SIXTEEN TO TWENTY. 59 



of the day ? He seldom read it. Politics ? 

 He belonged to the people, and cursed either 

 party. That once said, he had nothing more 

 to say. Art ? He had ideas of his own on 

 painting, and they were unconventional. 

 Gossip and scandal ? He never heard any. 

 Wine ? He knew nothing about wine. Yet 

 to those whom he knew and trusted he was 

 neither reserved nor morose. An eremite 

 would be driven mad by chatter if he left his 

 hermitage and came back to his native town ; 

 so this roamer among the hills could not endure 

 the profitless talk of man, while Nature was 

 willing to break her silence for him alone 

 among the hills and in the woods. 



He became, then, a journalist. It is a pro- 

 fession which leaves large gaps in the day, 

 and sometimes whole days of leisure. The 

 work, to such a lad as Jefferies, was easy ; he 

 had to attend meetings and report them ; to 

 write descriptive papers ; to furnish and dress 

 up paragraphs of news ; to look about the 

 town and pick up everything that was said or 

 done ; to attend the police courts, inquests, 

 county courts, auctions, markets, and every- 



