gabond; for there is no marked restlessness
about Mr. Meredith's genius, and he lacks what it seems to me is the
third note of the genuine literary Vagabond--the note of aloofness, of
personal detachment. This it is which separates the Vagabond from the
generality of his fellows. No very prolonged scrutiny of the disposition
of Thoreau, Jefferies, and Borrow is needed to reveal a pronounced
shyness and reserve. Examine this trait more closely, and it will
exhibit a certain emotional coldness towards the majority of men and
women. No one can overlook the chill austerity that marks Thoreau's
attitude in social converse. Borrow, again, was inaccessible to a
degree, save to one or two intimates; even when discovered among
congenial company, with the gipsies or with companions of the road like
Isopel Berners, exhibiting, to me, a genial bleakness that is
occasionally exasperating.

It was his constitutional reserve that militated against the success of
Jefferies as a writer. He was not easy to get on with, not over fond of
his kind, and rarely seems quite at ease save in the solitude of the
fields.

Whitman seems at first sight an exception. Surely here was a friendly
man if ever there was one. Yet an examination of his life and writings
will compel us to realize a lack of deep personal feeling in the man. He
loves the People rather than the people. Anyone who will go along with
him is a welcome comrade. This catholic spirit of friendliness is
delightful and attractive in many ways, but it has its drawbacks; it is
not possible perhaps to have both extensity and intensity of emotion.
There is the impartial friendliness of the wind and sun about his
salutations. He loves all men--because they are a part of Nature; but it
is the common human element in men and women themselves that attracts
him. There was less of the Ishmaelite about Whitman than about Thoreau,
Borrow, or Jefferies; but the man whose company he really delighted in
was the "powerful, uneducated man"--the artisan and the mechanic. Those
he loved best were those who had something of the elemental in their
natures--those who lived nearest to the earth. Without denying for a
moment that Whitman was capable of genuine affection, I cannot help
feeling, from the impression left upon me by his writings, and by
accounts given by those who knew him, that what I must call an absence of
human _passion_--not necessarily affection--which seems to characterize