242 THE EULOGY OF RICHARD JEFFERIES. 



are stiff and hard, having been wet over- night 

 by no other light than this. If the house- 

 hold is comparatively well managed, however, 

 he strikes a match, and his ' dip ' shows at the 

 window. But he generally prefers to save a 

 candle, and clatters down the narrow steep 

 stairs in the semi-darkness, takes a piece of 

 bread and cheese, and steps forth into the 

 sharp air. The cabbages in the garden he 

 notes are covered with white frost, so is the 

 grass in the fields, and the footpath is hard 

 under foot. In the furrows is a little ice 

 white because the water has shrunk from be- 

 neath it, leaving it hollow and on the stile is 

 a crust of rime, cold to the touch, which he 

 brushes off in getting over. Overhead the sky 

 is clear cloudless but pale and the stars, 

 though not yet fading, have lost the brilliant 

 glitter of midnight. Then, in all their glory, 

 the idea of their globular shape is easily ac- 

 cepted ; but in the morning, just as the dawn 

 is breaking, the absence of glitter conveys the 

 impression of flatness circular rather than 

 globular. But yonder, over the elms, above 

 the cowpens, the great morning star has risen, 



