186 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING. 



ous, by the side of some impending roek, amidst the 

 din of torrents plunging down to the horrid gulf 

 below him, he formed a style original, savage, and in- 

 domitable. Nothing entered into his pictures that 

 was commonplace or mean. His figures were banditti, 

 forlorn travellers, or wrecked mariners. His trees the 

 monarch chesnut, forming impenetrable forests, or 

 blasted and riven b}' the thunderbolt. All his forms 

 were grand; even his winged clouds had a stern aspect, 

 and partook of the general character. Titian, Claude, 

 Poussin, Salvator Rosa, — these, and some others of 

 the good old times, drew the poetry and soul of land- 

 scape, and not its mere dead image — and this is the 

 triumph of art." 



I fancy my new friend the artist paid very little 

 attention to my remarks, which I am not at all sur- 

 prised at ; for he began to soliloquise in an absent 

 manner about Poussin, whom he said I should have 

 placed between Claude and Rosa; and as he seemed 

 to threaten rather a long encomium, I pretended to 

 see a fish rise, and glided away quietly : for I thought 

 enough had been said on the subject of painting 

 already. As I stole off, however, I caught a few un- 

 connected expressions ; such as " dark groves and 

 solitude, — storms, — tempests, — and alpine ridges." 

 Then he grew somewhat classical, and began to recite 

 from Virgil— 



" Tot congesta rnanu praeruptis oppida saxis, 

 Flumiuaque antiques subterlabentia muros." 



At this I walked faster and faster, till I got totally 

 out of hearing. Not through dislike of the subject did 



