' THE DEWY MORN ' 249 



know the holiest emotions — take them to the woods and 

 hills, and give them the freedom of the meadows. 



' It is of no use to palter with your conscience and say, 

 " They have everything ; they have expensive toys, 

 story-books without end ; we never go anywhere without 

 bringing them home something to amuse them ; they have 

 been to the seaside, and actually to Paris ; it is absurd, 

 they cannot want anything more." 



' But they do want something more, without which all 

 this expensive spoiling is quite thrown away. They want 

 the unconscious teaching of the country, and without that 

 they will never know the truths of this life. They need to 

 feel — unconsciously — the influence of the air that blows, 

 sun-sweetened, over fragrant hay ; to feel the influence of 

 deep shady woods, mile-deep in boughs — the stream — the 

 high hills ; they need to revel in long grass. Put away 

 their books, and give them the freedom of the meadows. 

 Do it at any cost or trouble to yourselves, if you wish them 

 to become great men and noble women.'* 



Robert Godwin, the Cornleigh bailiff, hopeless lover of 

 Felise, is Jefferies' one successful concentration upon a 

 character in no way like himself. Like Barnard, he is 

 usually written about rather than revealed as Felise is ; 

 but his acute moments are as imaginatively drawn as 

 anything in the book. He was one to whom ' that scarce 

 definable culture — that idea which exists in the heart and 

 soul independent of outward appearances — the sense of a 

 beautiful inner life — so delicate a music was soundless in 

 his ears.' And * the ground was sohd under his feet ; 

 the sky afar off a mere translucent roof ; the sun a round 

 ball of heat, never seen unless he chanced to be driving 

 westwards towards sunset. . . . When his hands were still 

 and his frame reposed, his mind was simply vacant, like 

 that of a horse looking from his stable-door, or a dog by 

 his kennel.' He had ' the faculty of no imagination.' 

 Yet he never thought of anything else but Felise ; for 

 nine years ' a colourless eye watched her.' ' He lived in 



* T/ie Deivy Mom. 



