touch my glass to ensure a hearing, and I
speak as my heart prompts me. It is not very important or interesting,
but I am speaking in praise of him in whose honour the feast is given.

In this frame of mind I am contributing my little share to the pile of
written matter, which has been produced from all quarters, in honour of
the great painter.

I

Many years ago I went to Amsterdam as an art student, to be trained
under the auspices of the then famous portrait painter Kruseman. Very
soon I was admitted to the master's studio, and beheld with admiration
the portraits of the distinguished personages he was painting at the
time.

The pink flesh-tints of the faces, the delicate treatment of the
draperies and dresses, more often than not standing out against a
background of dark red velvet, attracted me immensely.

When, however, I expressed a desire to be allowed to copy some of these
portraits, the master refused my request. "No," he said; "if you want to
copy, go to the museum in the 'Trippenhuis.'"[1]

I dared not show the bitter disappointment this refusal caused me.
Having come fresh from the country, the old masters were a sealed book
to me. I failed to discover any beauty in the homely, old-fashioned
scenes of dark landscapes over which people went into ecstasies. To my
untrained eyes the exhibition in "Arti"[2] seemed infinitely more
beautiful; and Pieneman, Gallait, Calame, and Koekoek especially excited
my admiration.

I was not really lacking in artistic instinct any more than my
fellow-students, but I had not yet gained the experience and practice,
which are indispensable to the true understanding of the quaint but
highly artistic qualities of the old Dutch masters. I maintain that
however intelligent a man may be, it is impossible to appreciate old
Dutch art to the full, or even to enjoy it, unless one has become
thoroughly familiar with it, and has tried to identify oneself with it.
In order to be able to sound the real character and depth of
manifestations of art, the artistic sensibility has to be trained and
developed.

It was long before I could summon up sufficient courage to enter this
Holy of Holies armed with my colours and brushes. Indeed I only started
on this venture after a long spell of hard work, out-of-doors as well as
in the studio, and after having made many studies from the nude, and
many more still-life studies; then a light broke in upon my darkness.

I began to understand a