uch their snouts in a ball; Or, cast their web between bramble and thorny hook; The good physician Melampus, loving them all, Among them walked, as a scholar who reads a book."
While that ripe oddity, "Juggling Jerry," would have delighted the "Romany"-loving Borrow.
Indeed the Nature philosophy of Mr. Meredith, with its virile joy in the rich plenitude of Nature and its touch of wildness has more in common with Thoreau, with Jefferies, with Borrow, and with Whitman than with Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, or even with Tennyson--the first of our poets to look upon the Earth with the eyes of the scientist.
But a passion for the Earth is not sufficient of itself to admit within the charmed circle of the Vagabond; 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 f