Thomson holds an honourable position as the first powerful landscapist that Scotland produced, and he is still among her greatest. His style was founded, in the first instance, upon the practice of the Dutch masters; but ultimately he submitted to the influence of the Poussins and the Italians, rightly believing that their method—in the richer solemnity of its colour and the deeper gravity of its chiaroscuro—was more truly fitted for the portrayal of the scenery of Scotland, more in harmony with the gloom and the glory of its mountains and its glens and the passion of its wave-vexed cliffs. But to the study of the art of the past he joined a close and constant reference to nature which kept his own work fresh and original, though, of course, he never even approached such scientific accuracy in the rendering of natural form and effect as is expected from even the tyro in our recent schools of landscape. His art is clearly distinguished by “style”; at their best, his works show skilful selection in the leading lines of their composition and admirable qualities of abstract colour and tone. Thomson is fairly represented in the Scottish National Gallery; and the Aberlady Bay of that collection, with the soft infinity of its clouded grey sky, and its sea which leaps and falls again in waves of sparkling and of shadowed silver, is fit to rank among the triumphs of Scottish art.