line of this figure of the wandering old man, tapping his stick upon the
pavement, feeling his way by the wall, was blindness, actual blindness--all
the misery and loneliness and indignity of it.

"Are these for sale?" he asked the smiling proprietor, without the
slightest hope that he could afford one.

"Oh yes! _Tobit Blind_ you can have for two shillings and sixpence.
_Abraham's Sacrifice_, _Christ at Emmaus_, and _The Prodigal Son_ are four
shillings each."

The enthusiast could not conceal his astonishment. "I thought Rembrandt's
etchings cost hundreds of pounds," he said.

"They do, but these are merely reproductions. Only a millionaire could hope
to possess a complete collection of first states. These are the
reproductions that were issued with M. Blanc's catalogue. He made them from
the best proofs in his own collections, and from the public museums. You
should compare them with the originals. The difference will astonish you.
It's candle-light to sunlight, satinette to the finest silk."

"But where can I see the originals? I don't know any millionaires."

"Nothing easier! Go to the Print Room of the British Museum or to the
Ionides Collection."

A day or two later the enthusiast, carrying under his arm the roll of four
Rembrandt's etchings that he had purchased for fourteen shillings and
sixpence, ascended the stairs of the British Museum, and timidly opened the
door marked, "Print Room. Students only."