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Page 77
When he was twenty-five years old, he went to London, and established
himself there as an artist. In due course of time, he acquired great
fame by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George the
Third, and President of the Royal Academy of Arts. When the Quakers of
Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the
old preacher, as to little Ben's future eminence, was now accomplished.
It is true, they shook their heads at his pictures of battle and
bloodshed, such as the Death of Wolfe,--thinking that these terrible
scenes should not be held up to the admiration of the world.
But they approved of the great paintings in which he represented the
miracles and sufferings of the Redeemer of Mankind. King George employed
him to adorn a large and beautiful chapel, at Windsor Castle, with
pictures of these sacred subjects. He likewise painted a magnificent
picture of Christ Healing the Sick, which he gave to the Hospital at
Philadelphia. It was exhibited to the public, and produced so much
profit that the Hospital was enlarged, so as to accommodate thirty more
patients. If Benjamin West had done no other good deed than this, yet it
would have been enough to entitle him to an honorable remembrance
forever. At this very day, there are thirty poor people in the Hospital,
who owe all their comforts to that same picture.
We shall mention only a single incident more. The picture of Christ
Healing the Sick was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, where it
covered a vast space, and displayed a multitude of figures as large as
life. On the wall, close beside this admirable picture, hung a small and
faded landscape. It was the same that little Ben had painted in his
father's garret, after receiving the paint-box and engravings from good
Mr. Pennington.
He lived many years, in peace and honor, and died in 1820, at the age of
eighty-two. The story of his life is almost as wonderful as a fairy
tale; for there are few stranger transformations than that of a little
unknown Quaker boy, in the wilds of America, into the most distinguished
English painter of his day. Let us each make the best use of our natural
abilities, as Benjamin West did; and with the blessing of Providence, we
shall arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little matter
whether we acquire it or not.
* * * * *
"Thank you for the story, my dear father," said Edward, when it was
finished. "Do you know, that it seems as if I could see things without
the help of my eyes? While you were speaking, I have seen little Ben,
and the baby in its cradle, and the Indians, and the white cow and the
pigs, and kind Mr. Pennington, and all the good old Quakers, almost as
plainly as if they were in this very room."
"It is because your attention was not disturbed by outward objects,"
replied Mr. Temple. "People, when deprived of sight, often have more
vivid ideas than those who possess the perfect use of their eyes. I will
venture to say that George has not attended to the story quite so
closely."
"No indeed," said George, "but it was a very pretty story for all that.
How I should have laughed to see Ben making a paint-brush out of the
black cat's tail! I intend to try the experiment with Emily's kitten."
"Oh, no, no, George!" cried Emily, earnestly. "My kitten cannot spare
her tail."
Edward being an invalid, it was now time for him to retire to bed. When
the family bade him good night, he turned his face towards them, looking
very loth to part.
"I shall not know when morning comes," said he sorrowfully. "And besides
I want to hear your voices all the time; for, when nobody is speaking,
it seems as if I were alone in a dark world!"
"You must have faith, my dear child," replied his mother. "Faith is the
soul's eyesight; and when we possess it, the world is never dark nor
lonely."
CHAPTER III.
The next day, Edward began to get accustomed to his new condition of
life. Once, indeed, when his parents were out of the way, and only Emily
was left to take care of him, he could not resist the temptation to
thrust aside the bandage, and peep at the anxious face of his little
nurse. But, in spite of the dimness of the chamber, the experiment
caused him so much pain, that he felt no inclination to take another
look. So, with a deep sigh, he resigned himself to his fate.
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