labors,
or to go into dangerous detail on the subject of my first failures
and my subsequent success. I may, however, harmlessly admit that my
Rembrandt was to be of the small or cabinet size, and that, as there was
a run on Burgomasters just then, my subject was naturally to be of
the Burgomaster sort. Three parts of my picture consisted entirely of
different shades of dirty brown and black; the fourth being composed
of a ray of yellow light falling upon the wrinkled face of a
treacle-colored old man. A dim glimpse of a hand, and a faint suggestion
of something like a brass washhand basin, completed the job, which
gave great satisfaction to Mr. Pickup, and which was described in the
catalogue as--

"A Burgomaster at Breakfast. Originally in the collection of Mynheer
Van Grubb. Amsterdam. A rare example of the master. Not engraved. The
chiar'oscuro in this extraordinary work is of a truly sublime character.
Price, Two Hundred Guineas."

I got five pounds for it. I suppose Mr. Pickup got one-ninety-five.

This was perhaps not very encouraging as a beginning, in a pecuniary
point of view. But I was to get five pounds more, if my Rembrandt sold
within a given time. It sold a week after it was in a fit state to be
trusted in the showroom. I got my money, and began enthusiastically on
another Rembrandt--"A Burgomaster's Wife Poking the Fire." Last time,
the chiar'oscuro of the master had been yellow and black, this time it
was to be red and black. I was just on the point of forcing my way into
Mr. Pickup's confidence, as I had resolved, when a catastrophe happened,
which shut up the shop and abruptly terminated my experience as a maker
of Old Masters.

"The Burgomaster's Breakfast" had been sold to a new customer, a
venerable connoisseur, blessed with a great fortune and a large
picture-gallery. The old gentleman was in raptures with the
picture--with its tone, with its breadth, with its grand feeling for
effect, with its simple treatment of detail. It wanted nothing, in his
opinion, but a little cleaning. Mr. Pickup knew the raw and ticklish
state of the surface, however, far too well, to allow of even an
attempt at performing this process, and solemnly asserted, that he was
acquainted with no cleansing preparation which could be used on the
Rembrandt without danger of "flaying off the last exquisite glazings of
the immortal master's brush." The old gentleman was quite satisfied with
this reason for not cleani