r; placed as a warning,
they have become a show; perhaps some day they will be treasured as
weird mentors of the truth which the world has yet to learn from the
story of the Kingdom of God in Muenster."

A living German artist of great power, named Joseph Sattler, too
much of whose time has recently been given to designing book-plates,
produced some few years ago an extraordinary illustrated history of the
Anabaptists in Muenster. Many artists have essayed to portray madness,
but I know of no work more terrible than his.

We have travelled far from Leyden's peaceful studios. It is time to
look at the work of Gerard Dou. Rembrandt we have seen was the son of
a miller, Jan Steen of a brewer; the elder Dou was a glazier. His son
Gerard was born in Leyden in 1613. The father was so far interested
in the boy's gifts that he apprenticed him to an engraver when he
was nine. At the age of eleven he passed to the studio of a painter
on glass, and on St. Valentine's day, 1628, he became a pupil of
Rembrandt. From Rembrandt, however, he seems to have learned only
the charm of contrasts of light and shade. None of the great rugged
strength of the master is to be seen in his minute and patient work,
in which the genius of taking pains is always apparent. "He would
frequently," says Ireland, "paint six or seven days on a hand, and,
still more wonderful, twice the time on the handle of a broom.... The
minuteness of his performance so affected his sight that he wore
spectacles at the age of thirty."

Gerard Dou's success was not only artistic; it was also
financial. Rembrandt's prices did not compare with those of his pupil,
whose art coming more within the sympathetic range and understanding
of the ordinary man naturally was more sought after than the Titanic
and less comfortable canvasses of the greater craftsman.

Dou did exceedingly well, one of his patrons even paying him a
yearly honorarium of a thousand florins for the privilege of having
the refusal of each new picture. "The Poulterer's Shop" at our
National Gallery is a perfect example of his fastidious minuteness
and charm. But he painted pictures also with a tenderer brush. I give
on the opposite page a reproduction of the most charming picture by
Gerard Dou that I know--"The Young Housekeeper" at The Hague. This
is a very miracle of painting in every inch, and yet the pains that
have been expended upon the cabbage and the fish are not for a moment
disproportionate: the