“Behind this group sits an aged man, half imbecile, and scarcely recognizing the danger which threatens his family; but, with his dress drawn about him, keeping steadfastly in the seat where their heedful affection has placed him. Beyond, squats a boy, wrapped in a plaid wet from the flood, and caressing a dog he has rescued from the water, and now holds it, shivering, in his bosom. On a ladder raised against the side of the house, by which the people have ascended to the roof, are perched some poultry, fussily alarmed at the distress about them; a hen--as is the wont of such creatures when terrified--has laid an egg, which, falling on a step below her perch, much astonishes a cat that has established herself there, and now rises to examine the phenomenon. Here is a point some hypercritical people will get hold of. The egg is broken by the fall, the shell being hard and set. No egg is otherwise than soft at this moment of exclusion, these critics will say. Let us leave them their discovery, and proceed to point out an incident of the design that marks the genius of the artist. Close under the eaves of the house, and just emerging from the water, is a poor hare, endeavouring to burrow a way into the thatch, with struggling feet and ears laid back; the flood has brought this timorous beast into the neighbourhood of man, and it is pitiful to see its frantic efforts to make a place of refuge in the very habitation of its enemies. Above, grey wreaths of rain-clouds haste along, and the whole aspect of the picture bespeaks terror and desolation. The very fault of its execution aids this appearance, for the want of appreciation of colour, which is alone to be lamented, helps the motive of the theme by a certain chilly opacity. This, under another aspect, would seriously mar the credit of so marvellous a work. Sir Edwin has done his best in the picture, and the result of many years’ study shows how profitably they have been employed in ensuring him fresh honour.” So far the critic, and present writer, sees no reason for changing his opinion of this masterpiece of Sir Edwin’s. If it was not his finest work, it was at any rate his culminating one; he painted none so good afterwards--indeed, even before it was finished, the painter, always a man of extreme nervous susceptibility, had hints that the human mind and the body which surrounded it are mortal. He was constitutionally subject to nervous depression, but these attacks accumulated force as years went on, and threatened the end which came with all its painfulness.