The subject is a simple north-country village, on the shore of Morecambe Bay; not in the common sense a picturesque village; there are no pretty bow-windows, or red roofs, or rocky steps of entrance to the rustic doors, or quaint gables; nothing but a single street of thatched and chiefly clay-built cottages, ranged in a somewhat monotonous line, the roofs so green with moss that at first we hardly discern the houses from the fields and trees The village street is closed at one end by a wooden gate, indication the little traffic there is on the road through it, and giving it something the look of a large farmstead, in which a right of way lies through the yard. The road which leads to this gate is full of ruts, and winds down a bad bit of hill between two broken banks of moor ground, succeeding immediately to the few enclosures which surround the village; they can hardly be called gardens, but a decayed fragment of fencing fill the gaps in the bank..... At the end of the village is a better house, with three chimneys and a dormer window in its roof, and the roof is of shingle instead of thatch, very rough. This house is no doubt the clergyman's; there is some smoke from one of its chimneys, none from any other in the village.... All noble composition of this kind can be reached only by instinct...
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