e life and light which she remembers now
was working and moving at their feet, an animated cloud, which they did
not feel, and do not miss. That region of life never reached up their
flanks, and has left them no memorials of its being; they have no
associations, no monuments, no memories; we look on them as we would on
other hills; things of abstract and natural magnificence, which the
presence of man could not increase, nor his departure sadden. They are,
in consequence, destitute of all that renders the name of Ausonia
thrilling, or her champaigns beautiful, beyond the mere splendor of
climate; and even that splendor is unshared by the mountain; its cold
atmosphere being undistinguished by any of that rich, purple, ethereal
transparency which gives the air of the plains its _depth of
feeling_,--we can find no better expression.

Secondly. In all hill scenery, though there is increase of size, there
is want of distance. We are not speaking of views from summits, but of
the average aspect of valleys. Suppose the mountains be 10,000 feet
high, their summit will not be more than six miles distant in a direct
line: and there is a general sense of confinement, induced by their
wall-like boundaries, which is painful, contrasted with the wide
expatiation of spirit induced by a distant view over plains. In ordinary
countries, however, where the plain is an uninteresting mass of
cultivation, the sublimity of distance is not to be compared to that of
size: but, where every yard of the cultivated country has its tale to
tell; where it is perpetually intersected by rivers whose names are
meaning music, and glancing with cities and villages every one of which
has its own halo round its head; and where the eye is carried by the
clearness of the air over the blue of the farthest horizon, without
finding one wreath of mist, or one shadowy cloud, to check the
distinctness of the impression; the mental emotions excited are richer,
and deeper, and swifter than could be awakened by the noblest hills of
the earth, unconnected with the deeds of men.

Lastly. The plain country of Italy has not even to choose between the
glory of distance and of size, for it has both. I do not think there is
a spot, from Venice to Messina, where two ranges of mountain, at the
least, are not in sight at the same time. In Lombardy, the Alps are on
one side, the Apennines on the other; in the Venetian territory, the
Alps, Apennines and Euganean hills; going sou