There is also another thing where Jefferies is outside the sympathies of the multitude. This solitary, who was never so happy as when he wandered alone upon the downs with no human creature in sight, is yet intensely human. All kinds of injustice, and especially social injustice, the grinding and robbery and oppression of the producer, the pride of caste and class, the pretensions of rank and the insolence of money--these things make him angry. Now, if there be one thing more lamentably sure and certain than another, it is that injustice does not make the average man angry. If money is to be made by injustice, he will be unjust. He will call his injustice, unless he covers and hides it up, the custom of the trade, and persuade himself that it is laudable and even Christian so to act. When another man speaks the truth about these injustices, he gets uncomfortable. Because, you see, he goes to church, and perhaps bears a character for eminent piety. There were doubtless churchwardens and sidesmen among those who, fifty years ago, used to send the little children of six to work for fourteen hours in the dark coal-pit. Jefferies had lived so little in towns and among men that he did not know any sophistry of trade custom, and when he heard of these customs his soul flamed up. It is not a side of his character which often comes into view; but it comes often enough to irritate many excellent people who live in great comfort by the exertions of other people, and plume themselves mightily upon their virtues, hereditary or otherwise. Jefferies could never have called himself a Socialist; but he sympathized with that part of Socialism which claims for every man the full profit of the labour of his hands. "Dim woodlands made him wiser far Than those who thresh their barren thought With flails of knowledge dearly bought, Till all his soul shone like a star That flames at fringe of Heaven's bar, There breaks the surf of space unseen Against Hope's veil that lies between Love's future and the woes that are. His soul saw through the weary years-- Past war-bells' chimes and poor men's tears-- That day when Time shall bring to birth (By many a heart whose hope seems vain, And many a fight where Love slays Pain) True Freedom, come to reign on earth."[1] [1] These lines were communicated to me by the writer, Mr. H.H. von Sturmer, of Cambridge.