OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



the earth the mind endeavours to carve 

 itself loveliness, nobility, and grandeur. 

 We strive for the right and the true ; it 

 is circumstance that thrusts wrong upon 

 us.— 'Field and Hedgerow': Hours of 

 Spring. 



I WONDER whether it is a joy to 

 have bright scarlet spots, and to 

 be clad in the purple and gold of 

 life; is the colour felt by the creature 

 that wears it? The rose, restful of a 

 dewy morn before the sunbeams have 

 topped the garden wall, must feel a joy 

 in its own fragrance, and know the 

 exquisite hue of its stained petals. The 

 rose sleeps in its beauty. 

 The fly whirls his scarlet-spotted wings 

 about and splashes himself with sun- 

 light, like the children on the sands. 

 He thinks not of the grass and sun ; he 

 does not heed them at all— and that is 

 why he is so happy— any more than the 



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