I have seen this fact exemplified in a very singular manner, at a house in Georgia, where I was once visiting.  From the front door I had a very fine prospect or view of lofty hills, and a dense forest, and a pretty little town where the steeples of the churches glittered in the sunshine, and I stood for some time admiring the landscape; but presently, when I turned to speak to the lady of the house, I saw, in the glass sidelights of the door, a miniature reflection of the very same scene that was much more beautiful.  I was puzzled, and could not comprehend how the mere fact of diminishing the size of the various objects, by increasing the distance, could enhance their loveliness; and I asked myself whether all far-off things were handsomer than those close at hand?  In my perplexity I went as usual to Mr. Ruskin, wondering whether he had ever noticed the same thing; and of course he had, and has a noble passage about it in one of his books on architecture.  I will see if my memory appreciates it as it deserves:  ’Are not all natural things, it may be asked, as lovely near as far away?  Nay, not so.  Look at the clouds, and watch the delicate sculpture of their alabaster sides and the rounded lustre of their magnificent rolling.  They are meant to be beheld far away; they were shaped for this place, high above your head; approach them, and they fuse into vague mists, or whirl away in fierce fragments of thunderous vapors.’ (And here, Felix, your question about Chimborazo is answered.) ’Look at the crest of the Alps, from the far-away plains over which its light is cast, whence human souls have communion with it by their myriads.  The child looks up to it in the dawn, and the husbandman in the burden and heat of the day, and the old man in the going down of the sun, and it is to them all as the celestial city on the world’s horizon; dyed with the depths of heaven and clothed with the calm of eternity.  There was it set for holy dominion by Him who marked for the sun his journey, and bade the moon know her going down.  It was built for its place in the far-off sky; approach it, and the glory of its aspect fades into blanched fearfulness; its purple walls are rent into grisly rocks, its silver fretwork saddened into wasting snow; the stormbrands of ages are on its breast, the ashes of its own ruin lie solemnly on its white raiment!’ Felix, in rambling about the fields, you will frequently be reminded of this.  I have noticed that the meadow in the distance is always greener and more velvety, and seems more thickly studded with flowers, than the one I am crossing; or the hillside far away has a golden gleam on its rocky slopes, and the shadow spots are softer and cooler and more purple than those I am climbing and panting over; and I have hurried on, and after a little, turning to look back, lo! all the glory I saw beckoning me on has flown, and settled over the meadow and the hillside that I have passed, and the halo is behind!  Perfect beauty in scenery