oam, and
the impatient run of his surges, whose quick, redoubling dash we can
almost hear, as they break in their haste upon their own bosoms, are
nature itself, and his sea gray or green was, nine years ago, very
right, as color; always a little wanting in transparency, but never cold
or toneless. Since that time, he seems to have lost the sense of
greenness in water, and has verged more and more on the purple and
black, with unhappy results. His sea was always dependent for effect on
its light or dark relief against the sky, even when it possessed color;
but it now has lost all local color and transparency together, and is
little more than a study of chiaroscuro in an exceedingly ill-chosen
gray. Besides, the perpetual repetition of the same idea is singularly
weakening to the mind. Fielding, in all his life, can only be considered
as having produced _one_ sea picture. The others are duplicates. He
ought to go to some sea of perfect clearness and brilliant color, as
that on the coast of Cornwall, or of the Gulf of Genoa, and study it
sternly in broad daylight, with no black clouds nor drifting rain to
help him out of his difficulties. He would then both learn his strength
and add to it.

Sec. 8. Its high aim at character.

Sec. 9. But deficiency in the requisite quality of grays.

Sec. 10. Variety of the grays of nature.

But there is one point in all his seas deserving especial praise--a
marked aim at _character_. He desires, especially in his latter works,
not so much to produce an agreeable picture, a scientific piece of
arrangement, or delightful melody of color, as to make us feel the
utter desolation, the cold, withering, frozen hopelessness of the
continuous storm and merciless sea. And this is peculiarly remarkable in
his denying himself all color, just in the little bits which an artist
of inferior mind would paint in sienna and cobalt. If a piece of broken
wreck is allowed to rise for an instant through the boiling foam, though
the blue stripe of a sailor's jacket, or a red rag of a flag would do
all our hearts good, we are not allowed to have it; it would make us too
comfortable, and prevent us from shivering and shrinking as we look, and
the artist, with admirable intention, and most meritorious self-denial,
expresses his piece of wreck with a dark, cold brown. Now we think this
aim and effort worthy of the highest praise, and we only wish the lesson
were taken up and acted on by our other artists; b