I've just read this, as it was buck shee on kindle. Now it's suposed to be a classic, i.e. timeless, always fresh etc. I found it to be quite dire! The author starts off by lecturing me about making judgements about authors based on the contents of the book, then sets about presenting us with his own petty judgements on everything strung together by a , to my mind, badly written load of old tat. As a pocket guide to nineteenth century: soft furnishings, textiles and cottaging techniques, it does it's job. Now I've read quite a few classics, to my mind a classic is a book you could pick up and read again later. This wasn't one of those. Thank **** that he didn't publish any more novels. I now wish I had: a time machine, a mallet, a large funnel, a rabid wolverine and the exact temporal and spacial coordinates of his cell in Reading nick!