indeed, was the fairest field for the display of imagination in the endless combining of forms of novel beauty; the elements to enter into combination being, by a vast superiority, the most glorious which the earth could afford.  In the multiform and multicolor of the flowers and the trees, he recognised the most direct and energetic efforts of Nature at physical loveliness.  And in the direction or concentration of this effort —­ or, more properly, in its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it on earth —­ he perceived that he should be employing the best means —­ laboring to the greatest advantage —­ in the fulfilment, not only of his own destiny as poet, but of the august purposes for which the Deity had implanted the poetic sentiment in man.

“Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it on earth.”  In his explanation of this phraseology, Mr. Ellison did much toward solving what has always seemed to me an enigma:  —­ I mean the fact (which none but the ignorant dispute) that no such combination of scenery exists in nature as the painter of genius may produce.  No such paradises are to be found in reality as have glowed on the canvas of Claude.  In the most enchanting of natural landscapes, there will always be found a defect or an excess —­ many excesses and defects.  While the component parts may defy, individually, the highest skill of the artist, the arrangement of these parts will always be susceptible of improvement.  In short, no position can be attained on the wide surface of the natural earth, from which an artistical eye, looking steadily, will not find matter of offence in what is termed the “composition” of the landscape.  And yet how unintelligible is this!  In all other matters we are justly instructed to regard nature as supreme.  With her details we shrink from competition.  Who shall presume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to improve the proportions of the lily of the valley?  The criticism which says, of sculpture or portraiture, that here nature is to be exalted or idealized rather than imitated, is in error.  No pictorial or sculptural combinations of points of human liveliness do more than approach the living and breathing beauty.  In landscape alone is the principle of the critic true; and, having felt its truth here, it is but the headlong spirit of generalization which has led him to pronounce it true throughout all the domains of art.  Having, I say, felt its truth here; for the feeling is no affectation or chimera.  The mathematics afford no more absolute demonstrations than the sentiments of his art yields the artist.  He not only believes, but positively knows, that such and such apparently arbitrary arrangements of matter constitute and alone constitute the true beauty.  His reasons, however, have not yet been matured into expression.  It remains for a more profound analysis than the world has yet seen, fully to investigate and express them.  Nevertheless he is confirmed in his instinctive opinions by the voice of all his brethren.  Let a “composition” be defective; let an emendation be wrought in its mere arrangement of form; let this emendation be submitted to every artist in the world; by each will its necessity be admitted.  And even far more than this:  —­ in remedy of the defective composition, each insulated member of the fraternity would have suggested the identical emendation.