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 



