ite to admit of any kind of proof, nor to be
ascertained except by the highest of tests--the keen feeling attained by
extended knowledge and long study. Two lines are laid on canvas; one is
right and another wrong. There is no difference between them appreciable
by the compasses--none appreciable by the ordinary eye--none which can
be pointed out, if it is not seen. One person feels it,--another does
not; but the feeling or sight of the one can by no words be communicated
to the other: it would be unjust if it could, for that feeling and sight
have been the reward of years of labor. And there is, indeed, nothing in
Turner--not one dot nor line--whose meaning can be understood without
knowledge; because he never aims at sensual impressions, but at the deep
final truth, which only meditation can discover, and only experience
recognize. There is nothing done or omitted by him, which does not imply
such a comparison of ends, such rejection of the least worthy, (as far
as they are incompatible with the rest,) such careful selection and
arrangement of all that can be united, as can only be enjoyed by minds
capable of going through the same process, and discovering the reasons
for the choice. And, as there is nothing in his works which can be
enjoyed without knowledge, so there is nothing in them which knowledge
will not enable us to enjoy. There is no test of our acquaintance with
nature so absolute and unfailing as the degree of admiration we feel for
Turner's painting. Precisely as we are shallow in our knowledge, vulgar
in our feeling, and contracted in our views of principles, will the
works of this artist be stumbling-blocks or foolishness to
us:--precisely in the degree in which we are familiar with nature,
constant in our observation of her, and enlarged in our understanding of
her, will they expand before our eyes into glory and beauty. In every
new insight which we obtain into the works of God, in every new idea
which we receive from His creation, we shall find ourselves possessed of
an interpretation and a guide to something in Turner's works which we
had not before understood. We may range over Europe, from shore to
shore; and from every rock that we tread upon, every sky that passes
over our heads, every local form of vegetation or of soil, we shall
receive fresh illustration of his principles--fresh confirmation of his
facts. We shall feel, wherever we go, that he has been there before
us--whatever we see, that he