PREFACE 



profit by. In the mild winter days, while I am writ- 

 ing in my cabin study, I can hear the sharp " click, 

 click" of Hud's shears as he trims the vines. If I 

 could only trim my vines as heroically as Hud 

 trims his! getting rid of all the old wood possible 

 and leaving only a few young and vigorous shoots. 

 The great art of grape-growing is severe trimming 

 and high culture, and I suspect the art of literature 

 is about the same. In the vineyard it is not foliage 

 and wood that we are after, but grapes, and in 

 literature verbiage and superfluities are to be kept 

 down for the same reason — we want fruit. We 

 have to discipline the vines severely; no riotous 

 Uving, no kicking up their heels along the wires, 

 the push of their whole life going to wood instead 

 of grapes. At a certain time we pinch or clip the 

 ends of all the fruit-bearing canes, cut the tendrils 

 from the wires, chasten and humble them, and 

 make them pause and consider. And they consider 

 very well, for in a day or two the fruit-bunches 

 swell perceptibly. Then later, in July, we scissor 

 off all extra bunches, covering the ground with them, 

 and so send the whole force of the vine into those 

 that remain. 



This is the gospel of the vine-dresser, and I 

 would I could always make it mine when I write 

 my essays. 



January, 1908. 



