rom which they spring. Where a bough divides into two equal
ramifications, the diameter of each of the two is about two-thirds that
of the single one, and the sum of their diameters, therefore, one-fourth
greater than the diameter of the single one. Hence, if no boughs died or
were lost, the quantity of wood in the sprays would appear one-fourth
greater than would be necessary to make up the thickness of the trunk.
But the lost boughs remove the excess, and therefore, speaking broadly,
the diameters of the outer boughs put together would generally just make
up the diameter of the trunk. Precision in representing this is neither
desirable nor possible. All that is required is just so much observance
of the general principle as may make the eye feel satisfied that there
is something like the same quantity of wood in the sprays which there is
in the stem. But to do this, there must be, what there always is in
nature, an exceeding complexity of the outer sprays. This complexity
gradually increases towards their extremities, of course exactly in
proportion to the slenderness of the twigs. The slenderer they become,
the more there are of them, until at last, at the extremities of the
tree, they form a mass of intricacy, which in winter, when it can be
seen, is scarcely distinguishable from fine herbage, and is beyond all
power of definite representation; it can only be expressed by a mass of
involved strokes. Also, as they shoot out in every direction, some are
nearer, some more distant; some distinct, some faint; and their
intersections and relations of distance are marked with the most
exquisite gradations of aerial perspective. Now it will be found
universally in the works of Claude, Gaspar, and Salvator, that the
boughs do _not_ get in the least complex or multiplied towards the
extremities--that each large limb forks only into two or three smaller
ones, each of which vanishes into the air without any cause or reason
for such unaccountable conduct--unless that the mass of leaves
transfixed upon it or tied to it, entirely dependent on its single
strength, have been too much, as well they may be, for its powers of
solitary endurance. This total ignorance of tree structure is shown
throughout their works. The Sinon before Priam is an instance of it in a
really fine work of Claude's, but the most gross examples are in the
works of Salvator. It appears that this latter artist was hardly in the
habit of studying from nature at al