LOVERS OF NATURE 207 



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. 



Richard Jefferies was probably as genuine a lover 

 of Nature as was Wordsworth, but he had not the 

 same power to make us share his enjoyment. His 

 page is sometimes wearisome from mere description 

 and enumeration. He is rarely interpretative ; the 

 mood, the frame of mind, which Nature herself be- 

 gets, 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 re- 

 porter of genius, but that he never (in his nature 

 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 perma- 

 nent interest so as to excite curiosity and imparl; 

 charm, he has but little power. 



The passion for Nature is by no means a mere 

 curiosity about her, or an itching to portray certain 

 of her features ; it lies deeper and is probably a f orn^ 

 of, or closely related to, our religious instincts. 



