OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



THE sweet grass was wet with 

 dew as I walked through a 

 meadow in Somerset to the 

 river. The cuckoo sang, the pleasanter 

 perhaps because his brief tune was 

 nearly over, and all pleasant things seem 

 to have a deeper note as they draw 

 towards an end. Dew and sweet green 

 grass were the more beautiful because 

 of the knowledge that the high hills 

 around were covered by sun-dried, wiry 

 heather. Riverside mead, dew-laden 

 grass, and sparkling stream were like 

 an oasis in the dry desert. They re- 

 freshed the heart to look upon as water 

 refreshes the weary. — 'The Life of the 

 Fields ' : The Water-Colley. 



IT is the birds and other creatures 

 peculiar to the water that render 

 fly-fishing so pleasant ; were they 

 all destroyed, and nothing left but the 

 mere fish, one might as well stand and 



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