114 THE LIFE OF RICHARD JFFFERIES 



routine of house-life, the same work, the same thought in 

 the work, the little circumstances regularly recurring,' 

 which ' will dull the keenest edge of thought,' but could 

 repeat his prayer, his ' inexpressible desire of physical 

 life, of soul life, equal to and beyond the highest imagin- 

 ing of his heart.' In ' Woodlands ' he describes Wood- 

 stock Lane from Long Ditton to Claygate, and Prince's 

 Lane and Prince's Covers ; in ' Footpaths,' Chessington 

 Church ; the Ewell road in ' Flocks of Birds '; Oxshott 

 in ' Heathlands '; Thames Ditton in ' The Modern 

 Thames '; the now altered lane from Woodstock Lane to 

 Ditton Hill in * Round a London Copse '; an old orchard 

 at the corner of Langley Avenue and Ditton Hill, and the 

 Ditton road at Southborough, in ' The Coming of 

 Summer '; the Hogsmill by Tol worth Court in ' A Brook ' 

 and ' A London Trout.' His ' Nightingale Road ' is 

 perhaps the lane from Old Maiden Church to the Kingston 

 road. His ' Barn ' was perhaps on the road from Hook 

 to Leatherhead, up Telegraph Hill. He visited Kew, and 

 found there the real silence : ' Thus reclining, the storm 

 and stress of life dissolve ; there is no thought, no care, 

 no desire ; somewhat of the Nirvana of the earth be- . 

 neath — the earth which for ever produces and receives 

 back again, and yet is for ever at rest — enters into and 

 soothes the heart.' He rowed on the Thames at Tedding- 

 ton and Molesey, and showed himself a good citizen by 

 his protest against the destruction of the fauna and 

 flora of the river and its banks. London, he thought, 

 ' should look upon the inhabitants of the river as pecu- 

 liarly her own. ... I marvel that they permit the least 

 of birds to be shot upon its banks.' But having known 

 the Wiltshire fields and been friendly with the nearest 

 keeper and the farmers, he would have nothing to say 

 to preservation ' by beadle.' 



Nevertheless, ' the inevitable end of every footpath 

 round about London is London.' He describes how he 

 saw the London atmosphere come drifting one July day — 

 ' a bluish-yellow mist, the edge of which was clearly 



