Last words of Thomas Carlyle - Warburg Institute

52 WOTTON REINFEEDthe painter of so many heavenly landscapes, was breda colour-grinder ; the noble-minded Epictetus was aslave. As to the effect of natm'al scenery,' continuedhe, ' I think with you that it is trifling. The mountaineerhas a peculiar way of life, and differs from theinhabitant of the plains because of it ; differs byreason of the things he has to do, but scarcely of thethings he has to see. No nation has produced fewerartists than the Swiss.'* Indeed,' said Wotton,'this effect, whatever be itsvalue, lies in a great measure open to all men, dwellwhere they may. The bleakest moor I can stand onis visited by the eye of Heaven, and bears on its bosomthe traces of innumerable years. The pebble I strikefrom my path was severed from distant mountains inthe primeval convulsions of Nature, and has rolled forages in the depth of waters. This streamlet, namelessexcept to a few herdsmen, was meted out by the handof the Omnipotent as well as the great ocean ; it isancient as the Flood, and was murmuring through itssolitude when the ships of iEneas ascended the Tiber,or Siloa's Brook was flowing fast by the Oracle ofGod.'' Yet surely,' said Bernard,* there are degrees ofbeauty in external things ; beauty more direct, and Iwill add more pure, than those universal attributeswhich my friend here paints so vividly. Is it not theessence of all true beauty, of all true greatness, that itmakes us forget our own little individuality? That