2 4 o THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



for a calf, as there is doubtless air enough on a 

 New York City street for a child. It is not the 

 lack of things not even of air in a city that 

 renders life next to impossible there; it is rather 

 the multitude of things. City life is a three-ringed 

 circus, with a continuous performance, with in- 

 terminable side-shows and peanuts and pink lem- 

 onade ; it is jarred and jostled and trampled and 

 crowded and hurried; it is overstimulated, spin- 

 dling, and premature it is too convenient. 



You can crowd desks and pews and work- 

 benches without much danger, but not outlooks 

 and personalities, not beds and doorsteps. Men 

 will work to advantage under a single roof; they 

 cannot sleep to advantage so. A man can work 

 under almost any conditions; he can live under 

 very few. 



Here in New England as everywhere the 

 conditions of labor during the last quarter-cen- 

 tury have vastly changed, while the conditions of 

 healthful living have remained essentially as they 

 ever were, as they must continue to remain for the 

 next millennium. 



Some years ago I moved into an ancient house 

 in one of the oldest of New England towns. Over 



