150 Letters from the United States of North America. [Ave. 
Wm. Beechey. It was a capital likeness—capital—never saw’a better ; 
but, Sir, would you believe it? There was a wrinkle in the coat, Sir— 
just here, Sir—just under the collar—I could not take my eyes off it, Sir, 
a perfect eye-sore—I would rather have given twenty guineas than’ see 
it in such a state””— Ah,” said Sully, “ ah—why so?”— Why, Sir, 
every body would naturally ask, who made that coat ?”—* Well, and 
what then ?”—“ Why Sir—I made that coat.”—“You !”—“« Yes—I !I 
made that very coat, Sir.” 
Wesz, William—(no relation of the late president West, nor of the 
Irish president West); a native Kentuckean, who, after acquiring a 
snug fortune by making portraits in America, started off to Italy, 
where he studied six years with an ardour worthy of his art. He is 
now with you at London, I suppose. You have heard of his portrait of 
Lord Byron—it is rather chalky, not to be compared with some of W.’s 
late pictures, and rather meagre; but, nevertheless, a capital and 
striking picture—and the best likeness, beyond all comparison, that ever 
has been painted or made of Lord B.—Guiccioli, Byron himself, Lady 
C. Lamb, Brunan, Hobhouse, Capt. Medwin—every body—all agree 
that it is not only the best, but the only portrait of Byron (who never 
sat afterwards for a picture). Mr. W. was offered six hundred guineas 
for the portrait in Paris; but, aware of its value to him if he chose to 
make a copy now and then, he refused the offer, and has singe made 
afew copies—two or three, I believe, not more, to oblige a friend or two 
—for, like every other man of true genius, he hates copying. It is to 
be engraved, I hear; and I am told that an engraving is under way at 
Paris. Be on your guard ; for I happen to know that Mr. W. has never 
permitted one to be finished from it, although he intends to have one, 
by some artist of determined celebrity at London. Mr. W. is chalky 
and cold, in a few of his late pictures; but I have seen others which 
make me feel sure of his being all that he would wish to be, in portrait 
and history, when he has got rid altogether of the French and modern 
Italian habits, acquired by him lately. He is getting rid of them 
every day now; and was getting more and more reconciled to the 
English school every hour, when I saw him last. 
Harpine, Chester,—a Massachusetts man:* a most powerful head 
maker, distinguished for solidity and great resemblance in his portraits. 
He has improved wonderfully by his trip to London, and will be sure to 
improve with every trial in his art, if he should live a hundred years 
longer. It is only six or seven years, you know, since he began to 
paint chairs—preparatory to painting portraits. And so with Sully the 
younger—he began about four years ago; but then, he was prepared for 
it, and had got a very good notion of drawing. Mr. H. to this hour is 
unable to draw—cannot draw at all; and yet you do not perceive the 
deficiency in his heads—nor do you readily perceive it in his figures and 
attitudes. Harding has a good story to tell too—I have no doubt of 
its truth. He had been painting a pretty girl, who brought her sister to 
see the picture. “Lord, Mary!” said she, when she saw it, “ wh 
didn’t you have blue eyes ?”—“ Blue eyes, child! why, my eyes are black.” 
«Ah, but blue eyes are so much prettier.” 
* He was said to be a Kentuckean, or something worse, in Blackwood, a year or 
twoago, by a writer (ourself), who, in correcting the error, substituted the baek parts 
of New York for his birth-place. You have heard of the Dublin editor, who said; 
“ Erra-ta’’— For her Grace the Duke of B. read, his Grace the Duchess of B. —X,¥.Z- 
