LOVERS OF NATURE 207 



dissolved by your love for them. Did they not 

 melt into Wordsworth's mind? They colored 

 all his thoughts; the solitude of those green, 

 rocky Westmoreland fells broods over every 

 page. He does not tell us how beautiful he 

 finds nature and how much he enjoys her, he 

 makes us share his enjoyment. 



Eichard JefFeries was probably as genuine a 

 lover of nature as was Wordsworth, but he had 

 not the same power to make us share his enjoy- 

 ment. His page is sometimes wearisome from 

 mere description and enumeration. He is 

 rarely interpretative; the mood, the frame of 

 mind, which nature herself begets, he seldom 

 imparts to us. What we finally love in nature 

 is ourselves, some suggestion of the human 

 spirit, and no labored description, or careful 

 enumeration of details will bring us to this. 



" Nor do words 

 Which practiced talent readily affords, 

 Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords." 



It has been aptly said that Jefferies was a 

 reporter of genius but that he never (in his na- 

 ture books) got beyond reporting. His " Wild 

 Life " reads like a kind of field newspaper ; he 

 puts in everything, he is diligent and untiring, 

 but for much of it one cares very little after 

 he is through. For selecting and combining 

 the things of permanent interest so as to excite 

 curiosity and impart charm, he has but little 

 power. 



The passion for nature is by no means a mere 

 curiosity about her, or an itching to portray 



