296 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



has read much. But he can think for himself, 

 and he has the gift of carrying on the same 

 line of thought unwearied, persistent, like a 

 bloodhound on the scent, year after year. 

 And as a record it is absolutely true; there 

 are no concealments in it, no affectations ; it 

 is all true. He has gone to Nature the 

 Nature he loves so well for an answer to the 

 problems that vex his soul. Nature replies 

 with a stony stare ; she has no answer. What 

 is man? She cares nothing for man. Every- 

 thing, so far as she knows, and so far as man 

 is concerned, takes place by chance. Then he 

 gets his Vision of the Perfect Soul, and it fills 

 his heart and makes him happy, and seems to 

 satisfy all his longings. And the old Christian 

 teaching, the prayer to the Father, the village 

 church and its services, the quiet churchyard 

 where are they? Out on the wild downs 

 you do not see or hear of them at all. They 

 are not in the whisper of the air, or in the 

 rustle of the grass -blades ; they are not in 

 the sunshine ; they are not in the cloud ; they 

 are not in the depths of the azure sky. 

 And so he concludes : 



