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Page 75
But, all this time, the young artist had no paint-brushes, nor were
there any to be bought, unless he had sent to Philadelphia on purpose.
However, he was a very ingenious boy, and resolved to manufacture
paint-brushes for himself. With this design, he laid hold upon--what do
you think? why, upon a respectable old black cat, who was sleeping
quietly by the fireside.
"Puss," said little Ben to the cat, "pray give me some of the fur from
the tip of thy tail!"
Though he addressed the black cat so civilly, yet Ben was determined to
have the fur, whether she were willing or not. Puss, who had no great
zeal for the fine arts, would have resisted if she could; but the boy
was armed with his mother's scissors, and very dexterously clipped off
fur enough to make a paint-brush. This was of so much use to him, that
he applied to Madam Puss again and again, until her warm coat of fur had
become so thin and ragged, that she could hardly keep comfortable
through the winter. Poor thing! she was forced to creep close into the
chimney-corner, and eyed Ben with a very rueful physiognomy. But Ben
considered it more necessary that he should have paint-brushes, than
that Puss should be warm.
About this period, Friend West received a visit from Mr. Pennington, a
merchant of Philadelphia, who was likewise a member of the Society of
Friends. The visitor, on entering the parlor, was surprised to see it
ornamented with drawings of Indian chiefs, and of birds with beautiful
plumage, and of the wild flowers of the forest. Nothing of the kind was
ever seen before in the habitation of a Quaker farmer.
"Why, Friend West," exclaimed the Philadelphia merchant, "what has
possessed thee to cover thy walls with all these pictures? Where on
earth didst thou get them?"
Then Friend West explained, that all these pictures were painted by
little Ben, with no better materials than red and yellow ochre and a
piece of indigo, and with brushes made of the black cat's fur.
"Verily," said Mr. Pennington, "the boy hath a wonderful faculty. Some
of our friends might look upon these matters as vanity; but little
Benjamin appears to have been born a painter; and Providence is wiser
than we are."
The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and evidently considered
him a wonderful boy. When his parents saw how much their son's
performances were admired, they no doubt remembered the prophecy of the
old Quaker preacher, respecting Ben's future eminence. Yet they could
not understand how he was ever to become a very great and useful man,
merely by making pictures.
One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington's return to Philadelphia, a
package arrived at Springfield, directed to our little friend Ben.
"What can it possibly be?" thought Ben, when it was put into his hands.
"Who can have sent me such a great square package as this!"
On taking off the thick brown paper which enveloped it, behold! there
was a paint-box, with a great many cakes of paint, and brushes of
various sizes. It was the gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were
likewise several squares of canvas, such as artists use for painting
pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, some beautiful
engravings of landscapes. These were the first pictures that Ben had
ever seen, except those of his own drawing.
What a joyful evening was this for the little artist! At bedtime, he put
the paint-box under his pillow, and got hardly a wink of sleep; for, all
night long, his fancy was painting pictures in the darkness. In the
morning, he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the
dinner-hour; nor did he give himself time to eat more than a mouthful or
two of food, before he hurried back to the garret again. The next day,
and the next, he was just as busy as ever; until at last his mother
thought it time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly followed
him to the garret.
On opening the door, the first object that presented itself to her eyes
was our friend Benjamin, giving the last touches to a beautiful picture.
He had copied portions of two of the engravings, and made one picture
out of both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beautiful
than the originals. The grass, the trees, the water, the sky, and the
houses, were all painted in their proper colors. There, too, was the
sunshine and the shadow, looking as natural as life.
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