If Fieldhead had few other merits as a building, it might at least be termed picturesque. Its regular architecture, and the gray and mossy colouring communicated by time, gave it a just claim to this epithet. The old latticed windows, the stone porch, the walls, the roof, the chimney-stacks, were rich in crayon touches and sepia lights and shades. The trees behind were fine, bold, and spreading; the cedar on the lawn in front was grand; and the granite urns on the garden wall, the fretted arch of the gateway, were, for an artist, as the very desire of the eye.
One mild May evening Caroline, passing near about moonrise, and feeling, though weary, unwilling yet to go home, where there was only the bed of thorns and the night of grief to anticipate, sat down on the mossy ground near the gate, and gazed through towards cedar and mansion. It was a still night--calm, dewy, cloudless; the gables, turned to the west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon they faced; the oaks behind were black; the cedar was blacker. Under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky opened gravely blue. It was full of the moon, which looked solemnly and mildly down on Caroline from beneath that sombre canopy.

Fieldhead was picturesque, grey and mossy: the old latticed windows, the stone porch, the walls, the chimney-stacks, were rich in sepia lights and shades. The trees behind were fine and spreading; the cedar on the front lawn was grand; and the granite urns over the arch of the gateway were pleasing to the eye.
One mild May evening Caroline, passing near about moonrise, and unwilling yet to go home, sat down on the mossy ground near the gate of Fieldhead, and gazed through it towards the cedar and the mansion. It was a still, cloudless night; the gables, facing west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon; the cedar was black. Under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky opened gravely blue. It was full of the moon, which looked solemnly down on Caroline.
