s chief
beauty is derived from our perception of crystalline depth, united with
excessive slumber. In its limited surface we cannot get the sublimity of
extent, but we may have the beauty of peace, and the majesty of depth.
The object must therefore be, to get the eye off its surface, and to
draw it down, to beguile it into that fairy land underneath, which is
more beautiful than what it repeats, because it is all full of dreams
unattainable, and illimitable. This can only be done by keeping its edge
out of sight, and guiding the eye off the land into the reflection, as
if it were passing into a mist, until it finds itself swimming into the
blue sky, with a thrill of unfathomable falling. (If there be not a
touch of sky at the bottom, the water will be disagreeably black, and
the clearer the more fearful.) Now, one touch of _white_ reflection of
an object at the edge will destroy the whole illusion, for it will come
like the flash of light on armor, and will show the surface, not the
depth: it will tell the eye whereabouts it is; will define the limit of
the edge; and will turn the dream of limitless depth into a small,
uninteresting, reposeless piece of water. In all small lakes or pools,
therefore, steep borders of dark crag, or of thick foliage, are to be
obtained, if possible; even a shingly shore will spoil them: and this
was one reason, it will be remembered for our admiration of the color of
the Westmoreland cottage, because it never broke the repose of water by
its reflection.

115. But this principle applies only to small pieces of water, on which
we look down, as much as along the surface. As soon as we get a sheet,
even if only a mile across, we lose depth; first, because it is almost
impossible to get the surface without a breeze on some part of it; and,
again, because we look along it, and get a great deal of sky in the
reflection, which, when occupying too much space, tells as mere flat
light. But we may have the beauty of extent in a very high degree; and
it is therefore desirable to know how far the water goes, that we may
have a clear conception of its space. Now, its border, at a great
distance, is always lost, unless it be defined by a very distinct line;
and such a line is harsh, flat, and cutting on the eye. To avoid this,
the border itself should be dark, as in the other case, so that there
may be no continuous horizontal line of demarcation; but one or two
bright white objects should be set here a