NORBRECK: A SKETCH ON THE LANCASHIRE COAST. CHAPTER THE FIRST. Come unto these yellow sands, Then take hands: Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, THE TEMPEST. Ar the western edge of that quiet tract of Lancashire, called "The Fylde," lying mainly between Wyre, Ribble, and the Irish Channel, the little wind-swept hamlet of Norbreck stands, half asleep, on the brow of a green ridge close to the sea. The windows of a whitewashed cottage wink over their garden wall, as the traveller comes up the slope, between tall hedgerows; and very likely he will find all so still, that, but for wild birds that crowd the air with music, he could hear his footsteps ring on the hard road, as clearly as if he were walking on the flags of a gentleman's greenhouse. In summer time, when its buildings are glittering in their annual suit of new whitewash, and B |