148 FIELD AND HEDGEROW 



an American publication, roughly illustrated, which he 

 always had by him. It is very strange that the art of the 

 old-fashioned book for children has gone over to New 

 York, which seems to us the land of newness. 



For grown-up people the modern books which are 

 sent out in such numbers, often very cheap, have like- 

 wise an artificial cityfied air so obviously got up and 

 theatrical, such a mark of machinery on them, all 

 stamped and chucked out by the thousand, that they 

 have no attraction for a people who live with nature, 

 and even in old age retain a certain childlike faith in 

 honesty and genuine work. The reprints of good old 

 authors, too, which may be had for a few pennies now, 

 are so edited away that all the golden ring of the metal 

 is clipped out of them. Overlaid with notes, and ana- 

 lyses, and critical exegesis, the original throb of the 

 author's heart has disappeared from these polished 

 bones. Just to suggest the book that would please the 

 country reader, look for a moment at those works which 

 came into existence at the very first dawn of printing — 

 those volumes with strongly drawn and Diirer-like illus- 

 trations, very rough, and without perspective, but whose 

 meaning is at once understood, and which somehow 

 convey what I may call a genuine impression. Any 

 countryman would tell you at once that the illustrations 

 of half the books of the present day are mere vamped-up 

 shallowness, drawn from a city man's mind in a city 

 room by gaslight. You must consider that the country- 

 man who lives out of doors, and always with nature, is, 

 as regards his reading, very much in the same mental 

 position as the people who lived four hundred years 

 ago — in the days when costly and rare manuscripts, few 

 and far between, chained to the desk, were just being 

 superseded by printed books at a fifth the price, which 



