f which I speak; and I prefer
showing this error where it accidentally exists in the works of a really
great artist, standing there alone, to point it out where it is confused
with other faults and falsehoods in the works of inferior hands. The
former of these plates is an example of everything which a hill distance
is not, and the latter of everything which it is. In the former, we have
the mountains covered with patchy lights, which being of equal intensity
whether near or distant, confuse all the distances together; while the
eye, perceiving that the light falls so as to give details of solid
form, yet finding nothing but insipid and formless spaces displayed by
it, is compelled to suppose that the whole body of the hill is equally
monotonous and devoid of character; and the effect upon it is not one
whit more impressive and agreeable than might be received from a group
of sand-heaps, washed into uniformity by recent rain.

Sec. 15. Turner's Arona.

Compare with this the distance of Turner in Arona. It is totally
impossible here to say which way the light falls on the distant hills,
except by the slightly increased decision of their edges turned towards
it, but the greatest attention is paid to get these edges decisive, yet
full of gradation, and perfectly true in character of form. All the rest
of the mountain is then indistinguishable haze, and by the bringing of
these edges more and more decisively over one another, Turner has given
us between the right-hand side of the picture and the snow, fifteen
distinct distances, yet every one of these distances in itself
palpitating, changeful, and suggesting subdivision into countless
multitude. Something of this is traceable even in the engraving, and all
the essential characters are perfectly well marked. I think even the
least experienced eye can scarcely but feel the truth of this distance
as compared with Stanfield's. In the latter, the eye gets something of
the form, and therefore wonders it sees no more; the impression on it,
therefore, is of hills within distinctly visible distance, indiscernible
through want of light or dim atmosphere; and the effect is, of course,
smallness of space, with obscurity of light and thickness of air. In
Turner's the eye gets nothing of the substance, and wonders it sees so
much of the outline; the impression is, therefore, of mountains too far
off to be ever distinctly seen, rendered clear by brilliancy of light
and purity of atmos