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 tfrink 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 



