So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, and his native woods and streams, and the good Quakers of Springfield, and the Indians who had given him his first colors,—­he left all the places and persons whom he had hitherto known,—­and returned to them no more.  He went first to Philadelphia, and afterwards to Europe.  Here he was noticed by many great people, but retained all the sobriety and simplicity which he had learned among the Quakers.  It is related of him, that, when he was presented at the court of the Prince of Parma, he kept his hat upon his head, even while kissing the Prince’s hand.

When he was twenty-five years old, he went to London, and established himself there as an artist.  In due course of time, he acquired great fame by his pictures, and was made chief painter to King George the Third, and President of the Royal Academy of Arts.  When the Quakers of Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the prophecy of the old preacher, as to little Ben’s future eminence, was now accomplished.  It is true, they shook their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such as the Death of Wolfe,—­thinking that these terrible scenes should not be held up to the admiration of the world.

But they approved of the great paintings in which he represented the miracles and sufferings of the Redeemer of Mankind.  King George employed him to adorn a large and beautiful chapel, at Windsor Castle, with pictures of these sacred subjects.  He likewise painted a magnificent picture of Christ Healing the Sick, which he gave to the Hospital at Philadelphia.  It was exhibited to the public, and produced so much profit that the Hospital was enlarged, so as to accommodate thirty more patients.  If Benjamin West had done no other good deed than this, yet it would have been enough to entitle him to an honorable remembrance forever.  At this very day, there are thirty poor people in the Hospital, who owe all their comforts to that same picture.

We shall mention only a single incident more.  The picture of Christ Healing the Sick was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, where it covered a vast space, and displayed a multitude of figures as large as life.  On the wall, close beside this admirable picture, hung a small and faded landscape.  It was the same that little Ben had painted in his father’s garret, after receiving the paint-box and engravings from good Mr. Pennington.

He lived many years, in peace and honor, and died in 1820, at the age of eighty-two.  The story of his life is almost as wonderful as a fairy tale; for there are few stranger transformations than that of a little unknown Quaker boy, in the wilds of America, into the most distinguished English painter of his day.  Let us each make the best use of our natural abilities, as Benjamin West did; and with the blessing of Providence, we shall arrive at some good end.  As for fame, it is but little matter whether we acquire it or not.