird moment) like the Angel of Death.

"You say you want to talk to me about death: my views about death are
bright, brisk and entertaining. When Azrael takes a soul it may be to
other and brighter worlds: like those whither you and I go together.
The transformat