expresses the same idea, and it is this that gives to art its high place
among the works of man.

Beautiful things seem to put us in correspondence with a world the
harmonies of which are more perfect, and bring a deeper peace than this
imperfect life seems capable of yielding of itself. Our moments of peace
are, I think, always associated with some form of beauty, of this spark
of harmony within corresponding with some infinite source without. Like
a mariner's compass, we are restless until we find repose in this one
direction. In moments of beauty (for beauty is, strictly speaking, a
state of mind rather than an attribute of certain objects, although
certain things have the power of inducing it more than others) we seem
to get a glimpse of this deeper truth behind the things of sense. And
who can say but that this sense, dull enough in most of us, is not an
echo of a greater harmony existing somewhere the other side of things,
that we dimly feel through them, evasive though it is.

But we must tread lightly in these rarefied regions and get on to more
practical concerns. By finding and emphasising in his work those
elements in visual appearances that express these profounder things, the
painter is enabled to stimulate the perception of them in others.

In the representation of a fine mountain, for instance, there are,
besides all its rhythmic beauty of form and colour, associations
touching deeper chords in our natures--associations connected with its
size, age, and permanence, &c.; at any rate we have more feelings than
form and colour of themselves are capable of arousing. And these things
must be felt by the painter, and his picture painted under the influence
of these feelings, if he is instinctively to select those elements of
form and colour that convey them. Such deeper feelings are far too