ring always to my own very modest style,
which in art circles, has even earned me a nickname. Just as there is a
cat-Raphael, and a velvet-and-hell Breughel, so I am called, owing to
my predilection for introducing old fences into my landscapes, the
zaun-koenig.[2] Predilection?" he smiled as he continued, "that is not
exactly the right word either. God knows I would rather paint beautiful
woodlands, like Ruysdell, or clear, bright atmospheres like Claude
Lorraine, if my talent were but sufficient. But I always succeed best
in small, insignificant objects. So a bit of ground with stones, weeds,
and brambles, a clod of earth on which mother nature has developed her
productive powers as freely as if it were a world in itself, in
short what we call a 'foreground,' has always given me so much to
do--especially as I am somewhat near-sighted--that I have never arrived
at real landscapes. Well, everybody must cut his garment according to
his cloth. And when we reflect aright, do not God's power and glory
make themselves manifest in just as wonderful a guise behind a low
hedge or a garden fence, as in the romance of the primeval forest, or
the surpassing grandeur of the Swiss Alps? So what I do, I do because I
cannot help it; in short I work for my own edification, and try to
represent a small portion, a little corner or bit of creation, with so
much care and love, that in looking upon my work people may see that,
even this despised spot, God's breath has touched."

Edwin had given but partial attention to these remarks, which would
usually have interested him far more deeply. His thoughts were
wandering in vague, distant realms. But in order to say something, he
remarked: "And do you find purchasers for your pictures?"

The little gentleman smiled, in a half-embarrassed, half-conscious
manner.

"Well," said he, "I can't complain. I always dispose of at least every
fourth or fifth picture; for, is it not strange! now-a-days everybody
must have his specialty; a work may be ever so worthless, but it will
possess some value, because its producer has had the courage not to
flinch or retreat from the path he has appointed for himself even if
the critics assail him with their deadly weapons. Yes, yes, it is
indeed surprizing to me, myself, but patrons of the fine arts have come
hither from Holland and from England, who wanted a real zaun-koenig and
nothing better. So it is, that in the great economy of our creator,
every creature