A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive a nervous man distracted.
Yet was there a sort of indefinite, half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what that marvellous painting meant.

Ever and anon a bright, but, alas, deceptive idea would dart you through .-- It's the Black Sea in a midnight gale .-- It's the unnatural combat of the four primal elements .-- It's a blasted heath .-- It's a Hyperborean winter scene .-- It's the breaking-up of the icebound stream of Time.

But at last all these fancies yielded to that one portentous something in the picture's midst.

THAT once found out, and all the rest were plain.

But stop; does it not bear a faint resemblance to a gigantic fish?
even the great leviathan himself?
In fact, the artist's design seemed this: a final theory of my own, partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with whom I conversed upon the subject.