Edward, then, had a great calm eye, that was always looking folk full in
the face, mildly; his countenance comely and manly, but no more; too
square for Apollo; but sufficed for John Bull. His figure it was that
charmed the curious observer of male beauty. He was five feet ten; had
square shoulders, a deep chest, masculine flank, small foot, high instep.
To crown all this, a head, overflowed by ripples of dark brown hair, sat
with heroic grace upon his solid white throat, like some glossy falcon
new lighted on a Parian column.

This young gentleman had decided qualities, positive and negative. He
could walk up to a five-barred gate and clear it, alighting on the other
side like a fallen feather; could row all day, and then dance all night;
could fling a cricket ball a hundred and six yards; had a lathe and a
tool-box, and would make you in a trice a chair, a table, a doll, a
nutcracker, or any other moveable, useful, or the very reverse. And could
not learn his lessons, to save his life.

His sister Julia was not so easy to describe. Her figure was tall, lithe,
and serpentine; her hair the colour of a horse-chestnut fresh from its
pod; her ears tiny and shell-like, her eyelashes long and silky; her
mouth small when grave, large when smiling; her eyes pure hazel by day,
and tinged with a little violet by night. But in jotting down these
details, true as they are, I seem to myself to be painting fire, with a
little snow and saffron mixed on a marble pallet. There is a beauty too
spiritual to be chained in a string of items; and Julia's fair features
were but the china vessel that brimmed over with the higher loveliness of
her soul. Her essential charm was, what shall I say? Transparence.

"You would have said her very body thought."