OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



the summer sun. Bright poppies flower 

 in its depths, and convolvulus climbs the 

 stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the 

 yellow surface as they might over a lake 

 of colour. 



To linger by it, to visit it day by day, 

 at even to watch the sunset by it, and 

 see it pale under the changing light, is 

 a delight to the thoughtful mind. There 

 is so much in the wheat, there are books 

 of meditation in it, it is dear to the heart. 

 Behind these beautiful aspects comes 

 the reality of human labour — hours 

 upon hours of heat and strain; there 

 comes the reality of a rude life, and in the 

 end little enough of gain. The wheat is 

 beautiful, but human life is labour.— 'The 

 Open Air' : One of the New Voters. 



IF only we could persuade ourselves 

 to remain quiescent when we are 

 happy ! If only we would remain 

 still in the arm-chair as the last curl of 



II 



