218 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



upon a hundred million, more, I suppose, than 

 forty thousand who read Jefferies' works. 

 Out of the forty thousand not one-half have 

 read them all. For some are contented with the 

 " Gamekeeper at Home," " Eed Deer," and 

 the "Amateur Poacher." Some have on their 

 shelves " The Life in the Fields," or " The 

 Open Air." Few, indeed, have read all those 

 books which came from his brain in so full 

 and clear a stream. This stream may be 

 likened unto the river by whose banks Petrarch 

 loved to wander ; inasmuch as it springs full 

 grown from the foot of a great bare precipice. 

 All around is tumbled rock. So, among the 

 heaped and broken rocks of disappointed hopes 

 and baffled attempts, this full, strong, and 

 clear stream leaped forth triumphant. 



For the greater part of mankind Jefferies is 

 too full. They cannot absorb so much ; they are 

 more at their ease with the last century poets 

 who use to talk vaguely of the perfumed flowers, 

 the rustling leaves, the finny tribe, and the 

 warbling of the birds in the bosky grove. It 

 fatigues them to read of so much that they can 

 never see for themselves ; it irritates them, 



