impression of great extent of
surface, and thought that if he gave the reflection more faithfully, as
the tops of the masts would come down to the nearest part of the
surface, they would destroy the evidence of distance, and appear to set
the ship above the boat instead of beyond it. I doubt not in such
awkward hands that such would indeed have been the case, but he is not
on that account to be excused for painting his surface with gray
horizontal lines, as is done by nautically-disposed children; for no
destruction of distance in the ocean is so serious a loss as that of its
liquidity. It is better to feel a want of extent in the sea, than an
extent which we might walk upon or play at billiards upon.

Sec. 18. And Canaletto.

Among all the pictures of Canaletto, which I have ever seen, and they
are not a few, I remember but one or two where there is any variation
from one method of treatment of the water. He almost always covers the
whole space of it with one monotonous ripple, composed of a coat of
well-chosen, but perfectly opaque and smooth sea-green, covered with a
certain number, I cannot state the exact average, but it varies from
three hundred and fifty to four hundred and upwards, according to the
extent of canvas to be covered, of white concave touches, which are very
properly symbolical of ripple.

And, as the canal retires back from the eye, he very geometrically
diminishes the size of his ripples, until he arrives at an even field of
apparently smooth water. By our sixth rule, this rippling water as it
retires should show more and more of the reflection of the sky above it,
and less and less of that of objects beyond it, until, at two or three
hundred yards down the canal, the whole field of water should be one
even gray or blue, the color of the sky receiving no reflections
whatever of other objects. What does Canaletto do? Exactly in proportion
as he retires, he displays _more_ and _more_ of the reflection of
objects, and less and less of the sky, until, three hundred yards away,
all the houses are reflected as clear and sharp as in a quiet lake.

This, again, is wilful and inexcusable violation of truth, of which the
reason, as in the last case, is the painter's consciousness of weakness.
It is one of the most difficult things in the world to express the light
reflection of the blue sky on a distant ripple, and to make the eye
understand the cause of the color, and the motion of the apparently
smoo