been claimed for him by some of his
admirers.

One of the characteristics that differentiates the Vagabond writer from
his fellows is, I think, a lack of passion--always excepting a passion
for the earth, a quality lacking human significance. In their human
sympathies they vary: but in no case, not even with Whitman, as I hope to
show in my next paper, is there a _passion_ for humankind. There may be
curiosity about certain types, as with Borrow and Stevenson; a delight in
simple natures, as with Thoreau; a broad, genial comradeship with all and
sundry, as in the case of Whitman; but never do you find depth,
intensity.

Jefferies then presents to my mind all the characteristics of the
Vagabond, his many graces and charms, his notable deficiencies,
especially the absence of emotional stability. This trait is, of course,
more pronounced in some Vagabonds than in others; but it belongs to his
inmost being. Eager, curious, adventurous; tasting this experience and
that; his emotions share with his intellect in a chronic restless
transition. More easily felt than defined is the lack of permanence in
his nature; his emotions flame fitfully and in gusts, rather than with
steady persistence. Finally, despite the tenderness and kindliness he
can show, the egotistic elements absorb too much of his nature. A great
egotist can never be a great lover.

This may seem a singularly ungracious prelude to a consideration of
Richard Jefferies; but whatever it may seem it is quite consistent with a
hearty admiration for his genius, and a warm appreciation of the man.
Passion he had of a kind, but it was the rapt, self-centred passion of
the mystic.

He interests us both as an artist and as a thinker. It will be useful,
therefore, to keep these points of view as separate as possible in
studying his writings.

II

Looking at him first of all as an artist, the most obvious thing that
strikes a reader is his power to convey sensuous impressions. He loved
the Earth, not as some have done with the eye or ear only, but with every
nerve of his body. His scenic pictures are more glowing, more ardent
than those of Thoreau. There was more of the poet, less of the
naturalist in Jefferies. Perhaps it would have been juster to call
Thoreau a poetic naturalist, and reserved the term poet-naturalist for
Jefferies. Be that as it may, no one can read Jefferies--especially such
books as _Wild Life in a Southern County_, or _The Lif