e heads of the eldest son and daughter an exact likeness of the
dear departed ape. With one voice they all exclaimed against this singular
relative which it had pleased the painter to introduce among them, and
insisted on his effacing it.

"What!" exclaimed Rembrandt, "efface the finest figure in the picture? No,
indeed; I prefer keeping the piece for myself." Which he did, and carried
off the painting.

Of Rembrandt's style it may be said that he painted with light, for
frequently an object was indicated merely by the projection of a shadow on
a wall. Often a luminous spot suggested, rather than defined, a hand or a
head. Yet there is nothing vague in his paintings: the mind seizes the
design immediately. His studio was a circular room, lighted by several
narrow slits, so contrived that rays of sunshine entered through only one
at a time, and thus produced strange effects of light and shade. The room
was filled with old-world furniture, which made it resemble an antiquary's
museum. There were heaped up in the most picturesque confusion curious old
furniture, antique armor, gorgeously-tinted stuffs; and these Rembrandt
arranged in different forms and positions, so as to vary the effects of
light and color. This he called "making his models sit to him." And in
this close adherence to reality consisted the great secret of his art. It
is strange that his favorite among all his pupils was the one whose style
least resembled his own--Gerard Douw--he who aimed at the most excessive
minuteness of delineation, who stopped keyholes lest a particle of dust
should fall on his pallet, who gloried in representing the effects of
fresh scouring on the side of a kettle.

Rembrandt died in 1674, at the age of sixty-eight. He passed all his life
at Amsterdam. Some of his biographers have told erroneously that he once
visited Italy: they were deceived by the word _Venetiis_ placed at the
bottom of several of his engravings. He wrote it there with the intention
of deluding his countrymen into the belief that he was absent, and about
to settle in Italy--an impression which would materially raise the price of
his productions. Strange and sad it is to see so much genius united with
so much meanness--the head of fine gold with the feet of clay.

THE VIPER.

At a recent monthly meeting of the Kendal Natural History Society, a
letter was read from Mr. W. Pearson, on the natural history of
Crossthwaite, from which we give the follow