136 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



upon itself so fully as in the silence and 

 solitude of a village church. There is no 

 ponderous vastness, no oppressive weight of 

 gloomy roof, no weird cavernous crypts, as in 

 the cathedral; only a visible silence, which at 

 once isolates the soul, separates it from ex- 

 ternal present influences, and compels it, in 

 falling back upon itself, to recognise its own 

 depth and powers. In daily life we sit as in 

 a vast library filled with tomes, hurriedly 

 writing frivolous letters upon ' vexatious 

 nothings,' snatching our food and slumber, 

 for ever rushing forward with beating pulse, 

 never able to turn our gaze away from the 

 goal to examine the great storehouse the 

 library around us. Upon the infinitely deli- 

 cate organization of the brain innumerable 

 pictures are hourly painted; these, too, we 

 hurry by, ignoring them, pushing them back 

 into oblivion. But here, in silence, they pass 

 again before the gaze. Let no man know for 

 what real purpose we come here; tell the aged 

 clerk our business is with brasses and inscrip- 

 tions, press half-a-crown into his hand, and let 

 him pass to his potato-digging. There is one 



