uskin is his prophet.' Let us then hear
_one_ of the views which the eloquent oracle has advanced in connection
with this subject. After advising the non-imaginative painter to remain
in the region of the purely topographical or historical landscape, he
continues; 'But, beyond this, let him note that though historical
topography forbids _alteration_ (did Turner heed this precept?), it
neither forbids sentiment nor choice. So far from doing this, the proper
choice of subject is an absolute duty to the topographical painter: he
should first take care that it is a subject intensely pleasing to
himself, else he will never paint it well; and then also, that it shall
be one in some sort pleasurable to the general public, else it is not
worth painting at all; and lastly, take care that it be instructive, as
well as pleasurable to the public, else it is not worth painting with
care. I should particularly insist at present on this careful choice of
subject, because the Pre-Raphaelites, taken as a body, have been
culpably negligent in this respect, not in humble honor of Nature, but
in morbid indulgence of their own impressions. They happen to find their
fancies caught by a bit of an oak hedge, or the weeds at the sides of a
duck pond, because, perhaps, they remind them of a stanza of Tennyson;
and forthwith they sit down to sacrifice the most consummate skill, two
or three months of the best summer time available for outdoor work
(equivalent to some seventieth or sixtieth of all their lives), and
nearly all their credit with the public, to this duck-pond delineation.
Now it is indeed quite right that they should see much to be loved in
the hedge, nor less in the ditch; but it is utterly and inexcusably
wrong that they should neglect the nobler scenery, which is full of
majestic interest, or enchanted by historical association; so that, as
things go at present, we have all the commonalty, that may be seen
whenever we choose, painted properly; but all of lovely and wonderful,
which we cannot see but at rare intervals, painted vilely: the castles
of the Rhine and Rhone made vignettes of for the annuals; and the
nettles and mushrooms, which were prepared by nature eminently for
nettle porridge and fish sauce, immortalized by art as reverently as if
we were Egyptians, and they deities.'

Want of space forbids further extracts, but we recommend the entire
chapter: Of Turnerian Topography, Modern Painters, vol. iv., to the
perusal of o