and every woman Eve. We are still marching bravely on,
conquering Nature, but how weary and sad we are getting! The old
joy in life and gaiety of heart have vanished, though we do
sometimes pause for a few moments in our long forced march to
watch the labours of some pale mechanician, seeking after
perpetual motion, and indulge in a little, dry, cackling laugh at
his expense." And again: "For here the religion that languishes
in crowded cities or steals shamefaced to hide itself in dim
churches flourishes greatly, filling the soul with a solemn joy.
Face to face with Nature on the vast hills at eventide, who does
not feel himself near to the Unseen?

"Out of his heart God shall not pass
His image stamped is on every grass."

All Hudson's books breathe this spirit of revolt against our new
enslavement by towns and machinery, and are true oases in an age
so dreadfully resigned to the "pale mechanician."

But Hudson is not, as Tolstoi was, a conscious prophet; his
spirit is freer, more willful, whimsical--almost perverse--and
far more steeped in love of beauty. If you called him a prophet
he would stamp his foot at you--as he will at me if he reads
these words; but his voice is prophetic, for all that, crying in
a wilderness, out of which, at the call, will spring up roses
here and there, and the sweet-smelling grass. I would that every
man, woman, and child in England were made to read him; and I
would that you in America would take him to heart. He is a
tonic, a deep refreshing drink, with a strange and wonderful
flavour; he is a mine of new interests, and ways of thought