Field and Hedgerow: Being the Last Essays of Richard Jefferies is a collection of essays by Richard Jefferies. The work captures the beauty of the English countryside, exploring the natural world through Jefferies' keen observations and lyrical prose. The essays offer a contemplative and refreshing perspective on nature, making it an enjoyable read for nature lovers.

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Excerpt from Field and Hedgerow, Being the Last Essays of Richard Jefferies T be F ortm'glztly Review. St. James's Gazette. Manelzester Guardian. Art journal. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

"[...]like the empty shells; from the sweet delicious violets think out fresh petals of thought and colours, as it were, of soul. Never was such a worshipper of earth. The commonest pebble, dusty and marked with the stain of the ground, seems to me so wonderful; my mind works round it till it becomes the sun and centre of a system of thought and feeling. Sometimes moving aside the tufts of grass with careless fingers while resting on the sward, I found these little pebble-stones loose in the crumbly earth among the rootlets. Then, brought out from the shadow, the sunlight shone and glistened on the particles of sand that adhered to it. Particles adhered to my skin—thousands of years between finger and thumb, these atoms of quartz, and sunlight shining all that time, and flowers blooming and life glowing in all, myriads of living things, from the cold still limpet on the rock to the burning, throbbing heart of man. Sometimes I found them among the sand of the heath, the sea of golden brown[...]".