216 THE JONATHAN PAPERS 



and science, at bits of anecdotal biography, 

 and nowhere in all this medley does he come 

 in contact with what is large and leisurely. 

 Current literature is like a garden I once saw. 

 Its proud owner led me through a maze of 

 smooth-trodden paths, and pointed out a vast 

 number of horticultural achievements. There 

 were sixty-seven varieties of dahlias, there 

 were more than a hundred kinds of roses, 

 there were untold wonders which at last my 

 weary brain refused to record. Finally I 

 escaped, exhausted, and sought refuge on a 

 hillside I knew, from which I could look across 

 the billowing green of a great rye-field, and 

 there, given up to the beauty of its mani 

 fold simplicity, I invited my soul. 



It is even so with our reading. When I go 

 into one of our public reading-rooms, and 

 survey the serried ranks of magazines and the 

 long shelves full of &quot;Recent fiction, not to be 

 taken out for more than five days,&quot; - nay, 

 even when I look at the library tables of some 

 of my friends, my brain grows sick and I 

 long for my rye-field. 



Happily, there always is a rye-field at hand 

 to be had for the seeking. Jonathan finds re- 



