l sum of things put together, in
concourse, not in relation; but the true picture is _one_, however
multitudinous it may be, for it is composed of relations gathered
together in the unity of perception, of intention, and of light. It is
organic. Moreover, how truly relation is the condition of life may be
understood from the extinct state of the English stage, which resembles
nothing so much as a Royal Academy picture. Even though the actors may
be added together with something like vivacity (though that is rare),
they have no vitality in common. They are not members one of another. If
the Church and Stage Guild be still in existence, it would do much for
the art by teaching that Scriptural maxim. I think, furthermore, that
the life of our bodies has never been defined so suggestively as by one
who named it a living relation of lifeless atoms. Could the value of
relation be more curiously set forth? And one might penetrate some way
towards a consideration of the vascular organism of a true literary style
in which there is a vital relation of otherwise lifeless word with word.
And wherein lies the progress of architecture from the stupidity of the
pyramid and the dead weight of the Cyclopean wall to the spring and the
flight of the ogival arch, but in a quasi-organic relation? But the way
of such thoughts might be intricate, and the sun rules me to simplicity.

He reigns as centrally in the blue sky as in the clouds. One October of
late had days absolutely cloudless. I should not have certainly known it
had there been a hill in sight. The gradations of the blue are
incalculable, infinite, and they deepen from the central fire. As to the
earthly scenery, there are but two 'views' on the plain; for the aspect
of the light is the whole landscape. To look with the sun or against the
sun--this is the alternative splendour. To look with the sun is to face
a golden country, shadowless, serene, noble and strong in light, with a
certain lack of relief that suggests--to those who dream of landscape--the
country of a dream. The serried pines, and the lighted fields, and the
golden ricks of the farms are dyed with the sun as one might paint with a
colour. Bright as it is, the glow is rather the dye of sunlight than its
luminosity. For by a kind of paradox the luminous landscape is that
which is full of shadows--the landscape before you when you turn and face
the sun. Not only every reed and rush of the salt marshes,