A NEGLECTED FIELD.

A form of book illustration too much neglected, and one possessing peculiar advantages, is Margina Illustration. Decorated or illustrated margins may be associated in idea with the early monastic work, when the solitude and gloom of the recluse's life was relieved by the little enjoyment which must have attended the illumination of holy books, but it is not quite the purely decorative to which I would refer.

In some modern editions, in which an old style is affected, a wide margin on the top, bottom, and outer edge of the letterpress is preserved so wide that ample space might be found to introduce such trifling illustrations as would be amply sufficient to fix an impression or suggest to the imagination of the reader ideas which the mere letterpress might fail to awaken.

Too often our illustrations in books are separated from the text to such a degree that a continuity of idea is all but impossible. We read, perhaps—"Night wanes—the vapours round the mountains curl'd melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. Man has another day to swell the past," &c., &c., &c.; but long before we come to the page which illustrates this delightfully pictorial passage from one of Lord Byron's romantic works we read—"'Tis morn—'tis noon—assembled in the hall. The gathered chieftains come to Otho's call:" and not perhaps until we have passed the third or fourth stanza, and are trying to picture in our minds the brilliant assemblage of Spanish chieftains, and the fierce challenge of the accused Lara terminating with "Demand thy life!" do we turn over a page and confront a dainty illustration of the opening lines "Night wanes," &c.—an interruption as undesirable and distracting as when the lecturer, through some mistake in the arranging of his lantern slides, sees projected on the screen a photogram of the grim walls of Newgate Prison, when, with the words "I will now show you a picture of where some of England's heroes have found a resting-place," he expected his assistant to put up a slide of Westminster Abbey. It is not always possible even to get our book illustrations to face the matter which refers to it, and even if that can be arranged, or the illustration can actually come into the same page, the act of turning from text to picture means an interruption and severing the continuous thought. Could our illustrations appear in the margin, between the lines, mingled with the letterpress, how smoothly we might read the illustrations along with the text, and how bright and pleasing would the pages appear!

I have given a specimen page which may serve to better show the idea.

We will suppose some book of travel or poetry be set up in type by the printer, and a proof copy be made up with broad margins under the direction of the illustrator, who then takes it in hand and decorates each page as desired; or the pages are pulled as proofs on two or three kinds of paper, smooth for pen work, rough for crayon, or medium for wash drawings—what delightful variety might be secured! When the artist has added his marginal and inter-paragraph illustrations the pages are photo-reproduced, the complete block including both letterpress and drawings.

Of course the illustrations, if confined to the margins, could be reproduced separately, and set up with the type in the same form. In the example I have given on page 15, the letterpress was set up by the printer to occupy a given space, the type used being a clear, bold letter. This was printed from on two or three kinds of paper, and handed to me to add the illustrative matter. The proof used was about thirteen by nine inches, and this was subsequently reproduced by a simple zinco process to the size here shown.

Of course the amount of letterpress possible on each page is small if the illustrating be carried to any great extent. An edition of Shakespeare's works treated in this fashion would of itself constitute a small library, but for smaller works, or for single plays or single poems, many a plain piece of reading might be by such means converted into a very delightful and beloved book.

I have often thought that in fiction, when we read that the dainty little billet doux slipped under the door, written in my lady's delicate and graceful style; or, the mysterious letter handed to the hero written in a strange handwriting "ran as follows," how much more forcible the thing would be if the author had given us a facsimile of the letter. I never read a letter in a story without feeling it was the author of the romance, instead of the character in the book, who composed the letter. Thus an author might, in addition to feature, figure, and dress, give us a fine suggestion of his dramatis personÆ by showing a little bit of their handwriting.