eing frequently that of a cross, would hurt the eye by the
sharp angles of the roof, were it not for the cushion-like vegetation
with which they are rounded and concealed. Varieties of the fern
sometimes relieve the massy forms of the stonecrop, with their light and
delicate leafage. Windows in the roof are seldom met with. Of the
chimney I shall speak hereafter.

53. Such are the prevailing peculiarities of the Westmoreland cottage.
"Is this all?" some one will exclaim: "a hovel, built of what first
comes to hand, and in the most simple and convenient form; not one
thought of architectural beauty ever coming into the builder's head!"
Even so; to this illustration of an excellent rule, I wished
particularly to direct attention: that the material which Nature
furnishes, in any given country, and the form which she suggests, will
always render the building the most beautiful, because the most
appropriate. Observe how perfectly this cottage fulfills the conditions
which were before ascertained to be necessary to perfection. Its color
is that of the ground on which it stands, always subdued and gray, but
exquisitely rich, the color being disposed crumblingly, in groups of
shadowy spots; a deep red brown, passing into black, being finely
contrasted with the pale yellow of the _Lichen geographicus_, and the
subdued white of another lichen, whose name I do not know; all mingling
with each other as on a native rock, and with the same beautiful effect:
the mass, consequently, at a distance, tells only as a large stone
would, the simplicity of its form contributing still farther to render
it inconspicuous. When placed on a mountain-side such a cottage will
become a point of interest, which will relieve its monotony, but will
never cut the hill in two, or take away from its size. In the valley,
the color of these cottages agrees with everything: the green light,
which trembles through the leafage of the taller trees, falls with
exquisite effect on the rich gray of the ancient roofs: the deep pool of
clear water is not startled from its peace by their reflection; the ivy,
or the creepers to which the superior wealth of the peasant of the
valley does now and then pretend, in opposition to the general custom,
cling gracefully and easily to its innumerable crevices; and rock, lake,
and meadow seem to hail it with a brotherly affection, as if Nature had
taken as much pains with it as she has with them.

54. Again, observe its ease of