There is a second child back of that iridescent and enigmatic girl with the dead fowl.  And the dog that barks as Jan Van Koort ruffles his drum, what a spectre dog!  No, the mystery of The Night Watch is insoluble, because it is the dream of a poet.  Its light is morning light, yet it is the mystic light of Rembrandt, never seen on sea or land.  In The Syndics, that group of six linen-drapers, Rembrandt shows with what supreme ease he can beat Hals at the game of make-believe actuality.  Now, according to the accustomed order of development, The Night Watch should have followed The Syndics.  But it preceded it by two decades, and the later work contains far better painting and a sharper presentment of the real.  The Night Watch is Rembrandt’s Ninth symphony; but composed before his Fifth, The Syndics.  One figure in this latter picture has always fascinated us.  It is of the man, Volkert Janz, according to Professor J. Six, who stoops over, his hand poised on a book.  Rembrandt has seldom painted with more sensitiveness eyes, subtle corners of the mouth, and intimate expression.  This syndic is evidently superior to his fellows, solid, sensible Dutch men of affairs.

There is a landscape, purchased in 1900, a stone bridge, lighted by rays darting through heavy storm clouds.  It is the Rembrandt of the etchings.  Lovely is the portrait of a young lady of rank, though the Elizabeth Bas, in another gallery, will always be the masterpiece in portraiture if for nothing else but the hands.  The Jewish Bride is bulky in its enchantments, the phosphorescent gleams of the apparel the chief attraction.  The Toilet is heavy Rembrandt; while the anatomical lecture is repulsive.  But the disembowelled corpse is more corpse-like than the queerly foreshortened dead body in the picture on anatomy at The Hague.  The warrior’s head, supposed to be a portrait of his father, is an ancient copy and a capital one.  Old dame Elizabeth Bas, with her coif, ruff, and folded hands, holding a handkerchief, is a picture you return to each day of your stay.

Hals at Amsterdam is interesting.  There is the so-called portrait of the painter and his wife, two full-length figures; the Jolly Toper, half-length figure, large black hat, in the left hand a glass; and the insolent lute-player, a copy, said to be by Dirck Hals, the original in the possession of Baron Gustave Rothschild at Paris.  And a fine copy it is.

The three Vermeers are of his later enamelled period.  One is a young woman reading a letter; she is seen in profile, standing near a table, and is dressed in a white skirt and blue loose jacket.  The Letter shows us in the centre of a paved room a seated lady, lute in hand.  She has been interrupted in her playing by a servant bringing a letter.  To the right a tapestry curtain has been looped up to give a view of the scene.  The new Vermeer—­purchased from the Six gallery in 1908—­is now called The Cook; it was formerly known as The Milkmaid.