OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



have left at home, and the dust is set- 

 tling on the gold of the binding. I have 

 picked a handful this morning of which 

 I know nothing. I will sit here on the 

 turf and the scarlet-dotted flies shall 

 pass over me, as if I too were but a 

 grass. I will not think, I will be uncon- 

 scious, I will live.— 'Field and Hedge- 

 row ' : The July Grass. 



LISTEN ! That was the low sound 

 of a summer wavelet striking 

 the uncovered rock over there 

 beneath in the green sea. All things 

 that are beautiful are found by chance, 

 like everything that is good. Here by 

 me is a praying-rug, just wide enough 

 to kneel on, of the richest gold inwoven 

 with crimson. All the Sultans of the 

 East never had such beauty as that to 

 kneel on. It is, indeed, too beautiful to 

 kneel on, for the life in these golden 

 flowers must not be broken down even 



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