xii A NATURALIST'S BOYHOOD 
therefore, has closed the career of a man who had the 
ability to interest a large number of people not only in 
natural history, but in art and literature. 
The news of Mr. Gibson's death came to me suddenly, 
and as I was reading it I recalled an interesting talk I 
had with him less than a year ago about his work early 
in life and the way he got his start. I had been read- 
ing one of his articles to a lady, who, when she heard 
the name of the author, said : 
" Why, I knew Mr. Hamilton Gibson long ago. When 
he was a lad he painted a lovely drop-curtain for us. 
He could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen 
then." 
The next time I met Mr. Hamilton Gibson I asked 
him about this drop-curtain. " Do you remember it ?" 
" Certainly I do. We had a temperance society at 
Sandy Hook, Connecticut, and we gave a grand enter- 
tainment. I made the drop-curtain. It represented a 
wood. There was a rock in the foreground, and a Vir- 
ginia-creeper was climbing over it." 
"Was it an original composition?" I asked. 
" I made many studies of the rock and the Virginia- 
creeper from nature. On the other side of the curtain 
I painted a drawing-room. There were a marble mantel- 
piece, a clock, and lace curtains. I don't think I enjoyed 
painting the clock as much as the Virginia-creeper." 
" To paint a drop-curtain at fifteen or sixteen means 
that you had then a certain facility. But that could 
not have been your beginning. When did you break 
your shell ? What chipped or cracked your egg so that 
your particular bird emerged, chirped, and finally took 
flight? That was what I wanted to know." 
"Is that what you are after?" asked Mr. Hamilton 
