and easily twisted, and so can be bent back
where they reach the outside uprights, and they are interlaced with
the others in basket-making fashion. At this stage the hurdle presents
an unfinished appearance, with the ends of the horizontal rods
protruding from the face of the hurdle. Then the maker with a special
narrow and exceedingly sharp hatchet chops off at one blow each of the
projecting ends, with admirable accuracy, never missing his aim or
exceeding the exact degree of strength necessary to sever the
superfluous bit without injuring the hurdle itself. The hurdle-maker
is paid at a price per dozen, and he earns and deserves "good money."

The art of making wattled hurdles is passed on and carried down from
father to son for generations; the hurdle-maker is usually a cheery
man and receives a gracious welcome from the missus and the maids when
he calls at the farm-house, often emphasized by a pint of home-brewed.
He combines the accuracy of the draughtsman with the delicate touch of
the accomplished lawn-tennis player. His exits and his entrances from
and to the scene of his labours are made in the remote mysterious
surroundings of the seldom-trodden woods; overhead is the brilliant
blue of the clear spring sky; the sunshine lights up the quiet hazel
tones of his simple materials, his highly finished work, and his heaps
of clean fresh chips; and his stage is the newly cut coppice, carpeted
with primroses and wild hyacinths. I have never seen a representation
of this charming scene, and I commend the subject to the
country-loving artist as full of interest and colour, and as a theme
of natural beauty.

Our blacksmith came twice a week to the village when work was still
plentiful in the early days of my farming, and I was not yet the only
practical farmer in the place. I need not describe the forge: it has
been sung by Longfellow, made music of by Handel, and painted by
Morland; everybody knows its gleaming red-hot iron, its cascades of
sparks, and the melodious clank of the heavy hammer as it falls upon
the impressionable metal. In all pursuits which entail the use of an
open fire at night, its fascination attracts both busy and idle
villagers, and more especially in winter it becomes a centre for local
gossip. At that season the time-honoured gossip corner, close to the
Manor gate, was deserted for the warmth and action of the forge.
Blacksmiths, like other specialists, vary, and the difference may be
expresse