Examining the drawing for a short time, she turned to her daughter, and, with a smile, said, “I declare he has made a likeness of Sally.”  She then gave him a fond kiss, which so encouraged him that he promised her some drawings of the flowers which she was then holding, if she wished to have them.  The next year a cousin sent him a box of colours and pencils, with large quantities of canvas prepared for the easel, and half a dozen engravings.  Early the next morning he took his materials into the garret, and for several days forgot all about school.  His mother suspected that the box was the cause of his neglect of his books, and going into the garret and finding him busy at a picture, she was about to reprimand him; but her eye fell on some of his compositions, and her anger cooled at once.  She was so pleased with them that she loaded him with kisses, and promised to secure his father’s pardon for his neglect of school.  The world is much indebted to Mrs. West for her early and constant encouragement of the talent of her son.  He often used to say, after his reputation was established, “My mothers kiss made me a painter!”

Vernet relates, that he was once employed to paint a landscape, with a cave, and St. Jerome in it; he accordingly painted the landscape with St. Jerome at the entrance of the cave.  When he delivered the picture, the purchaser, who understood nothing of perspective, said, “the landscape and the cave are well made, but St. Jerome is not in the cave.”—­“I understand you, sir,” replied Vernet, “I will alter it.”  He therefore took the painting, and made the shade darker, so that the saint seemed to sit farther in.  The gentleman took the painting; but it again appeared to him that the saint was not actually in the cave.  Vernet then wiped out the figure, and gave it to the gentleman, who seemed perfectly satisfied.  Whenever he saw strangers to whom he showed the picture, he said, “Here you see a picture by Vernet, with St. Jerome in the cave.”  “But we cannot see the saint,” replied the visitors.  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” answered the possessor, “he is there; for I saw him standing at the entrance, and afterwards farther back; and am therefore quite sure that he is in it.”

Hogarth.—­A nobleman, not remarkable for generosity, sent for Hogarth and desired that he would represent on one of the compartments of his staircase, Pharoah and his host drowned in the Red Sea.  At the same time he hinted that no great price would be given for the performance.  Hogarth however agreed.  Soon afterwards he applied for payment to his employer, who seeing that the space allotted for the picture had only been daubed over with red, declared he had no idea of paying a painter when he had proceeded no farther than to lay his ground.  “Ground!” exclaimed Hogarth, “there is no ground in the case, my lord, it is all sea.  The red you perceive is the Red Sea.  Pharoah and his host are drowned as you desired, and cannot be made objects of sight, for the sea covers them all.”