t he
will be wearied with the same point of view. On the contrary, he will
realize with pleasure how differently two genuine lovers of the Earth can
express their affection.

In Jefferies' song of praise, his song of desire--praise and desire
alternate continually in his writings--there are two aspects of the Earth
upon which he dwells continually--the exceeding beauty of the Earth, and
the exceeding plenitude of the Earth. Apostrophes to the beauty have
been quoted already; let this serve as an illustration of the other
aspect:--

"Everything," {157a} he exclaims, "on a scale of splendid waste.
Such noble broadcast, open-armed waste is delicious to behold. Never
was there such a lying proverb as 'Enough is as good as a feast.'
{157b} Give me the feast; give me squandered millions of seeds,
luxurious carpets of petals, green mountains of oak leaves. The
greater the waste the greater the enjoyment--the nearer the approach
to real life. Casuistry is of no avail; the fact is obvious; Nature
flings treasures abroad, puffs them with open lips along on every
breeze; piles up lavish layers of them in the free, open air, packs
countless numbers together in the needles of a fir tree. Prodigality
and superfluity are stamped on everything she does."

This is no chance passage, no casual thought. Again and again Jefferies
returns to the richness and plenty of the Earth. And his style, suiting
itself to the man's temperament, is rich and overflowing, splendidly
diffuse, riotously exulting, until at times there is the very incoherence
of passion about it.

Thus, in looking at the man's artistic work, its form of expression, its
characteristic notes, something of the man's way of thinking has
impressed itself upon us.

V

It may be well to gather up the scattered impressions, and to look at the
thought that underlies his fervid utterances. Beginning as merely an
interested observer of Nature, his attitude becomes more enthusiastic, as
knowledge grows of her ways, and what began in observation ends in
aspiration. The old cry, "Return to Nature," started by Rousseau, caught
by the poets of the "Romantic Revival" in England, and echoed by the
essayists of New England, fell into silence about the middle of last
century. It had inspired a splendid group of Nature poets; and for a
time it was felt some new gospel was needed. Scientific and
philosophical problems took pos