true portrait, because they leave every picture redolent of
themselves. Thus Bartolozzi in engraving Holbein's heads, made
everything Bartolozzi. But in a portrait the individuality of the
sitter should permeate and usurp the whole canvas, so that in looking
at it we should think only of the person represented, and quite forget
the artist who brought him before us.

It is an axiom that every full-length portrait requires a curtain and
a column, every half-length a table, every kit-kat a full face. But
surely such rules betray barrenness of invention. Every good position
cannot be said to have been exhausted. Why should not every portrait
be treated as a part of an historical picture in which the sitter's
position and background and accessories produced the tone and feeling
most suitable to his ordinary life? Raphael in his portrait of Leo the
Tenth exhibits a faithful study of such subordinates. There is a
prayer-book with miniatures, a bell on the table, and a mirror at the
back of the chair reflecting the whole scene. One of Rembrandt's most
charming portraits is that of his mother cutting her nails with a pair
of scissors.

Never suffer any artist to slur over or hide the hand. The hand is a
feature full of beauty and individuality. Any one who has noticed how
Vandyck studied and worked out its peculiarities, what beauty and
expression he gave to it, will never undervalue its power as an
exponent of personality again.

The portraits of men or women occupying prominent positions should
always have their name and that of the artist on the back. If this
had been done in times past, how many nameless portraits, now of
little value, would be held in high estimation! From the time of Henry
the Eighth to the time of Charles the First it was usual to insert in
a corner the armorial bearings of the person represented. This did
not, indeed, accurately identify the individual, but it made it easier
to determine. There is a masterpiece of Vandyck's in the National
Gallery of England that goes by the name of "Gevartius." But no one
knows who Gevartius was. Here is an old man's head made memorable for
all time,--a head which would be thought cheap at $10,000, and which,
if it were for sale, would attract connoisseurs from all parts of the
civilized world, and it is without a name. How much more valuable and
interesting it would be if its history were known! Therefore no
feeling of modesty should prevent eminent characters from