be for the heading of a chapter. But the great composers so
arrange _all_ their designs that one incident illustrates another, just
as one color relieves another. Perhaps the "Heysham," of the Yorkshire
series, which, as to its locality, may be considered a companion to the
last drawing we have spoken of, the "Lancaster Sands," presents as
interesting an example as we could find of Turner's feeling in this
respect. 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 the end by a
wooden gate, indicating 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 inclosures which
surround the village; they can hardly be called gardens: but a decayed
fragment or two of fencing fill the gaps in the bank; a clothes-line,
with some clothes on it, striped blue and red, and a smock-frock, is
stretched between the trunks of some stunted willows; a _very_ small
haystack and pig-sty being seen at the back of the cottage beyond. An
empty, two-wheeled, lumbering cart, drawn by a pair of horses with huge
wooden collars, the driver sitting lazily in the sun, sideways on the
leader, is going slowly home along the rough road, it being about
country dinner-time. At the end of the village there is a better house,
with three chimneys and a dormer window in its roof, and the roof is of
stone shingle instead of thatch, but 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; this smoke is from the lowest chimney at the
back, evidently that of the kitchen, and it is rather thick, the fire
not having been long lighted. A few hundred yards from the clergyman's
house, nearer the shore, is the church, discernible from the cottages
only by its low two-arched belfry, a little neater than one would expect