He cometh not!" she said;
She said: "I'm aweary, aweary--
I would that I were dead."'

In illustration of this awkwardly-constructed stanza, a female,
uncomely and ungraceful, is represented as standing in the attitude of
a yawn, not indicated by the gaping mouth, but by the contorted
person, and arms twisted behind the back. She is close to a
stained-glass window, whose gaudy colours are challenged by her own
bright blue dress, the object of the artist throughout appearing to be
violent opposition, not harmony. The picture, with its violent
dislocations, both of bones and impressions, conveys the idea of
anything but repose, although a mouse on the floor bids us notice,
that notwithstanding appearances, the ungainly lady stretches herself
in silence. There cannot well be anything more inelegant and untrue
than this piece; yet there is clever painting here and there; and some
of the accessories, if taken without reference to the design, in which
they are blots, are models of their kind. The thought belongs to the
middle ages; the mechanical touch to the post-Raphaelite era.

The other picture, No. 93, in the same room, is larger and more
ambitious. It represents a carpenter's workshop, with a mechanic at
each end of the long bench; one of these, a half-starved, hideous
wretch, with hardly a trace of the human anatomy in his composition;
and the other, a respectable and rather sagacious-looking person, with
immeasurable legs. Behind the bench is a frightful old woman, of the
lowest class; and before it another, younger, but repulsively ugly and
vulgar, examining, in conjunction with the respectable workman--and
with her brow knotted in an awful congeries of wrinkles up to her
fiery hair--the hand of a little boy. This little boy, though plebeian