No painter is more accepted on account of his rank and prestige than Rembrandt, and the collection is singularly strong in his works. There is a sort of conventional idea of what a Rembrandt should be--a yellow old man or woman looking out of a dark background. Yet few think how luminous is his work. Thus, the old Vrow in the ruff is an amazing specimen of his power; and it is worth while looking closely into the face to see the vigorous fashion in which the strokes are dealt out, the paint being literally plastered on, but with profoundest method. For we have of course moderns who can lay on their paint as with a trowel, thus assuming a vigour they do not possess. Each of his strokes have a meaning, and it was not his intention to give an air of raised surface. No one has approached him in the rich tone of his _golden_ tints. The great Italian portraits here--the Moronis, Pordonones and others--we have to grow acquainted and intimate with, to discover their power. The “Tailor” of the first has been often praised for its expression and dignity. The attitude is delightfully significant of his calling, without, however, the least vulgar emphasis; so with that of the lawyer. We learn in these that grace and propriety belong to all castes and conditions. The costumes enter largely into the expression. When will our moderns recognize the fact that a portrait must be _intellectual_, both in the painter’s and in the sitter’s share? At the Academy exhibitions we see Mayors, City men, Parliamentarians, and others, whom nature has furnished with parts of a low money-getting type, and whom our artists faithfully portray in dignified attitude and recognizable shape. The sitter has done his best to look stately and “like a gentleman.” Yet this is _not_ his likeness. But were we to see this man in his counting-house with his clerks at a crisis, we should find him becoming animated, ready, resolute, his features light up, and the low vulgarity disappears. Your Moronis and others have found out this secret. There are some great canvases of Paolo Veronese in the large room: “Alexander receiving the Family of Darius,” and others; but the visitor turns from their comparatively dull tones with a little disappointment. Any one who has seen the grand and brilliant “Marriage of Cana,” in the Louvre, is spoiled for future judgment. That superb and brilliantly animated scene seems to be the work of another master. I could linger longer on these interesting themes, and have done little more than touch on some of the great masterpieces here collected. But it is not vanity to say that the visitor who has studied principles akin to what we have been imperfectly setting out, will find a new, unsuspected enjoyment in a visit to a Picture Gallery. CHAPTER VIII. SIR JOHN VANBRUGH AND ST. MARTIN’S LANE.