mourning weeds,--[Greek: oud hen helio katharo tethrammenoi, all hypo
symmigei skia].

Sec. 6. Turner's translation of colors.

It is true that there are, here and there, in the Academy pictures,
passages in which Turner has translated the unattainable intensity of
one tone of color, into the attainable pitch of a higher one: the golden
green for instance, of intense sunshine on verdure, into pure yellow,
because he knows it to be impossible, with any mixture of blue
whatsoever, to give faithfully its relative intensity of light, and
Turner always will have his light and shade right, whatever it costs him
in color. But he does this in rare cases, and even then over very small
spaces; and I should be obliged to his critics if they would go out to
some warm, mossy green bank in full summer sunshine, and try to reach
its tone; and when they find, as find they will, Indian yellow and
chrome look dark beside it, let them tell me candidly which is nearest
truth, the gold of Turner, or the mourning and murky olive browns and
verdigris greens in which Claude, with the industry and intelligence of
a Sevres china painter, drags the laborious bramble leaves over his
childish foreground.

Sec. 7. Notice of effects in which no brilliancy of art can even approach
that of reality.

Sec. 8. Reasons for the usual incredulity of the observer with respect to
their representation.

Sec. 9. Color of the Napoleon.

But it is singular enough that the chief attacks on Turner for
overcharged brilliancy, are made, not when there could by any
possibility be any chance of his outstepping nature, but when he has
taken subjects which no colors of earth could ever vie with or reach,
such, for instance, as his sunsets among the high clouds. When I come to
speak of skies, I shall point out what divisions, proportioned to their
elevation, exist in the character of clouds. It is the highest
region,--that exclusively characterized by white, filmy, multitudinous,
and quiet clouds, arranged in bars, or streaks, or flakes, of which I
speak at present, a region which no landscape painters have ever made
one effort to represent, except Rubens and Turner--the latter taking it
for his most favorite and frequent study. Now we have been speaking
hitherto of what is constant and necessary in nature, of the ordinary
effects of daylight on ordinary colors, and we repeat again, that no
gorgeousness of the pallet can reach even these. But it is