what the sun is to the world; and where, during the greater part of
the year, would you be without it? I do not wonder that the poor, when
they have to choose between fuel and food, choose fuel. Food nourishes
the body; but fuel, warming the body, warms the soul too. I do not
wonder that the hearth has been regarded from time immemorial as the
centre, and used as the symbol, of the home. I like the social
tradition that we must not poke a fire in a friend's drawing-room
unless our friendship dates back full seven years. It rests evidently,
this tradition, on the sentiment that a fire is a thing sacred to the
members of the household in which it burns. I dare say the fender has
a meaning, as well as a use, and is as the rail round an altar. In
`The New Utopia' these hearths will all have been rased, of course, as
demoralising relics of an age when people went in for privacy and were
not always thinking exclusively about the State. Such heat as may be
needed to prevent us from catching colds (whereby our vitality would
be lowered, and our usefulness to the State impaired) will be supplied
through hot-water pipes (white-enamelled), the supply being strictly
regulated from the municipal water-works. Or has Mr. Wells arranged
that the sun shall always be shining on us? I have mislaid my copy of
the book. Anyhow, fires and hearths will have to go. Let us make the
most of them while we may.

Personally, though I appreciate the radiance of a family fire, I give
preference to a fire that burns for myself alone. And dearest of all
to me is a fire that burns thus in the house of another. I find an
inalienable magic in my bedroom fire when I am staying with friends;
and it is at bedtime that the spell is strongest. `Good night,' says
my host, shaking my hand warmly on the threshold; you've everything
you want?' `Everything,' I assure him; `good night.' `Good night.'
`Good night,' and I close my door, close my eyes, heave a long sigh,