s. Nothing is so great a sign of truth and beauty in mountain
drawing as the appearance of individuality--nothing is so great a proof
of real imagination and invention, as the appearance that nothing has
been imagined or invented. We ought to feel of every inch of mountain,
that it _must_ have existence in reality, that if we had lived near the
place we should have known every crag of it, and that there must be
people to whom every crevice and shadow of the picture is fraught with
recollections, and colored with associations. The moment the artist can
make us feel this--the moment he can make us think that _he_ has done
nothing, that nature has done all--that moment he becomes ennobled, he
proves himself great. As long as we remember him, we cannot respect him.
We honor him most when we most forget him. He becomes great when he
becomes invisible. And we may, perhaps, be permitted to express our hope
that Mr. Stanfield will--our conviction that he must--if he would
advance in his rank as an artist, attend more to local character, and
give us generally less of the Stanfield limestone. He ought to study
with greater attention the rocks which afford finer divisions and more
delicate parts (slates and gneiss;) and he ought to observe more fondly
and faithfully those beautiful laws and lines of swell and curvature, by
intervals of which nature sets off and relieves the energy of her peaked
outlines. He is at present apt to be too rugged, and, in consequence, to
lose size. Of his best manner of drawing hills, I believe I can scarcely
give a better example than the rocks of Suli, engraved in Finden's
illustrations to Byron. It is very grand and perfect in all parts and
points.

Sec. 27. Works of Copley Fielding. His hill feeling.

Copley Fielding is peculiarly graceful and affectionate in his drawing
of the inferior mountains. But as with his clouds so with his hills; as
long as he keeps to silvery films of misty outline, or purple shadows
mingled with the evening light, he is true and beautiful; but the moment
he withdraws the mass out of its veiling mystery, he is lost. His worst
drawings, therefore, are those on which he has spent most time; for he
is sure to show weakness wherever he gives detail. We believe that all
his errors proceed, as we observed before, from his not working with the
chalk or pencil; and that if he would paint half the number of pictures
in the year which he usually produces, and spend his spare time