OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



and the charm of winding brooks. I 

 never see roads, or horses, men, or any- 

 thing when I get beside a brook. There 

 is the grass, and the wheat, the clouds, 

 the delicious sky, and the wind, and the 

 sunlight which falls on the heart like 

 a song. It is the same, the very same, 

 only I think it is brighter and more 

 lovely now than it was twenty years 

 ago. — 'The Life of the Fields': Notes 

 on Landscape Painting. 



A SLUMBEROUS silence of 

 abundant light, of the full sum- 

 mer day, of the high flood of 

 summer hours whose tide can rise no 

 higher. A time to linger and dream 

 under the beautiful breast of heaven, 

 heaven brooding and descending in pure 

 light upon man's handiwork. If the 

 light shall thus come in, and of its mere 

 loveliness overcome every aspect of 

 dreariness, why shall not the light of 



65 e 



