on his own
observation, and arranged in a telling, harmonious manner. What he
said and thought about the labourers then is of no great importance
now, and even in 1872 it was only a journalist's grain in the scale
against the labourer's agitation. But it was admirably done. It was
clear, easy writing, and a clear, easy writer he was thenceforth to
the end.

These letters procured for him admission to _Fraser's_ and other
magazines, and he now began for them a long series of articles,
mainly connected with the land and those who work on the land. He
had now freedom and space to put on paper something of what he had
seen and thought. The people, their homes, and their fields, he
described and criticized with moderation and some spirit. He showed
that he saw more things than most writing men, but it was in an
ordinary light, in the same way as most of the readers whom he
addressed. His gravity, tenderness and courage were discernible, but
the articles were not more than a clever presentation of a set of
facts and an intelligent, lucid point of view, which were good grist
to the mills of that decade. They had neither the sagacity nor the
passion which could have helped that calm style to make literature.

'The Story of Swindon' (_Fraser's_, May, 1875) is one of three or
four articles which Jefferies wrote at that time on a subject not
purely his own. As a journalist he had had to do a hundred things
for which he had no strong natural taste. This article is a good
example of his adaptable gifts. He was probably equal to grappling
with any set of facts and ideas at the word of command. In 'coming
to this very abode of the Cyclops' the _North Wilts Herald_ reporter
survives, and nothing could be more like everybody else than the
phrasing and the atmosphere of the greater part, as in 'the ten
minutes for refreshment, now in the case of certain trains reduced
to five, have made thousands of travellers familiar with the name of
the spot.' This is probably due to lack not so much of skill as of
developed personality. When he describes and states facts, he is
lucid and forcible; when he reflects or decorates, he is often showy
or ill at ease, or both, though the thought on p. 130 is valid
enough. Through the cold, colourless light between him and the
object, he saw and remembered clearly; short of creativeness, he was
a master--or one of those skilled servants who appear masters--of
words. The power is, at this distance, more w