226 THE LIFE OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



centuries since. He could never have seen it in a city of 

 these northern chmes, that is certain. Nothing in nature 

 that I know, except the human face, ever attains this 

 colour. Nothing like it is ever seen in the sky, either at 

 dawn or sunset ; the dawn is often golden, often scarlet, or 

 purple and gold ; the sunset crimson, flaming bright, or 

 delicately grey and scarlet ; lovely colours all of them, but 

 not like this. Nor is there any flower comparable to it, 

 nor any gem. It is purely human, and it is only found on 

 the human face which has felt the sunshine continually. 

 There must, too, I suppose, be a disposition towards it, a 

 peculiar and exceptional condition of the fibres which 

 build up the skin ; for of the numbers who work out of 

 doors, very, very few possess it ; they become brown, red, 

 or tanned, sometimes of a parchment hue — they do not 

 get this colour. 



' These two women from the fruit gardens had the 

 golden-brown in their faces, and their plain features were 

 transfigured. They were walking in the dusty road ; there 

 was as background a high, dusty hawthorn hedge which 

 had lost the freshness of spring and was browned by the 

 work of caterpillars ; they were in rags and jags, their shoes 

 had split, and their feet looked twice as wide in conse- 

 quence. Their hands were black ; not grimy, but abso- 

 lutely black, and neither hands nor necks ever knew 

 water, I am sure. There was not the least shape to their 

 garments ; their dresses simply hung down in straight 

 ungraceful lines ; there was no colour of ribbon or flower, 

 to light up the dinginess. But they had the golden-brown 

 in their faces, and they were beautiful. 



' The feet, as they walked, were set firm on the ground, 

 and the body advanced with measured, deliberate, yet lazy 

 and confident grace ; shoulders thrown back — square, but 

 not over-square (as those who have been drilled) ; hips 

 swelling at the side in lines like the full bust, though longer 

 drawn ; busts well filled and shapely, despite the rags and 

 jags and the washed-out gaudiness of the shawl. There 

 was that in their cheeks that all the wealth of London 



