Chapter II: Calling and Election

It was between the years 1866 and 1868 that the great crisis of young Gibson’s life occurred; and a series of influences and incidents befell, which were decisive in settling the great questions of his life-work and of the spirit in which he would undertake it.

The latter of the two was the first to be decided. It was at this period of his life that the boy experienced one of those changes in disposition, which was like the awakening or the sudden unfolding of the real self, hitherto hidden under apparently opposite traits. While he was at the Gunnery, Gibson had troubled the soul of his teacher, as we have seen, because he had not, as Mr. Gunn put it, “learned to be spontaneously industrious.” But during the years immediately following, while he was yet at the Polytechnic, he “came to himself.” He had been an easy-going boy, rather indolent in habit, or at least deficient in the power of industrious, persevering application. But now he began to show a love of work, to love it for its own sake, to plan it, and to seek it of his own volition. He took a vigorous hold upon his studies at the Polytechnic. He found a new delight, as well as a sustained, deep-seated interest in his drawing. He took up a new pursuit, to which he devoted his spare hours to such good purpose that he mastered it in astonishingly little time, and carried it to a high point of skill. Chancing to see some wax-flowers made by an expert of his time in Brooklyn, he promptly decided that the art was one which he could master. After some essays of his own, he put himself under the instruction of this teacher, who soon told the boy that he could teach him no more. There are some wonderful stories floating down from those days concerning the work he did in this medium, so fine in its imitative perfection as to deceive the very elect. One, in particular, is to the effect that a cluster of blossoms which he had modeled and carried, as a gift, to Mr. Beecher’s home, stood upon a table in a little vase when Mrs. Beecher saw it for the first time. She took up the vase, and, raising it to inhale the fragrance which it promised, had crushed the delicate work before she discovered the illusion. Apocryphal or not, the story shows the impression his work made upon his early admirers.

But the time had come which was to put his earnestness and force to the test. His father’s death in 1868 had made it necessary that he should hasten to choose a career and begin his self-support. Few young men are “called” to any special work in life; fewer still “elect,” of their own free will, the thing they will do because it is the thing they must do, beyond a doubt. And Gibson began by showing himself no different from other youth; he was to discover his distinction later. For no particular reason, save that it was suggested to him by a business friend and adviser of whom he sought counsel, he took up life-insurance, and became an agent for a leading company of his time. It gives one a strange feeling of incongruity to read the little business card, bearing the title of the “Home Life Insurance Company,” announcing “Wm. H. Gibson, General Agent, 103 Fulton Street, Brooklyn,” with “Office hours, 9 to 10.” One thinks of Nathaniel Hawthorne in the custom-house at Salem; of Charles Lamb at his clerk’s desk in East India House; and experiences a deep sense of relief that this new genius had the grace and the strength to escape from an uncongenial pursuit and follow the urgings of his own spirit. The business had no attractions for the boy. He wanted to draw. He was yearning after open fields and wide horizons. There was a craving in his nature which was at once an outcry for a life of self-utterance by the means and methods of art, and a protest against a life spent in what is called, with cool disparagement of other pursuits, “business.” The young man felt that the one career would mean self-expression, with all its joy, its power, its peace; while the other would be a self-repression, continual, galling, paralyzing. He was born to be a student of nature and to tell her story to the men and women who had not his endowment. The hour had come in which he was to decide whether he could heed his call, believe in himself, choose the path which invited him to labors that fitted his nature, and dare all its difficulties for the sake of being true to his own soul. The situation was not new. It is no unusual thing for young men to waver between such rival purposes. But the interest of such a crisis never wanes. It is always a trial of the real stuff and fiber of the individual. It is an experience which the youth must bear alone. But the gain belongs to all men when the decision is made which seals a life to devotion to its own highest ideal.

There is nothing to record the inward struggle of those days, save the quick resolve which he made, and the abrupt turn in his purpose. In the course of his calls to solicit business he chanced upon an acquaintance who was a draughtsman, and found him engaged in drawing upon the block. Gibson watched him a while, and forgot his errand in the sight of this congenial work. As he told a friend, years afterward: “After looking on for a few moments, I decided that I could do such work as well as he. I learned where the blocks could be bought and went off immediately to invest in a quantity of the material. From that moment I abandoned everything else, and set to work at drawing.” This was in truth the Rubicon of his life. In the decision it marks, young Gibson yielded to his own most honorable ambitions. He elected what was probably the harder way, if we count discouragements of one sort and another, the dampening predictions of the critical and experienced, the warnings and dissuasions of his best friends. Even in a financial way, it meant straitened circumstances, hard work for small pay, and years of the most strenuous effort, before he could obtain the recognition which meant a market for his wares. By so much the more must we esteem his courage, his faith in himself, his willingness to pay the high price of toil and patient waiting for the success which came at last.

One hardly does justice to the boldness of the young man’s resolve until he remembers that Gibson was proposing to begin his career as an artist with nothing but his native genius as a warrant of success. He was wholly lacking in training, as later days would understand it. He had studied art in no school. He had received the teaching of no master-artist. All that he could do was what he had worked out for himself. It would seem almost audacious, even reckless, for a young man to rush into the field of illustration with no more preparation either to fit him to do intelligent work or to discover to himself whether he really possessed abilities which would make his venture worth while. Untaught and unpractised, save in the desultory

_Age, 17_]

way of a boy’s attempts to express his own ideas with the pencil, he made up his mind that he could and that he would do as good artistic work as anybody. The intrepidity of youth is either ridiculous or it is sublime. Perhaps we must let events decide which it is. In this case the years made Gibson’s daring spirit seem the truest courage. Yet one holds his breath as he thinks of this boy boldly walking into the offices of the Harper Brothers, with his drawings on wood, to offer them for sale.

It is small wonder that they did not find acceptance in this exacting quarter. Gibson, armed with a letter of introduction to the Harpers, had gone to one of the firm, who turned him over to Charles Parsons, the head of the art department. It was arranged that he should have two weeks’ trial, to test his capacity. At the end of that time Mr. Parsons said to him, in substance, “I do not see that you will ever succeed in an artistic career. I advise you to drop it at once, and go into some other pursuit. I do not feel justified in recommending you to go on.” This judgment was as kindly in intention as it was candid in tone. It was the verdict of a cool-headed critic as well as an honest friend. It ought to have put an end to Gibson’s aspirations. It is the joy of all his friends to remember how he met this rebuff. He insisted that he should go on; he knew what he could do, and he meant to show other people. Nothing could deter, nothing could discourage him. “Very well,” said Mr. Parsons, “whatever you do, do your best; and show me your work from time to time.”

So Gibson turned from the doors which afterward opened to him so eagerly, and traveled on in search of appreciation and a market. He found both at the hands of John G. Shea, then of Frank Leslie’s house, who bought his drawings for “The Chimney Corner” and “The Boys’ and Girls’ Weekly.” “I began to pay my way,” said Gibson in a newspaper interview, “as soon as I met him. It was he who first suggested to me that I might furnish text with my drawings; and then I received double pay.” Soon after this he began to furnish botanical drawings for “The American Agriculturist.” His work was so acceptable that he was invited to take a desk in the offices of the publication, and he here became acquainted with J. C. Beard, Jr., with whom he had a life-long friendship. An opportunity occurring to furnish drawings for botanical articles in Appleton’s “Encyclopædia,” Gibson undertook the task; and when this led to a disagreement with the manager of the “Agriculturist,” he and Beard left the paper and took a room by themselves, in John Street. Here the orders began to come in, besides what they were doing for Leslie and Appleton, from various lithographers. The young men led a happy life, full of hard work, good fellowship, ambitious plans. Gibson was absorbed in his pursuits. He shrank from nothing because it was hard or because it was humble. He turned his pencil to whatever would afford him training and whatever would bring him honest returns. He was ready to do all sorts of “odds and ends” of illustration. He had great facility in producing puzzles of every description, especially those depending on illustration. One entire notebook is filled with suggestions for riddles, puzzles, rebuses, anagrams, which he worked out or had in reserve.

The days were full of hope and determination. He had no doubts about his ultimate success. He was a firm believer in himself. And he knew he had found the work he loved and into which he could throw his whole abounding life. It is a fine picture of a brave young fellow facing a difficult career with the buoyant hopes of youth and the confidence of a really strong nature. He was only nineteen when he wrote to the young girl to whom he had already given his heart: “This work perfectly fascinates me. It has always been my choice; it always will be. I shall never be happy if I have to abandon it. I look forward to it with delight and enthusiasm.... I do not allow myself to be too sanguine. I expect difficulties, trials, disappointments. I am willing to work, use all my energy, brave all manner of disappointments if in the end that future which we so often picture to one another can be realized.”

Another letter, a few months later, tells the story of hard work and increasing care, in apology for delay in writing to his mother. It also introduces the matter of one of his largest commissions up to this time, and shows how certainly he was making his way:

“Mother, I think of you just as much as ever, but I am so busy that when evening comes my natural dislike to letter writing is increased tenfold by fatigue. I wish I could give some correct idea of the amount of work that I do, and of how continually I am occupied. I am dreadfully busy, and last week and week before I worked at the office evening after evening until nearly eight, very seldom leaving before seven. You may perhaps form some idea when I tell you that I have got work on hand now (all in a hurry, as fast as I can do it) amounting to over $1,000.00 (one thousand dollars). It is all from Appleton & Co. and $840.00 of it is in one commission. It consists of twelve drawings on stone, each stone measuring nearly four feet by three, and weighing about four hundred pounds. I agreed to do the drawings on each stone for $70.00 which amounts as above. I have commenced and finished one stone satisfactorily, and commenced another to-day. It takes five men to bring the stone to my office and it is the largest size that can be used on a power press. A ‘tremendous job’ people call it, and don’t see ‘how on earth I manage to get at all these things.’ I believe I told you something about it. You remember that I heard of the intention of the Appletons to publish some mammoth botanical charts, and as it was rather in my line I went and saw Mr. Appleton about it. He asked me if I could draw on stone. I told him ‘yes,’ as if I had done it all my life, and gave him my estimate. It was an estimate calculated to pay me well, and I felt sure by previous inquiry that it was as low as he could get it done elsewhere. It resulted as I expected and the entire job was turned over to me.”

The sequel to that story is given in one of his frank, confidential letters to his mother, meant only for her eye, and therefore full of such a self-expression as he would have made to no one else. It answers still further the question as to how he came to get this particular commission in a way which reveals again his boldness and faith in undertaking new and untried work:

“N. Y., _Jan. 22, 1872_.

“MY DEAR MOTHER:

“I have stopped short in my work for the purpose of writing a few
lines to you, as more time has already elapsed since you last heard
from me than I had expected to allow. Everything goes on as
smoothly as I could desire; of course there are ripples
occasionally but they only tend to make the intervening success and
prosperity more serene by contrast.

“I still continue as busy as ever only more so. The stone work is
the principal employment, at present, and I have given from the
start immense satisfaction. You remember that in my last ‘long
letter’ I spoke of commencing on the second stone the following
day. Well I did so and finished on the next day after, not spending
quite two days on it. That week I realized $170.00 for work which I
did all myself. The Appletons were surprised more than I can tell
you when I informed them of the completion of the second stone, and
would scarcely believe that I had done it myself. When they came to
see the proof they were even more pleased than they were with the
first. The third stone was then sent to my office on the next
_Saturday afternoon_. Monday morning following it had not a mark on
it and before I left for home that very evening it was completely
finished, thus making $70 in one day. On the next morning I went up
to the Appletons’ and notified Mr. A. that his third stone for the
charts was finished and in a playful way that I wished he would
please send for it and let me have the next. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘I
told them to take it to you last Saturday afternoon.’ ‘Well,’ said
I, they _did_ bring me one last Saturday afternoon and that is the
one that I have finished and wish you to take away.’ I wish you
could have seen the expression of mingled surprise and incredulity
which covered his face. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘have you done it
yourself?’ ‘Yes,’ I returned, ‘I commenced it and finished it
yesterday.’ He received the intelligence rather with hesitation at
first and finally as I had expected, took the course of questioning
whether there was really $70.00 worth of work on them. He was very
coy in his manner of doing it but I saw well enough through it all.
He put such questions as these, ‘Well, you are doing them much
quicker than you expected aren’t you? There is not quite so much
work on them as you expected, is there? You thought at first that
there would be a week’s time on each stone you remember?’ You see
the style of query he used. To all these I admitted that they had
become much more easy for me than I had expected, that I was
hurrying them up because I knew that they were in a great hurry for
the work. I reminded them that my estimate was the lowest that they
could obtain in the city and said if I had the faculty of working
fast that I ought to be remunerated for it, etc. ‘But,’ said he,
‘there is quite a wide difference between a week and a day and it
seems that you did the last one in a day.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘so I
did, but I will spend a week at them hereafter.’ This made him
laugh heartily, and he drew me a check for $70.00 on the spot and
told me that he was glad I was doing them so fast and that the firm
were more than pleased, thinking my work far ahead of the original,
etc. The fourth stone I finished this Monday having commenced it on
Saturday last. It has been taken away this morning; the fifth one
is now on my desk ready for me to proceed. It is a beautiful
surface to draw upon, and I enjoy the work very much. I certainly
have the faculty of drawing very fast. Several artists have seen my
drawings on the stone and several lithographers also, and they all
tell me frankly (after they have been really convinced that I have
drawn one in a day or even two days) that there is not another man
in the city that could do it and no one that could do it better.
The most reasonable time which the Appletons could find elsewhere
was a week and this amongst lithographers who had drawn upon stone
all their lives. The printers of my lithographic work say that they
never printed neater work in their lives and that my drawings all
print very brightly.”

It was about these days that he made his first original work, a little composition now treasured and carefully preserved. He wrote about it to his mother:

“Week before last I took to Mr. Bunce a little bit of sunset effect
in the form of a sketch which I did in fifteen minutes, in India
ink and white. Beard admired it ever so much, and just for fun I
took it to Bunce as a sort of specimen of ‘original design.’ To my
surprise he admired it so much that he gave me a block, and told me
to put it on the wood by all means, for the ‘Journal.’ It is very
simple in composition, being drawn in a circle with the foreground

_First Composition, 1873_]

open. On the right is a hillside with a few tall trees; on the left
another slope, more distant. The extreme distance is composed of a
village with church-spire, trees, etc., standing out against a
brilliant sunset sky which shows through the trees. In the extreme
foreground is a traveler, or farmer, wending his way homeward; his
figure is almost a silhouette and his shadow is cast upon the road.
It is my first attempt at a design. My head is ‘chuck full of
them,’ but I cannot get a chance to use them I am so busy.”

Other letters covering this period are full of interest. They show the heart of the young fellow, his frank delight in his own success, and in the approval which his work begins to receive. He was much elated over the success of an engraving he made for the “Aldine”:

“NEW YORK, _Feb. 2, 1872_.

“DEAR MOTHER:

“I have just a few moments’ spare time which I will improve by
writing a short letter or note to you.

“Concerning my picture, all the artists of the establishment
admired the effect and recognized the ‘excellent copy’ of Inness’
style and handling. They all seem to think that the picture is
rather unnatural in its intensity but that the effect is wonderful.
Well, it was yesterday that I brought it over. I had cut it out of
the paper on which I drew it and pasted it neatly on a large piece
of white stiff photograph board. Its appearance was thus greatly
improved, as it had a margin of nearly six inches all around it. At
noon time I took the sketch down to the ‘Aldine.’ I saw Mr. Sutton,
the proprietor. He held the sketch off from him, looked at it
through his hand, and pronounced it magnificent. I of course told
him that it was a copy. He asked me if he had not met me before. I
told him ‘yes’; that one year ago I came to him with my first
drawings on wood, and that he did a great deal to encourage me at
the time. He remembered me, remembered my little drawings and
described both of them to me--told me that I had a _tremendous_ eye
for color, and he had noticed it when I first went to him. He said,
‘When you were here a year ago I told you to come to me when you
began to do original work, did I not?’ I answered yes and told him
a little of my experience since that time. Well we had a nice
little talk and it ended in his giving me a large full page block
with the order to put it on wood and he said that I must bring him
some more sketches. I am to correct Inness’ unfinished style and
make a more finished picture than the original is, as a painting.
When it is done I will probably receive from 50 to 60 dollars for
it.

“I begin it next week and as I cannot give Roberts’ time to it and
will have to work evenings, will probably not finish it for two
weeks or so.”

In the fall of this year he had a commission from the Appletons to visit Rhode Island on a sketching tour. It was his first attempt at anything of just this sort, and he was evidently nervous over his responsibilities. But his unfailing courage served him once more, and his naïve account of the trip and of the reception of its fruits is preserved in a letter to his mother:

“BROOKLYN, N. Y., _Sept. 23/72_.

“MY DEAR MOTHER:

“I returned from my trip on Thursday, but did not wish to write you
immediately as I hoped to be able to send you more encouraging news
by waiting a day or so. Many were the disadvantages which I labored
under during all the time while I was away, being almost sick
constantly. Nevertheless I worked through it all, hard and
faithfully, and the result is ‘a perfect success,’ far exceeding my
greatest anticipations. It was a very important period in my
business career, and I felt the necessity of working _hard_, and,
truth to say, I was confident of success, but not to any such
degree as that with which I have met.

“My commission included Providence and Suburbs: Pawtucket;
Providence Bay; Narragansett Bay; Rocky Point and Narragansett
Pier, all of which I visited and sketched. During the first week I
remained at the Central Hotel, Providence, where I had quite a
pleasant room. It being the first time of my being sent upon work
of this kind I was ignorant as to what would be expected of me and
of course was much worried and anxious, and the one thing which
troubled me most has been the one of all others which has made me
so successful. Each day, (with my camp seat, umbrella and
materials,) I would start out either on foot or in the cars,
traveling nearly until evening and in no case did I bring home with
me more than three sketches, and this number only once. It was this
scarcity in my number of sketches that caused me to worry, but I
still felt that what I had got were good; all through the day would
I pass by little bits of landscape that I thought would compose
rather prettily, but nevertheless I made up my mind (as I was not
to be gone long) to sketch only such bits as I knew would be
particularly attractive, and of course it would take nearly the
whole day before I could find and sketch more than two. I imagined
that this was a very small number, but did not see how I could do
much better, as it took a great deal of time to walk about and
select the prettiest views. Well, I worked on in this way for the
whole week, and at the end of it I never realized more happily the
fact that ‘seven times two made fourteen’ and I thought that if I
could go home with twenty-eight sketches it would be certainly well
enough as far as the number was concerned. But, again I was very
much in doubt as to the merit of my sketches and as the other
cause of anxiety was now partially removed, this took its place and
troubled me. The next circumstance took the spirits right out of me
and made me about sick. It commenced to rain and kept it up
constantly until I left, and it was the meanest, wetest, rain that
I ever knew of, and when it didn’t actually rain it ‘fogged’ and
drizzled which was nastier yet. The blank sheet of my drawing paper
would have been the best sketch of landscape during those days, as
I could see scarcely more than this would represent. Even in the
rain I went out and made a few sketches of places already decided
upon and finally left Providence in disgust, on my way home down
Narragansett Bay. I stopped over night at Rocky Point where I made
two sketches, leaving for Newport on the following day (Tuesday).
On Wednesday I went to Narragansett Pier when I also made two or
three sketches, thence homeward.

“I came home with about twenty-two sketches. All here at the house
thought them beautiful. Mr. Beard was perfectly surprised at their
beauty and Mr. Bunce at Appleton’s pronounced them one of the ‘best
lots of sketches he has yet had’ and complimented me on my ‘perfect
success.’ He was very much pleased indeed, and admired them all,
and gave vent to his admiration with loud praise; he called old and
young Appleton and several other gentlemen to see them, all of whom
pronounced them ‘very fine.’ I expected then that he would look
them over and select about five of the prettiest for me to put on
the wood. This was the most that I thought he would select. Mr.
Beard, when I asked him, said that he thought they would select
about five, as in other cases they had only taken about that number
out of an equivalent stock of sketches. Judge of my complete
surprise to see him select and count fifteen of them saying that he
would have them all drawn for the ‘Picturesque America.’ This left
only about six of the lot which he did not want, and he
complimented me on the choice of my selections, saying ‘Generally a
lot of sketches will come in, and I will look them over and reject
two thirds of them, on account of the subjects not being
interesting, the artists sketching whatever they come across that
looks “pretty” and not hunting for the most interesting alone.’
This is the amount of what he said to me and finished it up by
telling me that all of mine were of interest and composed well,
which was the very thing I studied for and which most troubled me
on account of the time it took and the consequent small number of
my sketches. Mr. Bunce was perfectly delighted, and if I please him
as well in my drawings on the wood, he will probably wish to send
me off again, when I will in all probability receive ‘$40.00 per
week and expenses.’ He gave me four large blocks nearly ‘full page’
to start on and the rest

_Age, 23_]

will come along as fast as I want them; and will amount to about
$400 worth of work. Besides this I have plenty of work from Filmer,
in a hurry, another very large job from Appleton (on stone), stacks
of work for Leslie and plenty else besides, scarcely knowing where
to begin. My bill to D. App. & Co. for my trip was considerably
over $100, which they paid without a word not even wishing an item.

“It does seem rather strange to me that whatever I undertake to do,
always ends in success, and in _unexpected success_. To be sure it
is done by hard work and I do not see why any one cannot succeed
who will put their shoulder to the wheel, be ambitious and full of
resolution to surmount all difficulties. So far I have not made a
failure, and one reason has been that I have not attempted a thing
to which I did not feel equal. I am thankful that I do succeed, and
I recognize, through all my experience in business, and in my
efforts to advance, the ever present help and guidance of a good
and kind Providence.”

On the 29th of October, 1873, he was married to Miss Emma L. Blanchard of Brooklyn. The occasion was made the more interesting by the marriage of his sister Juliet, and the double service was performed by Mr. Beecher. In the following spring he made a sketching trip to Washington, D. C., making pictures for “Picturesque America.” He was now doing good work and receiving constant employment. He says of the Washington sketches, especially having in mind a “combination” which included many of the public buildings:

“BROOKLYN, _Apr. 19, 1874_.

“MY DEAR MOTHER:

“I am only going to write you a few lines to-night (which by the
way has generally been my expressed intention every time I have
written) and for fear that I may possibly overstep that intention I
have selected a larger sheet of paper than usual, and expect at
least to confine the limits of my letter therein.

“Mr. Bunce was very much pleased with my rendering of a difficult
subject, and one which had worried him considerably. I took him the
drawing yesterday, and received another commission from him, more
work for the ‘Picturesque America.’ My drawings will already appear
under three heads, viz.: ‘Providence and Suburbs,’ ‘Connecticut
Shore,’ and ‘Washington and Mt. Vernon,’ and now there is still
another to be added. I am to proceed immediately with Brooklyn and
Prospect Park, and expect to begin my sketching to-morrow, of
course being paid as I am usually, for my time. The series will not
be very extensive, probably a combination or two with a few small
separate pictures. I hope that this new work will not interfere
with my intended visit with you during arbutus season. I will try
and manage so as to bring my work up there for I hope to spend
three or four days with you. _Be sure and let us know_ when the
arbutus is in bloom.”

In the fall of 1876 Gibson published through James Miller a book for boys, of which a fuller word will be said later in these pages. It bore the title, alluring to any boy, “The Complete American Trapper; or the Tricks of Trapping and Trap-Making.” It was republished by two other firms, and still has a market.

These were the years of apprenticeship and study. The young man’s art class was his own studio. His course of study was determined by the business needs of those who employed him. His chief instructor was himself. The years went quickly by. A trip to the Adirondacks in 1875, another to Philadelphia to sketch the Centennial Exhibition of 1876 were the chief incidents of the next two years. The Philadelphia enterprise was under the patronage of Harper Brothers. For at last he had secured the approval he had coveted so much, and was able to win his way into the publications of this house on his own merits. From time to time he had shown his work to Mr. Parsons, who admitted his progress and acknowledged his growing promise. At last he received an order to illustrate an article in conjunction with his friend Beard. Other work followed, and he was a recognized contributor to the Harpers’ publications.

But the work which probably made his “calling and election sure” was his masterly illustration of an article written by Mrs. Helen S. Conant, entitled “Birds and Plumage.” Gibson had suggested the article, furnishing the idea and proposing as a title “The Plumage of Fashion.” He did not secure the commission to write the text: his abilities as a writer had not been demonstrated, and he himself was diffident about them. But he received the order for sixteen illustrations, into which we may well believe he threw his whole strength. The initial design attracted marked attention and drew out unstinted praise. It was a full-page picture of a peacock’s feather. It gave the article instant success. The press was enthusiastic in commending it. The August number of “Harper’s Magazine” for 1878 may be said to have marked a new epoch in American illustration; and young Gibson’s work led all the rest. The reserved and refrigerated criticism of the “Nation” was relaxed almost to the point of enthusiasm: “The remarkable series of birds drawn on the block by Mr. William H. Gibson is more obviously than the imitations just mentioned the result of the engraver’s skill and unwearied patience. The cut of the peacock feather, for instance, which introduces the paper on ‘Birds and Plumage,’ must impress even the uninitiated with its rare and costly character, whether regarded as a design or as an engraving. Mr. Gibson has evidently studied his subjects with great care and succeeded in portraying them, both in action and in repose, in a graceful and life-like manner, with instructive accessories.” The “Christian Union,” always careful and conservative, said: “Upon this article, which has been a long time in preparation, the publishers have, it is understood, laid out an unprecedentedly large sum of money. Certainly Mr. Gibson’s graceful pencil has given them the worth of it. No better work, it is safe to say, has ever appeared in the pages of the magazine.”

But best and most conclusive of all the words of praise which this drawing elicited, were those of Mr. Charles Eliot Norton, in a personal letter to the young artist:

“CAMBRIDGE, _Nov. 8, 1878_.

“DEAR SIR: I am much obliged to you for your note, for it gives me
an opportunity which I have desired, to express to you my
admiration of the skill and beauty of the design of the peacock’s
feather, so excellently cut on wood by Mr. King. It is not merely
subtle and refined execution which is shown in the piece, but a
poetic feeling for the quality and charm of the feather itself and
for its value in composition. Your feather ought to be as well
known as Rembrandt’s shell or Hollar’s furs. For you and Mr. King
in your joint work have succeeded in suggesting the splendor, the
play, the concentration of color, the bewildering multiplicity of
interlacing curves, the elastic spring and vitality of every fiber,
and have given the immortality of art to one of the purely
decorative productions of nature. I shall look for your new work
with great interest.

“I am very desirous to see a proof of your feathers on soft India
paper. If I can find some proper paper here I shall be tempted to
send it to you. But paper suitable for such work is not easily
found.”

All this was said of the youth who six years before had been pronounced without even the promise of ability! Surely he had a right to be proud of his triumph. He had fairly won his spurs. Henceforth there was no doubt of his standing as one of the first of American illustrators.

(“_Highways and Byways_”)

_Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers_]