kind of ornament, but what nature chooses to bestow; it wears all its
decorations wildly, covering its nakedness, not with what the peasant
may plant, but with what the winds may bring. There is no gay color or
neatness about it; no green shutters or other abomination: all is calm
and quiet, and severe, as the mind of a philosopher, and, withal, a
little somber. It is evidently old, and has stood many trials in its
day; and the snow, and the tempest, and the torrent have all spared it,
and left it in its peace, with its gray head unbowed, and its early
strength unbroken, even though the spirit of decay seems creeping, like
the moss and the lichen, through the darkness of its crannies. This
venerable and slightly melancholy character is the very soul of all its
beauty.

56. There remains only one point to be noticed, its humility. This was
before stated to be desirable, and it will here be found in perfection.
The building draws as little attention upon itself as possible; since,
with all the praise I have bestowed upon it, it possesses not one point
of beauty in which it is not equaled or excelled by every stone at the
side of the road. It is small in size, simple in form, subdued in tone,
easily concealed or overshadowed; often actually so; and one is always
delighted and surprised to find that what courts attention so little is
capable of sustaining it so well. Yet it has no appearance of weakness:
it is stoutly, though rudely, built; and one ceases to fear for its sake
the violence of surrounding agencies, which, it may be seen, will be
partly deprecated by its humility.

57. Such is the mountain cottage of Westmoreland; and such, with
occasional varieties, are many of the mountain cottages of England and
Wales. It is true that my memory rests with peculiar pleasure in a
certain quiet valley near Kirkstone, little known to the general