we see clearly, as of the weeds on the shore, or of sticks rising
out of the water, etc. Hence, the ordinary effect of water is only to be
rendered by giving the reflections of the _margin_ clear and distinct
(so clear they usually are in nature, that it is impossible to tell
where the water begins;) but the moment we touch the reflection of
distant objects, as of high trees or clouds, that instant we must become
vague and uncertain in drawing, and, though vivid in color and light as
the object itself, quite indistinct in form and feature. If we take such
a piece of water as that in the foreground of Turner's Chateau of Prince
Albert, the first impression from it is,--"What a wide _surface_!" We
glide over it a quarter of a mile into the picture before we know where
we are, and yet the water is as calm and crystalline as a mirror; but we
are not allowed to tumble into it, and gasp for breath as we go
down,--we are kept upon the surface, though that surface is flashing and
radiant with every hue of cloud, and sun, and sky, and foliage. But the
secret is in the drawing of these reflections.[66] We cannot tell when
we look _at_ them and _for_ them, what they mean. They have all
character, and are evidently reflections of something definite and
determined; but yet they are all uncertain and inexplicable; playing
color and palpitating shade, which, though we recognize in an instant
for images of something, and feel that the water is bright, and lovely,
and calm, we cannot penetrate nor interpret: we are not allowed to go
down to them, and we repose, as we should in nature, upon the lustre of
the level surface. It is in this power of saying everything, and yet
saying nothing too plainly, that the perfection of art here, as in all
other cases, consists. But as it was before shown in Sect. II. Chap.
III. that the focus of the eye required little alteration after the
first half mile of distance, it is evident that on the _distant_ surface
of water, _all_ reflections will be seen plainly; for the same focus
adapted to a moderate distance of surface will receive with distinctness
rays coming from the sky, or from any other distance, however great.
Thus we always see the reflection of Mont Blanc on the Lake of Geneva,
whether we take pains to look for it or not, because the water upon
which it is cast is itself a mile off; but if we would see the
reflection of Mont Blanc in the Lac de Chede, which is close to us, we
must take some t