finger-nails, and the white man and woman flaunt the spick-and-spanness of their spotless houses.
There will be hardwood floors in my house beautiful. But these floors will not be polished mirrors nor skating-rinks. They will be just plain and common hardwood floors. Beautiful carpets are not beautiful to the mind that knows they are filled with germs and bacilli. They are no more beautiful than the hectic flush of fever or the silvery skin of leprosy. Besides, carpets enslave. A thing that enslaves is a monster, and monsters are not beautiful.
The fireplaces of my house will be many and large. Small fires and cold weather mean hermetically sealed rooms and a jealous cherishing of heated and filth-laden air. With large fireplaces and generous heat, some windows may be open all the time, and without hardship all the windows can be opened every little while and the rooms flushed with clean pure air. I have nearly died in the stagnant, rotten air of other people's houses — especially in the Eastern states. In Maine I have slept in a room with storm-windows immovable, and with one small pane, five inches by six, that could be opened. Did I say
