The Book of Three Hundred Anecdotes | Page 4

painting was some time afterwards sold at a public auction for
the sum of _one hundred guineas!_
When Benjamin West was seven years old, he was left, one summer
day, with the charge of an infant niece. As it lay in the cradle and he
was engaged in fanning away the flies, the motion of the fan pleased
the child, and caused it to smile. Attracted by the charms thus created,
young West felt his instinctive passion aroused; and seeing paper, pen
and some red and black ink on a table, he eagerly seized them and
made his first attempt at portrait painting. Just as he had finished his
maiden task, his mother and sister entered. He tried to conceal what he
had done, but his confusion arrested his mother's attention, and she
asked him what he had been doing. With reluctance and timidity, he
handed her the paper, begging, at the same time, that she would not be
offended. Examining the drawing for a short time, she turned to her
daughter, and, with a smile, said, "I declare he has made a likeness of
Sally." She then gave him a fond kiss, which so encouraged him that he
promised her some drawings of the flowers which she was then holding,
if she wished to have them. The next year a cousin sent him a box of
colours and pencils, with large quantities of canvas prepared for the

easel, and half a dozen engravings. Early the next morning he took his
materials into the garret, and for several days forgot all about school.
His mother suspected that the box was the cause of his neglect of his
books, and going into the garret and finding him busy at a picture, she
was about to reprimand him; but her eye fell on some of his
compositions, and her anger cooled at once. She was so pleased with
them that she loaded him with kisses, and promised to secure his
father's pardon for his neglect of school. The world is much indebted to
Mrs. West for her early and constant encouragement of the talent of her
son. He often used to say, after his reputation was established, "_My
mothers kiss made me a painter!_"
Vernet relates, that he was once employed to paint a landscape, with a
cave, and St. Jerome in it; he accordingly painted the landscape with St.
Jerome at the entrance of the cave. When he delivered the picture, the
purchaser, who understood nothing of perspective, said, "the landscape
and the cave are well made, but St. Jerome is not in the cave."--"I
understand you, sir," replied Vernet, "I will alter it." He therefore took
the painting, and made the shade darker, so that the saint seemed to sit
farther in. The gentleman took the painting; but it again appeared to
him that the saint was not actually in the cave. Vernet then wiped out
the figure, and gave it to the gentleman, who seemed perfectly satisfied.
Whenever he saw strangers to whom he showed the picture, he said,
"Here you see a picture by Vernet, with St. Jerome in the cave." "But
we cannot see the saint," replied the visitors. "Excuse me, gentlemen,"
answered the possessor, "he is there; for I saw him standing at the
entrance, and afterwards farther back; and am therefore quite sure that
he is in it."
Hogarth.--A nobleman, not remarkable for generosity, sent for Hogarth
and desired that he would represent on one of the compartments of his
staircase, Pharoah and his host drowned in the Red Sea. At the same
time he hinted that no great price would be given for the performance.
Hogarth however agreed. Soon afterwards he applied for payment to
his employer, who seeing that the space allotted for the picture had
only been daubed over with red, declared he had no idea of paying a
painter when he had proceeded no farther than to lay his ground.
"Ground!" exclaimed Hogarth, "there is no ground in the case, my lord,
it is all sea. The red you perceive is the Red Sea. Pharoah and his host

are drowned as you desired, and cannot be made objects of sight, for
the sea covers them all."
Tantara, the celebrated landscape painter, was a man of ready wit, but
he once met his match. An amateur had ordered a landscape for his
gallery, in which there was to be a church. Our painter did not know
how to draw figures well, so he put none in the landscape. The amateur
was astonished at the truthfulness and colouring of the picture, but he
missed the figures. "You have forgotten to put in any figures," said he,
laughingly. "Sir," replied the painter, "the people are gone to mass."
"Oh, well," replied the amateur, "I will wait