essay by Edgar Allan Poe on interior decoration
“Philosophy,” says Hegel, “is utterly useless and fruitless, and, for this very reason, is the sublimest of all pursuits, the most deserving of our attention, and the most worthy of our seal”—a somewhat Coleridegy assertion, with a rivulet of deep meaning in a meadow of words.
Beyond these things there is no furniture, if we except an Argand lamp, with a plain crimson-tinted glass shade, which depends from the lofty ceiling by a single gold chain, and throws a subdued but magical radiance over all.