цене only when the eye is close enough to rest on the right ts without including the whole. Take, for instance, the large e in our National Gallery, seen from the opposite door, where - black cow appears a great deal nearer than the dogs, and the den tones of the distance look like a sepia drawing rather n like sunshine, owing chiefly to the utter want of aerial ys indicated through them. r more so in whole. Now, there is no instance in the works of Turner of anything faithful and imitative of sunshine as the best parts of Cuyp; t at the same time, there is not a single vestige of the same ad of solecism. It is true, that in his fondness for color, Turner is not Turner is in the habit of allowing excessively cold erfect in parts fragments in his warmest pictures; but these are never, observe, warm colors with no light upon em, useless as contrasts while they are discords in the tone ; t they are bits of the very coolest tints, partially removed m the general influence, and exquisitely valuable as color, ough, with all deference be it spoken, I think them somehes slightly destructive of what would otherwise be perfect e. For instance, the two blue and white stripes on the fting flag of the Slave Ship, are, I think, the least degree o purely cool. I think both the blue and white would be possible under such a light; and in the same way the ite parts of the dress of the Napoleon interfered by their olness with the perfectly managed warmth of all the rest of e picture. But both these lights are reflexes, and it is nearly possible to say what tones may be assumed even by the warmlight reflected from a cool surface; so that we cannot actuy convict these parts of falsehood, and though we should have ed the tone of the picture better had they been slightly rmer, we cannot but like the color of the picture better with em as they are; while Cuyp's failing portions are not only evintly and demonstrably false, being in direct light, but are as sagreeable in color as false in tone, and injurious to everying near them. And the best proof of the grammatical curacy of the tones of Turner is in the perfect and unchangg influence of all his pictures at any distance. We approach ly to follow the sunshine into every cranny of the leafage, and tire only to feel it diffused over the scene, the whole picture glowing like a sun or star at whatever distance we stand, and lighting the air between us and it; while many even of the best pictures of Claude must be looked close into to be felt, and lose light every foot that we retire. The smallest of the three seaports in the National Gallery is valuable and right in tone when we are close to it; but ten yards off, it is all brick-dust, offensively and evidently false in its whole hue. $ 21. The power in Turner of uniting a number of tones. The comparison of Turner with Cuyp and Claude may sound strange in most ears; but this is chiefly because we are not in the habit of analyzing and dwelling upon those difficult and daring passages of the modern master which do not at first appeal to our ordinary notions of truth, owing to his habit of uniting two, three, or even more separate tones in the same composition. In this also he strictly follows nature, for wherever climate changes, tone changes, and the climate changes with every 200 feet of elevation, so that the upper clouds are always different in tone from the lower ones, these from the rest of the landscape, and in all probability, some part of the horizon from the rest. And when nature allows this in a high degree, as in her most gorgeous effects she always will, she does not herself impress at once with intensity of tone, as in the deep and quiet yellows of a July evening, but rather with the magnificence and variety of associated color, in which, if we give time and attention to it, we shall gradually find the solemnity and the depth of twenty tones instead of one. Now in Turner's power of associating cold with warm light, no one has ever approached, or even ventured into the same field with him. The old masters, content with one simple tone, sacrificed to its unity all the exquisite gradations and varied touches of relief and change by which nature unites her hours with each other. They gave the warmth of the sinking sun, overwhelming all things in its gold; but they did not give those gray passages about the horizon where, seen through its dying light, the cool and the gloom of night gather themselves for their victory. Whether it was in them impotence or judgment, it is not for me to decide. I have only to point to the daring of Turner in this respect, as something to which art affords no matter of comparison, as that in hich the mere attempt is, in itself, superiority. Take the ening effect with the Temeraire. That picture will not, at e first glance, deceive as a piece of actual sunlight; but this because there is in it more than sunlight, because under the azing veil of vaulted fire which lights the vessel on her last th, there is a blue, deep, desolate hollow of darkness, out of ich you can hear the voice of the night wind, and the dull om of the disturbed sea; because the cold, deadly shadows the twilight are gathering through every sunbeam, and ›ment by moment as you look, you will fancy some new film d faintness of the night has risen over the vastness of the parting form. And if, in effects of this kind, time be taken to dwell upon › individual tones, and to study the laws of their reconcilent, there will be found in the recent Academy pictures of this a mass of various truth to which Recapitula- great artist nothing can be brought for comparison, which nds not only unrivalled, but uncontended with, and which, en in carrying out it may be inferior to some of the picked sages of the old masters, is so through deliberate choice her to suggest a multitude of truths than to imitate one, and ough a strife with difficulties of effect of which art can afford parallel example. Nay, in the next chapter, respecting or, we shall see farther reason for doubting the truth of ude, Cuyp, and Poussin, in tone, reason so palpable that if se were all that were to be contended with, I should scarcely e allowed any inferiority in Turner whatsoever;* but I w it, not so much with reference to the deceptive imitations unlight, wrought out with desperate exaggerations of shade, the professed landscape painters, as with reference to the y of Rubens, the glow of Titian, the silver tenderness of We must not leave the subject of tone without alluding to the works e late George Barrett, which afford glorious and exalted passages of ; and John Varley, who, though less truthful in his aim, was freatly deep in his feeling. Some of the sketches of De Wint are also irable in this respect. As for our oil pictures, the less that is said about the better. Callcott has the truest aim; but not having any eye for , it is impossible for him to succeed in tone. RT II, and perhaps more than all to the precious and pure passages of intense feeling and heavenly light, holy and undefiled, and glorious with the changeless passion of eternity, which sanctify with their shadeless peace the deep and noble conceptions of the early school of Italy,-of Fra Bartolomeo, Perugino, and the early mind of Raffaelle. Poussin's La cia. CHAPTER II. OF TRUTH OF COLOR. THERE is, in the first room of the National Gallery, a landpe attributed to Gaspar Poussin, called sometimes Aricia, netimes Le or La Riccia, according to the fancy of catalogue Observations printers. Whether it can be supposed to resemble the color of the ancient Aricia, now La Riccia, close to Albano, I will not take upon me to determine, seeing that >st of the towns of these old masters are quite as like one ice as another; but, at any rate, it is a town on a hill, wooded th two-and-thirty bushes, of very uniform size, and possessing out the same number of leaves each. These bushes are all inted in with one dull opaque brown, becoming very slightly eenish towards the lights, and discover in one place a bit of k, which of course would in nature have been cool and gray ide the lustrous hues of foliage, and which, therefore, being ›reover completely in shade, is consistently and scientifically inted of a very clear, pretty, and positive brick-red, the only ing like color in the picture. The foreground is a piece of ad, which in order to make allowance for its greater nearness, its being completely in light, and, it may be presumed, for e quantity of vegetation usually present on carriage-roads, is ven in a very cool green gray, and the truth of the picture is mpleted by a number of dots in the sky on the right, with a lk to them, of a sober and similar brown. As compared e. Not long ago, I was slowly descending this h the actual very bit of carriage-road, the first turn after you leave Albano, not a little impeded by the worthy ccessors of the ancient prototypes of Veiento.* It had been *Cæcus adulator Dignus Aricinos qui mendicaret ad axes, |