The Story of My Heart | Page 3

requires that
you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:

[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

Transcribed for Project Gutenberg by Susan L. Farley. Project
Gutenberg/Make A Difference Day Project 1999.

THE STORY OF MY HEART AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
by RICHARD JEFFERIES

CHAPTER I
THE story of my heart commences seventeen years ago. In the glow of
youth there were times every now and then when I felt the necessity of
a strong inspiration of soulthought. My heart was dusty, parched for
want of the rain of deep feeling; my mind arid and dry, for there is a
dust which settles on the heart as well as that which falls on a ledge. It
is injurious to the mind as well as to the body to be always in one place
and always surrounded by the same circumstances. A species of thick
clothing slowly grows about the mind, the pores are choked, little
habits become a part of existence, and by degrees the mind is inclosed
in a husk. When this began to form I felt eager to escape from it, to
throw off the heavy clothing, to drink deeply once more at the fresh
fountations of life. An inspiration--a long deep breath of the pure air of
thought--could alone give health to the heart.
There is a hill to which I used to resort at such periods. The labour of
walking three miles to it, all the while gradually ascending, seemed to
clear my blood of the heaviness accumulated at home. On a warm
summer day the slow continued rise required continual effort, which
caried away the sense of oppression. The familiar everyday scene was
soon out of sight; I came to other trees, meadows, and fields; I began to
breathe a new air and to have a fresher aspirationn. I restrained my soul
till reached the sward of the hill; psyche, the soul that longed to be
loose. I would write psyche always instead of soul to avoid meanings
which have become attached to the word soul, but it is awkward to do
so. Clumsy inddeed are all words the moment the wooden stage of
commonplace life is left. I restrained psyche, my soul, till I reached and
put my foot on the grass at the beginning of the green hill itself.
Moving up the sweet short turf, at every step my heart seemed to obtain
a wider horizon of feeling; with every inhalation of rich pure air, a

deeper desire. The very light of the sun was whiter and more brilliant
here. By the time I had reached the summit I had entirely forgotten the
petty circumstances and the annoyances of existence. I felt myself,
myself. There was an intrenchment on the summit, and going down
into the fosse I walked round it slowly to recover breath. On the
south-western side there was
a spot where the outer bank had partially slipped, leaving a gap. There
the view was over a broad plain, beautiful