and fearless, unusually independent, and, above all, as mirthful and
fond of a jest at fifty as at sixteen.

Before he had completed his education, his father abandoned the
profession of teaching for that of a lawyer, and young Brady entered his
office as office-boy and student, it being his desire to become an
advocate. He was bright, quick-witted, and remarkably apt in his
studies. His buoyant spirits and ready repartee often led him into
encounters with his elders, who were generally forced to confess that
his tongue was too much for them. His father encouraged him to form his
own opinions, and to hold them tenaciously until convinced of his error.
He made rapid progress in his legal studies, and soon acquired such
proficiency in the management of the details of the office business that
every thing which did not absolutely need his father's personal
attention was left to him.

Although fond of social enjoyment, and full of the fire and joyfulness
of youth, he knew how to seclude himself from the pleasures he relished
so much. He was a hard and faithful student, allowing nothing to draw
him from his books when he meant to devote himself to them. He read not
only law, but history, poetry, biography, romance, in short, every thing
that could store his mind with useful knowledge or add to its natural
graces. He slept at the office, and often sat up the entire night
engaged in study. Abbott speaks as follows of the early studies of
Napoleon II., and it requires no straining of language or ideas to
apply his remarks to this portion of the life of James T. Brady: "So
great was his ardor for intellectual improvement that he considered
every day as lost in which he had not made perceptible progress in
knowledge. By this rigid mental discipline he acquired that wonderful
power of concentration by which he was ever enabled to simplify subjects
the most difficult and complicated." Mr. Brady, senior, was very proud
of the energy and talent displayed by his son, and when the latter was
nineteen years old the father said to a friend who had been speaking to
him of the promise of the boy: "Yes, sir; he is a boy of great promise,
a boy of splendid intellect and noble character. Young as he is, I
regard him as a walking encyclopoedia; his mind seems to gild every
subject it touches."

In the year 1835, when but twenty years old, Mr. Brady was admitted to
the bar. "There were giants in those days" at the New York bar, and the
young man was now entering an arena in which his powers were to be
tested to the utmost. His native eloquence was well known to his
friends, and naturally he was not ignorant of it; but he did not, like
so many young men in his calling, trust entirely to his powers of
pleading. He had long since recognized the truth of Lord Erskine's
declaration that "no man can be a great advocate who is no lawyer," and
had stored his mind with a knowledge of the theories of his profession
which few men in coming to the bar have ever equaled.

In his first important case he was opposed to Charles O'Conor, and was
unsuccessful. He was engaged in a suit to recover a certain sum of money
from an insurance company, which his client claimed was due him for
certain goods which had been destroyed by fire. As Brady himself saw, he
had a very weak case, and Mr. O'Conor had no trouble in demolishing it;
yet the young counsel conducted it with a skill and an eloquence which
made him from that hour a marked man in his profession. Yet he had to
contend against that obstacle which meets most public men at the outset
of their careers--the feeling which actors call "stage fright." He said
that on this occasion every thing around him grew suddenly black, and he
could not even see the jury. By steadying himself against his table, and
keeping his eyes in the direction of the jury, he continued to speak
until he had recovered his self-control.

The case which brought him most prominently before the public, and which
may be said to have established his fame as a lawyer, was a peculiar
one. Some newsboys had been arrested for selling the "Sunday Morning
News" on the morning of the Sabbath day. It was claimed that the selling
of the paper on the streets on Sunday was contrary to law, and that the
boys disturbed the congregations in the churches by their cries. One of
these boys had been arrested at the instance of Mr. Gerard, and this
brought on a suit to determine the rights of the lads, in which Mr.
Brady appeared for the newsboys. Considerable feeling was manifested on
the subject, and when the trial came on the court-room was crowded. The
verdict of the jury was against him, but Mr. Brady won a remarkable
triumph by his management of the case, and the whole city rang with his
eloquence. So great was the effect of his speech upon the audience, that
many of them who were total strangers to him crowded around him as he
left the court-house to congratulate him. Though defeated in the verdict
of the jury, this case was a great triumph for Mr. Brady. It established
his fame as an advocate, and advanced him at once to a foremost place at
the bar. Business flowed in upon him more rapidly than he could attend
to it, and from this time to the close of his labors he was always in
the possession of a large and lucrative practice.

Mr. McKeon has said of him: "We may refer to the period of his
introduction to the bar of this city as an epoch in its history. In
looking back at the past, we see rising before us George Wood, treading
with no uncertain step through the labyrinth of the law of real
property; Daniel Lord, following, with his legal eye, commerce over the
long and dreary waste of waters; David Graham, the younger, and Ogden
Hoffman, standing in full panoply of intellectual power before our
criminal tribunals. Into the lists where stood these proud knights young
Brady sprang, ready to contend with the mightiest of them. How well he
contended many of you well remember, and the honors paid to his memory
are justified by the triumphs he has won."

He grew rapidly in popularity, and in the esteem and confidence of his
fellow-citizens, and was intrusted with numerous cases of a class which
had rarely until then been seen in the hands of a young lawyer. His
practice soon extended into the Supreme Court of the State, which at
that time met quarterly, at New York, Albany, Utica, and Rochester. The
practice of this court was entirely in the hands of men of high standing
in their profession,--the great lawyers of the State,--and it was no
slight honor to our young lawyer to hold a place, and a proud place,
too, among them.

He won additional honors in the famous India-rubber suits, which have
been mentioned elsewhere in this volume, acting as one of the counsel of
Charles Goodyear, and being associated with Daniel Webster. Brady
applied himself with intense energy to master the case, and when the
trial came off at Trenton, in the United States Circuit Court, before
Justices Grier and Dickerson, he opened the case in a speech which
lasted two days, and which Daniel Webster said in the beginning of his
remarks had so exhausted it as to leave him nothing to say.

Turning to Mr. Brady, Mr. Webster said, "You have cut a highway through
this case, and if it is won, it will be because of the manner in which
you have brought it before the court." The suit was won by Goodyear.

"In connection with the India-rubber cases is a fact which testifies to
his character. A salary of twenty-live thousand dollars a year for life
was offered to be settled on him by the rubber company, if he would
advise a certain course; but not deeming it right, he rejected the
offer. When in France, in 1851, the rubber cases coming in controversy
there, Mr. Brady substantially gave in French, to Etienne Blanc, the
French advocate, the materials for his brief."

Mr. Brady practiced law for thirty-four years, and during the major part
of that time there was scarcely a case of great importance, in either
the civil or criminal courts, in which he did not figure. He was
compelled to refuse case after case from lack of time to give to it; and
yet he frequently found time to respond to the appeals of the courts to
defend men indicted for capital offenses who were unable to procure
counsel. In some of these cases he had scarcely any chance of
preparation, but he always managed to secure the acquittal of his
client, in spite of this drawback. The spirit of kindliness which had so
endeared him to his boyhood's friends pervaded every action of his
maturer life, and he never displayed more energy, more unceasing
vigilance, more irresistible eloquence, than when pleading the cause of
some poor wretch who could only reward him with his thanks.

His readiness in mastering a case was remarkable, and was greatly
assisted by his profound knowledge of the law. As a rule, in the
ordinary run of cases, it was merely necessary for him to comprehend the
particular case under consideration, since he was already familiar with
the law bearing upon it.

This readiness is admirably illustrated in the following reminiscence
related of him by the Hon. Luther R. Marsh. Mr. Marsh was engaged in a
case of great importance, in which he desired Mr. Brady's assistance in
the trial. Marsh had thoroughly and patiently studied the case, but
Brady was totally ignorant of it. Nevertheless, he told Mr. Marsh he
would do his best, and that he (Marsh) must open the case as fully and
exhaustively as he could, without reference to him. Mr. Marsh did so,
and says that when he sat down he thought he had _exhausted_ the case,
and was wondering what Brady could find to say in addition to it. To his
astonishment and delight, Brady rose, and in his argument presented
seven new and telling points.

In the examination of a witness, he could be severe and decisive when he
had occasion to suspect that the person was trying to evade the truth;
but in general his manner was kind and considerate, and he succeeded in
eliciting evidence by his forbearance which others could not have
extorted by bullying. Upon one occasion, he was convinced that a witness
was about to relate a "made-up" story, and he at once fixed upon the man
a look so piercing that the fellow was overwhelmed with confusion and
could not go on with his evidence. Brady promptly changed his tactics,
sent for a glass of water for the witness, and soothed him so
effectually that the heart of the man was won, and, abandoning his false
tale, he made a simple statement of the truth.

The independence of character exhibited by Mr. Brady has already been
adverted to. Having once traced out the line of duty, nothing could make
him swerve from it, and he was as bold in the defense of the rights of
his clients as of his own. Mr. Edwards Clarke, from whose excellent
memoir is gleaned much of the information upon which this sketch is
based, relates the following incidents in illustration of this quality
of the man:

"The trial of Baker for the murder of Poole furnished a notable instance
of Mr. Brady's intrepidity in behalf of a client. It was at the height
of the 'Know-Nothing' excitement, and Poole, after receiving the fatal
bullet, having exclaimed, 'I die an American,' succeeded in causing
himself to be regarded as a martyr to the cause. Lingering for days
with--as the _post-mortem_ proved--a bullet deeply imbedded in his
heart, the interest and excitement became intense; and on the day of his
funeral twenty thousand men walked in solemn procession behind the
coffin of the martyred 'rough.' In such a state of public feeling, Baker
was put on trial for his life. At the opening of the charge by the
judge, aroused by its tenor, Mr. Brady seized a pen and commenced
writing rapidly, indignation showing itself in his set lips and frowning
brow. The moment the judge ceased he was on his feet, and began: 'You
have charged the jury thus and thus. I protest against your so stating
it.' The judge said he would listen to the objections after the jury had
retired. 'No!' exclaimed the indignant orator, 'I choose that the jury
should hear those objections;' and, defying interference, he poured
forth impetuously forty-five separate and formal objections, couching
them all emphatically in words of personal protest to the judge. The
force of the judge's charge on that jury was pretty effectually broken.
The indignation of the advocate at this time was real, not simulated;
and he, at least, of the New York bar dared to defy and to denounce
injustice, even when clad in ermine.

"Another instance of his intrepidity before a judge was in the Busteed
case. The judge had threatened to convict him for contempt. Busteed had
apologized, and Brady also, with his matchless grace and courtesy, had
tendered Busteed's apology; but the judge still said that he should
send him to prison. 'You will, will you?' said Brady; 'I say you will
not.' And, citing authority after authority against his power to do so,
he dared him to thus stretch his prerogative. The judge thought best to
excuse Mr. Busteed."

Perhaps one of the best instances of his moral courage to be found was
his conduct with reference to the late Edwin M. Stanton. He was
associated with Mr. Stan ton in the Sickles trial, and conceived a warm
personal attachment to him. Mr. Brady remained a Democrat to the last,
and was an active member of Tammany Hall. Upon one occasion, during a
meeting of the Tammany Committee, when the name of Stanton was received
with hisses and yells of objurgation, Brady rose, and facing the crowd
told them "that he knew they hated Edwin M. Stanton, but he, a Democrat,
knew him, and held him in his heart of hearts." It was a bold
declaration, considering the time and place, even for one so highly
esteemed as James T. Brady.

As before remarked, Mr. Brady never relied upon his eloquence alone for
success at the bar. He had a profound respect for his profession, and
scorned its trickeries. He worked faithfully over the cases intrusted to
him, studied them carefully, and never brought them to trial till he was
thorough master of the law bearing upon them. This enabled him
frequently to present issues which a less learned man would not have
dreamed of. When he was retained as counsel for Huntington the forger,
he conceived the idea that the man was morally unaccountable for his
deed, and his theory of moral insanity, as developed by him in this
case, is one of the most powerful arguments upon the subject to be found
in any language. He read every thing he could find on the subject of
insanity, and when he went into court there was not a physician in the
land better informed with respect to it than he. The cases in which he
was frequently engaged required an unusual acquaintance with medical
jurisprudence, and he was regarded as one of the best authorities on the
subject in the country.

His power over a jury was remarkable. He never lost sight of the "twelve
peers," and by his dexterous management soon had them so thoroughly
under the influence of his magnetic mind that they hung upon his words,
followed his every act, laughed or cried as he willed, and seemed
capable of thinking only as he permitted them. He defended fifty-one men
for their lives in the course of his practice, and brought them all off
in safety.

[Illustration: "THEY ARE GOING TO HANG MY BROTHER, AND YOU CAN SAVE
HIM!"]

Mr. Clarke, from whose memoir I have already quoted, relates the
following incidents in his career:

"The case of a young man charged with murder, in what was claimed to be
an accidental fracas, attracted a good deal of interest. He was a Mason,
and that society applied to Mr. Brady to defend him, tendering
twenty-five hundred dollars as a fee; but for some cause he declined the
case. Not long after, one afternoon, a neatly-dressed, modest young girl
came to the office and asked for Mr. Brady. Told to walk into his
private office, she timidly approached his desk, and saying, 'Mr. Brady,
they are going to hang my brother, and you can save him. I've brought
you this money; please don't let my brother die,' she burst into tears.
It was a roll of two hundred and fifty dollars, which the poor girl had
begged in sums of five and ten dollars. The kind-hearted man heard her
story. 'They shall not hang your brother, my child,' said he, and
putting the roll of bills in an envelope, told her to take it to her
mother, and he would ask for it when he wanted it. The boy was cleared.
In Mr. Brady's parlor hangs an exquisite picture, by Durand, with a
letter on the back asking him to accept it as a mark of appreciation for
his generous kindness in defending this poor boy. Mr. Brady prized
_that_ picture....

"Once when, in the height of his appeal to the jury, a dog began barking
vigorously, he whirled around, shook his finger at the dog and said,
gravely, with the quickness of thought, 'I am Sir Oracle, and when I ope
my lips let no dog bark!'

"An Irishman once came to his office: 'And are yez Misther Brady?' 'I
am; come in, Patrick. What is it you wish?' 'I ax yer pardon; I oughtn't
to intrude upon yez,' 'But what is it, Patrick?' 'Well, yer honor, it
isn't for the likes o' me to be comin' troublin' yer honor.' 'But tell
me what you want, Pat.' 'Well, yer honor, I came to see ye about a
friend of mine as met wid an accident.' 'An accident?' said Mr. Brady;
'then why don't you go for a doctor?' 'Arrah, sure, you're the docther
for my friend; he had an accident which wants yer honor.' 'Well, what
_was_ it?' 'Well, yer honor, he was arristed for a thrifle of a
burglary, shure.' Quick as Mr. Brady was, with the readiness of his
race, for repartee, he sometimes met his match among his own countrymen.
He was once examining an unwilling witness who persistently called him
Mr. O'Brady. At length, even his proverbial good nature being a little
ruffled, he said to the witness: 'You need not call me Mr. O'Brady. I've
mended my name since I came here and dropped the O.' 'Have ye, now? 'Pon
my sowl it's a pity ye didn't mend yer manners at the same time.'"

In politics Mr. Brady was a Democrat of the States-Rights school, yet he
always maintained that it was the duty of the citizen to render the
promptest obedience to the General Government. At the outset of the late
war he gave his support to the Government in its war measures, though he
did not separate himself from the Democratic party. He was frequently
solicited by his friends to accept political honors, but he steadily
refused, saying that he wanted no honors outside of his profession.

In person Mr. Brady was slender and delicate in appearance. What
attracted the gazer at once was his massive head--a head which measured
in its circumference twenty-four and three-eighths inches. Age seemed to
have no effect upon his face. Severe mental labor in the course of years
took away some of the rosy hues of youth, but otherwise it continued as
fresh and as winning as when a boy.

Mr. Brady never married, but no one was more widely removed from the
typical old bachelor than he. If he had no family of his own, he was the
head of a family of devoted relatives, who gave him ample scope for the
exercise of the domestic affections which were so strong in him. Very
soon after entering upon the practice of his profession his parents
died, leaving his brother and five sisters, all much younger than
himself, helpless. The young lawyer at once declared that the care of
these dear ones should be his first thought, and he devoted himself to
his practice with redoubled energy, in order to provide for them. He
brought his personal expenses down to a low figure, and resolutely kept
them there, yet all the while he was lavish in his generosity to those
whom he loved. He once said to a friend who asked him why he had never
married: "When my father died he left five daughters, who looked to me
for support. All the affection which I could have had for a wife went
out to those sisters, and I have never desired to recall it." He
transferred a share of this affection to the children of those sisters
and of his brother, and was never so happy as when in their company. In
his will he mentions one of his nieces as his "dearly beloved Toot."

He was very fond of literature, especially of poetry, and devoted a
considerable portion of his time to literary efforts of his own. His
great fame as a lawyer so overshadowed the success he won in literature
that few besides himself knew how much pleasure the popularity of his
writings gave him.

In the exercise of his profession Mr. Brady won a large fortune. His
income was princely during the greater part of his life, but he saved
comparatively little. He delighted in giving to others. His relatives
were the constant recipients of substantial evidences of his affection
for them, and his charities to the poor were in keeping with his
generous nature. He could not look upon suffering unmoved, and "never
turned his face from any poor man."

His last appearance in public was at the Gerard dinner, where he was as
brilliant and genial as ever. He seemed to have a foreboding of his
approaching end, however, for the next day he said to one of his family:
"I feel that it is the last time I shall ever appear on a like public
occasion." His fears were prophetic. He was seized with an attack of
paralysis on the morning of the 9th of February, 1869, and breathed his
last at five o'clock in the afternoon of the same day. He died in the
communion of the Catholic Church, and was buried from St. Patrick's
Cathedral, in the city of New York. His death drew forth expressions of
sympathy and respect from all parts of the Union and from men of all
shades of opinion. All felt that a good and useful man, a great
advocate, and an incorruptible citizen had been taken away.

His was a happy fate. He died in the fullness of his fame, before age
had weakened his faculties or chilled his heart, and dying thus, it may
be said of him, as he once said of another, that he was "a man who had
no guile in his nature, and who died leaving no living creature to
rejoice at his death."




VII.

ARTISTS.




CHAPTER XXVII.

BENJAMIN WEST.


At a time when America was regarded in Europe as a savage region, and
when Americans were looked upon as little better than barbarians by the
people of the mother country, it was no slight achievement for an
American artist to rise by the force of his genius to the proud position
of President of the Royal Academy of Great Britain.

The man who won this triumph was BENJAMIN WEST. He was born in
Springfield, Pennsylvania, on the 10th of October, 1738. His parents
were Quakers, plain, simple people, who feared God, lived a just life,
and desired above all other things that their children should become
pious and useful men and women. The old mansion-house where the future
artist was born was situated in Chester County, and is still standing.
It is not far from Philadelphia, and the place is now called Westdale.
His father's family emigrated from England to America with William Penn,
at his second visit, in 1699. John West married the daughter of Thomas
Pearson, by whom he had ten children. Of these, Benjamin was the
youngest son. His mother was a woman of great piety, and, being once in
attendance upon a memorable religious revival, at which she was terribly
agitated by the preaching of one Edward Peckover, an itinerant Quaker
minister, was taken with premature labor, of which Benjamin West was
born.

It was predicted that a child who had been brought into the world under
such circumstances would be a man of more than ordinary fame, and the
good mother treasured these prophecies in her heart, and watched the
career of her boy with the keenest interest.

When he was but seven years old, he was left one day to watch beside the
cradle of the infant child of his eldest sister, who, though married,
was still living at home. Being unusually silent for a long time, his
mother concluded that she would go and see what he was doing. Upon
entering the room where he had been left with his charge, she saw him
kneeling by a chair which he had placed close up to the cradle, gazing
at the infant, and making what she supposed to be marks on a paper which
lay on the chair. Stealing up behind him softly, she saw to her
astonishment that this boy, only seven years old, had executed, with
black and red ink and a pen, an accurate though rude likeness of the
sleeping babe. This was the first evidence he had ever given of his
predilection for art, and was indeed a most surprising performance for
so young a child.

[Illustration: THE TRUANT'S SECRET DISCOVERED.]

The next summer a party of Indians came to Springfield to pay their
annual visit, and to please them little Benjamin showed them some
sketches of birds and flowers which he had executed with pen and ink.
The savages were delighted with them, and presented him with the red and
yellow pigments with which they colored their ornaments. In addition to
this gift, they taught him how to prepare these colors, to which he
added another, namely, indigo, which his mother gave him from her
laundry. His colors were rude enough, but his pencils were ruder. They
were made of the hairs which he had pulled from a cat's back and
fastened in the end of a goose-quill. Soon after this, a relative from
Philadelphia, chancing to visit the old homestead, was struck with the
talent of the little fellow, and upon his return to the city sent him a
box of colors, with pencils and canvas and a few prints. He was only
nine years old, but he was a born artist. He had never seen any painting
of merit, and the few prints which his relative gave him were the most
finished productions he had ever seen. The box of colors was his most
precious possession, and it opened to him new fields of enjoyment. The
day of its arrival he gave himself up entirely to the pleasure of
examining it. "Even after going to sleep," says his biographer, "he
awoke more than once during the night, and anxiously put out his hand to
the box, which he had placed by his bedside, half afraid that he might
find his riches only a dream. Next morning he rose at break of day, and,
carrying his colors and canvas to the garret, proceeded to work. Every
thing else was now unheeded; even his attendance at school was given up.
As soon as he got out of the sight of his father and mother, he stole to
his garret, and there passed the hours in a world of his own. At last,
after he had been absent from school some days, the master called at his
father's house to inquire what had become of him. This led to the
discovery of his secret occupation. His mother, proceeding to the
garret, found the truant; but so much was she astonished and delighted
by the creation of his pencil, which also met her view when she entered
the apartment, that, instead of rebuking him, she could only take him in
her arms and kiss him with transports of affection. He made a new
composition of his own out of two of the engravings, which he had
colored from his own feeling of the proper tints; and so perfect did
the appearance already appear to his mother, that, although half the
canvas yet remained uncovered, she would not suffer him to add another
touch to what he had done. Mr. Gait, West's biographer, saw the picture
in the state in which it had thus been left sixty-seven years afterward;
and the artist himself used to acknowledge that in none of his
subsequent efforts had he been able to excel some of the touches of
invention in this his first essay."

His next effort was a landscape, which comprehended a view of a river,
with vessels in the stream and cattle browsing on the banks. He could
not have been much over ten years of age at this time, and the picture,
though insignificant in itself, is remarkable as the work of a child. He
subsequently presented it to his friend, Mr. William Henry, of
Lancaster, whose family still retain possession of it. He visited
Philadelphia soon after, and received a few simple instructions in the
practical portion of his art, after which he went about through the
towns of the vicinity of his home, painting portraits of his friends. At
length he was sent for by Mrs. Ross, of Lancaster, a lady famed for her
great beauty, to paint the portraits of herself and her family--a great
honor for a lad of twelve.

It was in Lancaster, in the year 1750, that he made the acquaintance of
Mr. William Henry. That gentleman became deeply interested in the
precocious boy, and frequently came to watch him at his
portrait-painting. One day he said to Benjamin, that if he (Henry) could
paint equally well he would not waste his time upon portraits, but would
devote himself to historical subjects. In the course of the conversation
to which this remark gave rise, Mr. Henry proposed to him to make an
attempt in this direction, and suggested to him "The Death of Socrates"
as his first subject. The little artist frankly avowed that he had
never heard of the great philosopher, and Mr. Henry at once went to his
library and brought out a volume of Plutarch, from which he read to the
boy the beautiful story of the wise man's death. West listened with the
deepest interest, and expressed his perfect readiness to undertake the
task, but feared he would have difficulty in painting the figure of the
slave who presented the poison, and which he thought ought to be naked,
since he had hitherto painted only men with their clothes on. Mr. Henry
had in his employ a young man of fine appearance, and upon hearing
West's objection at once sent for him. As the workman entered the room
Henry pointed to him, and said to West, "There's your model." West took
the hint, painted the picture, which was purchased by Mr. Henry, and
thenceforth determined that in his art he would look only into nature
for his models.

At the age of sixteen he returned to Springfield. He was anxious to
continue his career as an artist, and as his parents were satisfied that
he was now old enough to enter upon some permanent occupation, they
agreed that his wishes should be submitted to a public meeting of the
Society of Friends. The meeting was called, and the matter was laid
before them, the boy himself being present. His relatives and friends
were all very proud of his talents, but as the profession of an artist
was so entirely at variance with all Quaker habits and ideas, they felt
that the subject was one which ought not to be rashly decided. Silence
prevailed for a long time after the opening of the meeting, but at
length John Williamson, moved by the Spirit, rose and addressed the
assemblage, declaring his belief that as the youth had not derived his
fondness for art from any of his associations or surroundings, and since
it was so manifestly a special gift from the Creator, it was their plain
duty to bid him go forward in the path that had been marked out for
him, and to wish him God-speed in his efforts. At the close of his
remarks silence again fell upon the assembly. Then the women rose, and
approaching the lad, one by one, kissed him on the cheek, and the men,
laying their hands on his head, prayed that the Lord might verify in his
life the value of the gift which had induced them, in spite of their
religious tenets on the subject, to allow him to enter upon the
permanent exercises of the profession so dear to his heart.

Thus was he dedicated to his art, and at the same time separated to a
certain degree from his Quaker brethren. Not long after this he violated
every principle of the Quaker dispensation by volunteering under Major
Sir Peter Halket to go in search of the remains of Braddock's army.

In 1756, at the age of eighteen, he established himself in Philadelphia
as a portrait painter, and soon after removed to New York, where he
painted portraits at five guineas a head, occasionally attempting an
historical piece. When he was twenty years old he made a visit to
Europe--a visit which decided his destiny. A famine in the south of
Europe induced a Philadelphia merchant to dispatch a vessel laden with
flour to Leghorn, and his son, who was to take passage in the ship,
proposed to West to accompany him, and thus secure an opportunity of
seeing the art-treasures of the Old World. West promptly accepted the
invitation, and some of his friends in New York provided him with an
outfit for the voyage. Upon arriving at Gibraltar, the vessel was
boarded by a British officer, who proved to be a kinsman of the son of
the owner of the ship, and he not only passed them without molestation,
but enabled them to secure unusual facilities in the voyage up the
Mediterranean. West arrived in Rome in July, 1759, and was kindly
received by the English Lord Grantham, to whom he bore letters of
introduction.

"Among the distinguished persons whom Mr. West found in Rome, was the
celebrated Cardinal Albani. At an evening party, the Cardinal became
curious to witness the effect which the works of art in the Belvidere
and Vatican would produce on the young artist. The whole company, which
consisted of the principal Roman nobility and strangers of distinction
then in Rome, were interested in the event, and it was arranged, in the
course of the evening, that, on the following morning, they should
accompany West to the palaces. At the hour appointed, the company
assembled, and a procession consisting of upwards of thirty of the most
magnificent equipages in the capital of Christendom, and filled with
some of the most erudite characters in Europe, conducted the young
Quaker to view the masterpieces of art. It was agreed that the 'Apollo'
should be first submitted to his view, because it was the most perfect
work among all the ornaments of Rome, and, consequently, the best
calculated to produce that effect which the company were anxious to
witness. The statue then stood in a case, inclosed with doors, which
could be so opened as to disclose it at once to full view. West was
placed in the situation where it was seen to the most advantage, and the
spectators arranged themselves on each side. When the keeper threw open
the doors, the artist felt himself surprised with a sudden recollection
altogether different from the gratification which he had expected, and
without being aware of the force of what he said, exclaimed, 'My God!
how like it is to a young Mohawk warrior.' The Italians, observing his
surprise and hearing the exclamation, were excessively mortified to find
that the god of their idolatry was compared to a savage. They mentioned
their chagrin, and asked West to give some more distinct explanation, by
informing them what sort of people the Mohawk Indians were. He described
to them their education, their dexterity with the bow and arrow, the
admirable elasticity of their limbs, and how much their active life
expands the chest, while the quick breathing of their speed in the chase
dilates the nostrils with that apparent consciousness of vigor which is
so nobly depicted in the 'Apollo.' 'I have seen them often,' added he,
'standing in that very attitude, and pursuing with an intense eye the
arrow which they had just discharged from the bow,' The Italians were
delighted with this descriptive explanation, and allowed that a better
criticism had never been pronounced on the merits of the statue."

Soon after his arrival in Rome, West painted a portrait of Lord
Grantham, which won him considerable reputation. It was at first
attributed to Raphael Meugs, but when the true artist was announced, and
the circumstances of his history became known, West found himself
suddenly famous, with orders enough to place him at once in comfortable
circumstances. Cardinal Albani and Lord Grantham were very kind to him
during his stay in Rome, and Raphael Meugs advised him to make a careful
tour of study through the Italian art capitals. While in Rome he painted
two pictures, "Cimon and Iphigenia," and "Angelica and Medora," which
were well received, and during this period he was elected a member by
the Academies of Florence, Bologna, and Parma. He made the tour advised
by Meugs, remaining in Italy several years. Thence he proceeded to
France, where he passed a short time in studying the French masters,
after which he went to England, intending to sail from that country for
America, where he had left his heart behind him in the keeping of a
young Quakeress of Philadelphia.

He reached London in 1763, and while continuing his studies here,
whither his reputation had preceded him from Italy, undertook some
commissions for Archbishop Drummond and several other church
dignitaries. These attracted general admiration, and his countrymen
residing in London were prompt to recognize and proclaim his genius. He
had relatives living in England, so that he was not an entire stranger
there. His success was marked from the first, and his friends urged him
to profit by so favorable a beginning, give up his idea of returning to
America, and make his permanent home in England. This he at length
decided to do, and devoted himself with increased ardor to his labors.
In two years he considered himself sufficiently well established to send
to Philadelphia for his betrothed. This lady, Miss Elizabeth Shewell,
came out to England under the care of his father, and in the same year,
1765, West was married to her in London. She was a lady of great
amiability of character, and by the English was often spoken of as the
Philadelphia beauty.

Soon after his arrival in England he produced a large painting on a
subject from Tacitus, "Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus."
It was a decided success. George the Third was deeply impressed with it,
and congratulated West warmly upon its merits. At the same time the king
gave him a commission for a painting,--the subject to be "The Death of
Regulus,"--and thus began the friendship between the monarch and the
artist, which lasted for nearly forty years. He was a hard worker, and
during his long life his pictures followed each other in rapid
succession. They are estimated by a writer in Blackwood's Magazine at
three thousand in number. Mr. Dunlap says that they would cover a wall
ten feet high and a quarter of a mile long if arranged side by side on a
flat surface. The most famous are his "Death of Wolfe;" "Regulus, a
Prisoner to the Carthaginians;" "The Battle of La Hogue;" "The Death of
Bayard;" "Hamilcar Swearing the Infant Hannibal at the Altar;" "The
Departure of Regulus;" "Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of
Germanicus;" "Christ Healing the Sick;" "Death on the Pale Horse;" "The
Descent of the Holy Ghost on the Saviour in the Jordan;" "The
Crucifixion;" and "Christ Rejected."

The picture which brought him most prominently before the public, and
which placed his popularity beyond dispute, was "The Death of Wolfe at
Quebec." It was fashionable at this time to treat nothing but subjects
from ancient history, and when West announced his intention of painting
a picture of contemporary history his friends warned him that he was
incurring a serious risk. Nevertheless he finished his "Death of Wolfe,"
and it was exhibited in the National Gallery. The public "acknowledged
its excellence at once, but the lovers of old art--called
classical--complained of the barbarism of boots, buttons, and
blunderbusses, and cried out for naked warriors, with bows, bucklers,
and battering rams." Lord Grosvenor was much pleased with the picture,
and finally purchased it, though he did so with hesitation, daunted to
some extent by the fierce storm of opposition with which the critics
received it. Sir Joshua Reynolds, then the President of the Royal
Academy, and the Archbishop of York, called on West and protested
against his barbarous innovation, but he declared to them that "the
event to be commemorated happened in the year 1759, in a region of the
world unknown to Greeks and Romans, and at a period of the world when no
warrior who wore classic costume existed. The same rule which gives law
to the historian should rule the painter." When the king saw the picture
he was delighted both with it and West's originality, and declared that
he was sorry Lord Grosvenor had been before him in purchasing it. This
was the inauguration of a new era in British art, and Sir Joshua
Reynolds was obliged to declare, "West has conquered. I foresee that
this picture will not only become one of the most popular, but will
occasion a revolution in art." This frank avowal was as honorable to Sir
Joshua as to West.

West painted for George the Third a number of subjects taken from the
early history of England, and received from the same monarch a
commission for a series of paintings illustrating the progress of
revealed religion, with which the king designed to ornament the chapel
at Windsor Castle. Of these twenty-eight were finished when the Prince
of Wales, afterward George the Fourth, came into power as Prince Regent,
and the commission was withdrawn. The artist then began a series of
grand religious subjects, upon which he was still engaged when death
called him to rest from all his labors. Of those which were completed,
"Death on the Pale Horse" and "Christ Healing the Sick" are the best
known in this country.

In 1792, upon the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, West was made President
of the Royal Academy. The king wished to confer upon him the honor of
knighthood, but he declined it, alleging that he was not wealthy enough
to support the dignity of the position. In consequence of dissensions in
the Academy, West resigned his presidency in 1802. The post was filled
for a year by James Wyatt, the architect, and at the close of that time
West was re-elected by every ballot but one--that of Fuseli, who voted
for Mrs. Lloyd, a member of the Academy, declaring that he considered
"one old woman as good as another." West continued in this office until
his death.

The close of his life was blessed with ample means, and, as he was in
the full possession of all his faculties and covered with art's
supremest honors, it may be regarded as the happiest portion of his
career. His house was always open to Americans visiting England, and few
things pleased him more than to listen to news from his native village.
He was a kind and judicious friend to young artists, especially to those
of his own country studying in England, and took a lively pleasure in
their success. Leigh Hunt, whose mother was a relative of West, has left
us the following description of him:

"The appearance of West was so gentlemanly that the moment he changed
his gown for a coat he seemed to be full dressed. The simplicity and
self-possession of the young Quaker, not having time enough to grow
stiff--for he went early to Rome--took up, I suppose, with more ease
than most would have done, the urbanities of his new position. Yet this
man, so well bred, and so indisputably clever in his art, whatever might
be the amount of his genius, had received a homely or careless
education, and pronounced some of his words with a puritanical
barbarism; he would talk of his art all day. There were strong
suspicions of his leaning to his native side in politics, and he could
not restrain his enthusiasm for Bonaparte. How he managed these matters
with the higher powers in England I can not say."

Possessed originally of a sound and vigorous constitution, which he had
not weakened by any species of dissipation, West lived to a good old
age, and died in London on the 11th of March, 1820, in his eighty-second
year. He was buried in St. Paul's Cathedral, by the side of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and under the same great dome which covers the tombs of Nelson
and Wellington.





CHAPTER XXVIII.

JOHN ROGERS.


There is scarcely a family of means and taste in the country but is the
possessor of one or more of Rogers's groups in plaster. You see them in