om seeking a lower sublimity in cottage walls and penthouse
roofs. And, whether it be home of English village thatched with straw
and walled with clay, or of Italian city vaulted with gold and roofed
with marble; whether it be stagnant stream under ragged willow, or
glancing fountain between arcades of laurel, all to them will bring
equal power of happiness, and equal field for thought.

Sec. 17. Turner is the only artist who hitherto has furnished the entire
_type_ of this perfection. The attainment of it in all respects is, of
course, impossible to man; but the complete type of such a mind has once
been seen in him, and, I think, existed also in Tintoret; though, as far
as I know, Tintoret has not left any work which indicates sympathy with
the _humor_ of the world. Paul Veronese, on the other hand, had sympathy
with its humor, but not with its deepest tragedy or horror. Rubens wants
the feeling for grace and mystery. And so, as we pass through the list
of great painters, we shall find in each of them some local narrowness.
Now, I do not, of course, mean to say that Turner has accomplished all
to which his sympathy prompted him; necessarily, the very breadth of
effort involved, in some directions, manifest failure; but he has shown,
in casual incidents, and by-ways, a range of _feeling_ which no other
painter, as far as I know, can equal. He cannot, for instance, draw
children at play as well as Mulready; but just glean out of his works
the evidence of his sympathy with children;--look at the girl putting
her bonnet on the dog, in the foreground of the Richmond, Yorkshire; the
juvenile tricks and "marine dabblers" of the Liber Studiorum; the boys
scrambling after their kites in the woods of the Greta and
Buckfastleigh; and the notable and most pathetic drawing of the Kirkby
Lonsdale churchyard, with the schoolboys making a fortress of their
larger books on the tombstone, to bombard with the more projectile
volumes; and passing from these to the intense horror and pathos of the
Rizpah, consider for yourself whether there was ever any other painter
who could strike such an octave. Whether there has been or not, in other
walks of art, this power of sympathy is unquestionably in landscape
unrivalled; and it will be one of our pleasantest future tasks to
analyze in his various drawing the character it always gives; a
character, indeed, more or less marked in all good work whatever, but to
which, being preeminent in him, I s