His fame spread to Lancaster, where he was soon employed to paint portraits. A Lancaster gunsmith, Mr. Joseph Henry, commissioned him to paint the Death of Socrates. The artist knew none too much about the personage he was going to paint, and the gunsmith read to him a few passages which spoke about hemlock and the philosopher. Once possessed of the idea, he began to work it out on canvas. The gunsmith gave him one of his men to stand for a model, and in due time this first historical picture of Benjamin West was finished.

When West was fifteen years of age, Dr. Smith, Provost of the College of Philadelphia, proposed to his father to send his son to that city where he kindly offered to direct his studies. But before this Quaker father gave up his boy to the "worldly occupation of painting," he felt it to be his duty to lay the matter before the society of which he was a member. The society assembled and waited for the moving of the spirit. It was a serious question with those serious men and women, whether they could give their consent that one of their own members should wander from the fold, to pursue an art which "had hitherto been employed to embellish life, to preserve voluptuous images, and add to the sensual gratifications of man."

"The spirit of speech first descended on one John Williamson-'To John West and Sarah Persons,' said this Western Luminary, ‘a man-child hath been born, on whom God hath conferred some remarkable gifts of mind and you have all heard that, by something amounting to inspiration, the youth has been induced to study the Art of Painting. It is true that our tenets refuse to own the utility of that art to mankind; but it seemeth to me that we have considered the matter too nicely. God has bestowed on this youth a genius for Art-shall we question His wisdom? Can we believe that He gives such rare gifts but for a wise and good purpose? I see the Divine hand in this; we shall do well to sanction the art and encourage this youth.""

The assembly seems to have felt the force of these words, and the young painter was called in. He entered and took his station in the middle of the room, his father on his right hand and his mother on the left, surrounded by a company of simple-hearted worshipers. A female spoke-for in the Society of Friends the pride of man has fastened no badge of servitude upon woman, There seemed to be but one opinion. If painting had been employed hitherto only "to preserve voluptuous images, in wise and pure hands it may rise in the scale of moral excellence, and display a loftiness of sentiment, and a devout dignity worthy of the contemplation of Christians. Genius is given by God for some high purpose-what that purpose is let us not inquire-it will be manifest in His own good time and way. He hath in this remote wilderness endowed with the rich gifts of a superior spirit this youth, who has now our consent to cultivate his talents for Art. May it be demonstrated in his life and works, that the gifts of God have not been bestowed in vain nor the motives of the beneficent inspiration, which induces us to suspend the strict operation of our tenets, prove barren of religious and moral effect." "At the conclusion of this address, the women rose and kissed the young artist and the men one by one laid their hands on his head."

West pursued his studies at Philadelphia with an untiring devotion until summoned to the bedside of his dying mother. He arrived just in time

to receive the welcome of her eyes, and her mute blessing. His affection and veneration for his mother was undying. When he was old and gray, he recalled her looks and dwelt on her expressions of fondness and of hope, with a sadness which he neither wished to subdue nor conceal. While the companion of princes and noblemen, he used to go from scenes of splendor and gayety, and around his fireside talk to some kind friend about his mother.

The tie that held him to home was now broken, and he left it to go out into the great world, to win fame and court fortune among strangers. He was eighteen years of age when he returned to Philadelphia to establish himself as a portrait painter. His merit was great and he had abundant employment; first in that city, and then in New York, where he remained nearly a year.

His extreme youth, the peculiar circumstances of his history, and his undoubted merit brought him many sitters. Young as he was, he had the sagacity to see that travel influenced the public opinion, and that study, and long study, was necessary for him if he really wished to excel. He knew that the master-works of art were in other lands, and on Rome especially he had already set his heart.

The Italian harvest having failed, a consignment of wheat and flour was sent from Philadelphia to Italy, and put under the charge of one of the Allens, who offered West a passage to Leghorn. It happened that New York merchant, of the name of Kelly, was at that time sitting to West for his portrait, and to this gentleman the artist spoke of his intended journey, and represented how much he expected a year or two of study in Rome would improve his skill and taste. Kelly paid him for his portrait, gave him a letter to his agents in Philadelphia, shook him by the hand, and wished him a good voyage. Ere he reached his native, place, after an absence of eleven months, all the arrangements for his departure had been completed by Smith; and when he presented the letter of Kelly, he found that it contained an order from that generous merchant to his agent to pay him fifty guineas-"a present to aid in his equipment for Italy." Thus all things seemed to conspire for the furtherance of the youth's advancement in the road to wealth and honor, for he found friends eager to assist him at every step.

West, like most men of any imagination who visit Rome, was always fond of describing his first impressions. He had walked on while his traveling companion was baiting the horses, and had reached a rising ground, which offered him a view far and wide. The sun was newly risen, all was calm and clear, and he saw before him a spacious champaign bounded by green hills, and in the midst a wilderness of noble ruins, over which towered the nobler dome of St. Peters. A broken column at his feet, which served as a mile-stone, informed him that he was within eight thousand paces of the ancient mistress of the world, and a sluggish boor, clad in rough goat-skins, driving his flocks to pasture amid the ruins of a temple, told him how far she had fallen. In the midst of a revery, in which he was comparing the treacherous peasants of the Campagna with the painted barbarians of North America, he entered Rome. This was on the 10th of July, 1760, and in the twenty-second year of his age.

When it was known that a young American had come to Rome to study Raphael and Michael Angelo, some curiosity was excited among the Roman virtuosi.

Many seemed to consider the young American as at most a better kind of savage; and, accordingly, were curious to watch him. They wished to try what effect the Apollo, the Venus, and the works of Raphael would have upon him, and "thirty of the most magnificent equipages in the capital of Christendom, and filled with some of the most erudite characters in Europe," says Galt, "conducted the young Quaker to view the masterpieces of Art. It was agreed that the Apollo should first be submitted to his view; the statute was inclosed in a case, and when the keeper threw open the doors, West unconsciously exclaimed, "My God-a young Mohawk warrior!" The Italians were surprised and mortified with the comparison of their noblest statute to a wild savage; and West, perceiving the unfavorable impression, proceeded to remove it. He described the Mohawks-the natural elegance and admirable symmetry of their persons-the elasticity of their limbs, and their motions free and unconstrained. I have seen them often," he continued, "standing in the very attitude of this Apollo, and pursuing with an intense eye the arrow which they had just discharged from the bow." The Italians cleared their moody brows, and allowed that a better criticism had rarely been pronounced. West was no longer a barbarian.

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Of his claim to mix with men of genius, however, he had as yet submitted no proof; he had indeed shown his drawings to Mengs and to Hamilton, but they were, as he confessed, destitute of original merit; nor, indeed, could they be commended for either neatness or accuracy. waited on Lord Grantham-"I cannot," said he, "produce a finished sketch, like the other students, because I have never been instructed in drawing; but I can paint a little, and if you will do me the honor to sit for your portrait, that I may show it to Mengs, you will do me a great kindness." His lordship consented; the portrait was painted; and, the name of the artist being kept secret, the picture was placed in the gallery of Crespigni, where amateurs and artists were invited to see it. It was known that Lord Grantham was sitting to Mengs, and to him some ascribed the portrait, though they thought the coloring surpassed his other compositions. Dance, an Englishman of sense and acuteness, looked at it closely; "the coloring surpasses that of Mengs," he observed, "but the drawing is neither so fine nor so good." The company engaged eagerly in the discussion; Crespigni seized the proper moment, and said, "It is not painted by Mengs." "By whom then?" they exclaimed, "for there is no other painter in Rome capable of doing anything so good." "By that young gentleman," said the other, turning to West, who sat uneasy and agitated. The English held out their hands; the Italians ran and embraced him.

Mengs himself soon arrived; he looked at the picture, and spoke with great kindness. "Young man, you have no occasion to come to Rome to learn to paint."

One day West was conversing in the British Coffee-House, when an old man with a guitar suspended from his shoulders, offered his services as an improvisator bard. "Here is an American," said the companion of West,

come to study the Fine Arts in Rome; take him for your theme, and it is a magnificent one.” The old man burst into a song. "I behold," he sung, "in this youth an instrument chosen by Heaven to create in his native country a taste for those Arts which have elevated the nature of man-an assurance that his land will be the refuge of science and knowledge, when in the old age of Europe, they shall have forsaken her shores. All things of heavenly origin move westward, and Truth and Art have their periods of light and darkness. Rejoice, O Rome, for thy spirit immortal and undecayed, now spreads toward a new world, where, like the soul of man in Paradise, it will be perfected more and more.”

West visited Florence, Bologna, and Venice, carefully studying all the works of the great masters those beautiful cities contain. At Parma he was elected a Member of the Academy-he painted for the Academy a copy of the St. Jerome of Corregio, "of such excellence, that the reigning prince desired to see the artist. He went to court, and, to the utter confusion of the attendants, appeared with his hat on. The prince was a lover of William Penn, and received the young artist with complacency, and dismissed him with many expressions of regard. During his visits to Florence and Bologna he had also received the honors of their Academies.

When he returned to Rome, he painted a picture of "Cimon and Iphigenia," and another of "Angelica and Medora." These works established his reputation in Italy. He had no rival in Italy but Mengs and Pompeo Battoni, and he soon left those painters for behind him. After four years of study and triumph in that unfortunate but beautiful land, he turned his face toward the Alps, with a determination to visit England and then return to his native country-but he little knew how brilliant a career he was to

run.

He arrived in London, June 20, 1763, and at a most auspicious period, for there was hardly an historical painter of genius then engaged in his Art in Great Britain. But before he could succeed he had to create a new taste. Such was the prejudice against everything modern, that no Englishman would have dared to have hung up any modern picture in his house, unless it was a portrait.

A successful beginning, and the promise of full employment induced him to resolve on remaining in the Old Country. But he was attached to a young lady in his native land-absence had augmented his regard, and he wished to return to Philadelphia, marry her, and bring her to England. He disclosed the state of his affections to his friends, who took a less romantic view of the matter, advised the artist to stick to his easel, and arranged the whole so prudently, that the lady came to London accompanied by a relation whose time was not so valuable as West's, and they were married.

Dr. Drummond, the Archbishop of York, a dignified and liberal prelate, and an admirer of painting, invited West to his table, conversed with him on the influence of Art, and on the honor which the patronage of genius reflected on the rich, and opening Tacitus, pointed out that fine passage where Agrippina lands with the ashes of Germanicus. He caused his son to read it again and again, commented upon it with taste and feeling, and requested West to make him a painting of that subject.

When the work was being proceeded with, the archbishop sought and obtained an audience of his majesty, then young and unacquainted with cares -informed him that a devout American and Quaker had painted, at his request, such a noble picture that he was desirous to secure his talents for the throne and the country. The king was much interested with the story, and said, "Let me see this young painter of yours with his Agrippina as soon as you please."

A gentleman was sent from the palace to request West's attendance with the picture of Agrippina. "His majesty," said the messenger, "is a young man of great simplicity and candor; sedate in his affections, scrupulous in forming private friendships, good from principle, and pure from a sense of the beauty of virtue." Forty years' intercourse, we might almost say friendship, confirmed to the painter the accuracy of these words.

The king received West with easy frankness, assisted him to place the Agrippina in a favorable light, removed the attendants, and brought in the queen, to whom he presented our Quaker. He related to her majesty the history of the picture, and bade her notice the simplicity of the design and the beauty of the coloring. "There is another noble Roman subject," observed his majesty, "the departure of Regulus from Rome-would it not make a fine picture?" "It is a magnificent subject," said the painter. แ Then," " said the king, "you shall paint it for me." He turned with a smile to the queen, and said, "The archbishop made one of his sons read Tacitus to Mr. West, but I will read Livy to him myself-that part where he describes the departure of Regulus." So saying, he read the passage very gracefully, and then repeated his command that the picture should be painted.

West was too prudent not to wish to retain the sovereign's good opinion-and his modesty and his merit deserved it. The palace doors now seemed to open of their own accord, and the domestics attended with an obedient start to the wishes of him whom the king delighted to honor. There are minor matters which sometimes help a man on to fame; and in these too he had his share. West was a skillful skater, and in America had formed an acquaintance on the ice with Colonel, afterward too well known in the colonial war as General, Howe; this friendship had dissolved with the thaw, and was forgotten, till one day the painter, having tied on his skates at the Serpentine, was astonishing the timid practitioners of London by the rapidity of his motions, and the graceful figure which he cut. Some one cried, "West! West!" it was Colonel Howe. "I am glad to see you," said he, "and not the less so that you come in good time to vindicate my praises of American skating." He called to him Lord Spencer Hamilton and some of the Cavendishes, to whom he introduced West as one of the Philadelphia prodigies, and requested him to show them what was called "The Salute." He performed this feat so much to their satisfaction, that they went away spreading the praises of the American skater over London. Nor was the considerate Quaker insensible to the value of such commendations; he continued to frequent the Serpentine, and to gratify large crowds by cutting the Philadelphia Salute. Many to their praise of his skating added panegyrics on his professional skill, and not a few, to vindicate their applause, followed him to his easel, and sat for their portraits.