hout evidence of
the artists having ever seen the sea.

Some pictures, however, belonging to this period of Turner are free from
the Dutch infection, and show the real power of the artist. A very
important one is in the possession of Lord Francis Egerton, somewhat
heavy in its forms, but remarkable for the grandeur of distance obtained
at the horizon; a much smaller, but more powerful example is the Port
Ruysdael in the possession of E. Bicknell, Esq., with which I know of no
work at all comparable for the expression of the white, wild, cold,
comfortless waves of northern sea, even though the sea is almost
subordinate to the awful rolling clouds. Both these pictures are very
gray. The Pas de Calais has more color, and shows more art than either,
yet is less impressive. Recently, two marines of the same subdued color
have appeared (1843) among his more radiant works. One, Ostend, somewhat
forced and affected, but the other, also called Port Ruysdael, is among
the most perfect sea pictures he has produced, and especially remarkable
as being painted without one marked opposition either of color or of
shade, all quiet and simple even to an extreme, so that the picture was
exceedingly unattractive at first sight. The shadow of the pier-head on
the near waves is marked solely by touches indicative of reflected
light, and so mysteriously that when the picture is seen near, it is
quite untraceable, and comes into existence as the spectator retires. It
is thus of peculiar truth and value; and instructive as a contrast to
the dark shadows of his earlier time.

Sec. 38. Effect of sea after prolonged storm.

Few people, comparatively, have ever seen the effect on the sea of a
powerful gale continued without intermission for three or four days and
nights, and to those who have not, I believe it must be unimaginable,
not from the mere force or size of surge, but from the complete
annihilation of the limit between sea and air. The water from its
prolonged agitation is beaten, not into mere creaming foam, but into
masses of accumulated yeast,[68] which hang in ropes and wreaths from
wave to wave, and where one curls over to break, form a festoon like a
drapery, from its edge; these are taken up by the wind, not in
dissipating dust, but bodily, in writhing, hanging, coiling masses,
which make the air white and thick as with snow, only the flakes are a
foot or two long each; the surges themselves are full of foam in their
very bodie