to comprehend his power."

And in another lecture, speaking of the advantage of a low horizon, he
says:--"What gives sublimity to Rembrandt's Ecce Homo more than this
principle? a composition which, though complete, hides in its grandeur
the limits of its scenery. Its form is a pyramid, whose top is lost in
the sky, as its base in tumultuous murky waves. From the fluctuating
crowds who inundate the base of the tribunal, we rise to Pilate,
surrounded and perplexed by the varied ferocity of the sanguinary
synod to whose remorseless gripe he surrenders his wand, and from
him we ascend to the sublime resignation of innocence in Christ, and,
regardless of the roar, securely repose on his countenance. Such is the
grandeur of a conception, which in its blaze absorbs the abominable
detail of materials too vulgar to be mentioned. Had the materials been
equal to the conception and composition, the Ecce Homo of Rembrandt,
even unsupported by the magic of its light and shade, or his spell of
colours, would have been an assemblage of superhuman powers."

Reynolds, in his Eighth Discourse, speaking of the annoyance the mind
feels at the display of too much variety and contrast, proceeds to
say:--"To apply these general observations, which belong equally to all
arts, to ours in particular. In a composition, where the objects are
scattered and divided into many equal parts, the eye is perplexed and
fatigued, from not knowing where to find the principal action, or which
is the principal figure; for where all are making equal pretensions to
notice, all are in equal danger of neglect. The expression which is used
very often on these occasions is, the piece wants repose--a word which
perfectly expresses a relief of the mind from that state of hurry and
anxiety which it suffers when looking at a work of this character. On
the other hand, absolute unity, that is, a large work consisting of one
group or mass of light only, would be as defective as an heroic poem
without episode, or any collateral incidents to recreate the mind with
that variety which it requires. An instance occurs to me of two painters
(Rembrandt and Poussin) of characters totally opposite to each other in
every respect, but in nothing more than in their mode of composition and
management of light and shadow. Rembrandt's manner is absolute unity; he
often has but one group, and exhibits little more than one spot of light
in the midst of a large quantity of shadow: if he has