to have pursued his wife through the loaf. When a wedding morning
is rainy, it is because the bride has forgotten to feed the cat.

I tarried awhile at Zwolle on the Yssel (a branch of the Rhine),
because at Zwolle was born in 1617 Gerard Terburg, one of the greatest
of Dutch painters, of whom I have spoken in the chapter on Amsterdam's
pictures. Of his life we know very little; but he travelled to Spain
(where he was knighted and where he learned not a little of use in
his art), and also certainly to France, and possibly to England. At
Haarlem, where he lived for a while, he worked in Frans Hals' studio,
and then he settled down at Deventer, a few miles south of Zwolle,
married, and became in time Burgomaster of the town. He died at
Deventer in 1681. Zwolle has none of his pictures, and does not
appear to value his memory. Nor does Deventer. How Terburg looked
as Burgomaster of Deventer is seen in his portrait of himself
in the Mauritshuis at The Hague. It was not often that the great
Dutch painters rose to civic eminence. Rembrandt became a bankrupt,
Frans Hals was on the rates, Jan Steen drank all his earnings. Of all
Terburg's great contemporaries Gerard Dou seems to have had most sense
of prosperity and position; but his interests were wholly in his art.

Terburg is not the only famous name at Zwolle. It was at the monastery
on the Agneteberg, three miles away, that the author of _The Imitation
of Christ_ lived for more than sixty years and wrote his deathless
book.

I roamed through Zwolle's streets for some time. It is a bright town,
with a more European air than many in Holland, agreeable drives and
gardens, where (as at Groningen) were once fortifications, and a very
fine old gateway called the Saxenpoort, with four towers and five
spires and very pretty window shutters in white and blue. The Groote
Kerk is of unusual interest. It is five hundred years old and famous
for its very elaborate pulpit--a little cathedral in itself--and an
organ. Zwolle also has an ancient church which retains its original
religion--the church of Notre Dame, with a crucifix curiously protected
by iron bars. I looked into the stadhuis to see a Gothic council room;
and smoked meditatively among the stalls of a little flower market,
wondering why some of the costumes of Holland are so charming and
others so unpleasing. A few dear old women in lace caps were present,
but there were also younger women who had made their pretty heads
u