ca at St. Petersburg; Hylas surprised by Nymphs, in
the National Gallery, London; Sleeping Shepherd Boy, in the Lenox
collection in New York; Cupid disguised as a Shepherd, which he often
repeated; portraits of Queen Victoria, at Buckingham Palace and Osborne;
Sir Robert Peel, in Westminster Abbey; George Stephenson, in St.
George's Hall, Liverpool; eighteen portrait busts; sixteen bas-reliefs
of ideal subjects and sixteen others for monuments to the dead. A large
part of these are in the chapel of the Liverpool Cemetery. He modelled a
bas-relief of Christ blessing little children.

Gibson found his entire happiness in his art. In his own words, he
worked on "happily and with ever new pleasure, avoiding evil and with a
calm soul, making images, not for worship, but for the love of the
beautiful. The beautiful elevates us above the crowd in this world; the
ideal, higher--yes, higher still, to celestial beauty, the fountain of
all. Socrates said that outward beauty was the sign of the inward; in
the life of a man, as in an image, every part should be beautiful."

He was never elated by praise; he was glad of tributes which proved that
he was respected, but he received all honors with a simplicity of
self-respect which spoke the sincere nobility of his nature.

There are many amusing anecdotes told of his absentmindedness about
everything not connected with his art. Miss Harriet Hosmer was his only
pupil, and she said of him: "He is a god in his studio, but God help him
when he is out of it." He never could master the ins and outs of
railroad travelling, and even when put in the right train at the right
time he would be sure to get out at the wrong place at the wrong time.

On one of his journeys, when he supposed he was at the right place, he
got out and asked the porter to show him the way to the cathedral. In
his own account he said: "But the scoundrel would have it there was no
cathedral in the place, and at last had the impudence to ask me if I
knew where I was. Then I discovered that instead of being in Chichester,
where I had a particular appointment with the dean and chapter, I was
safe in Portsmouth, where there was no cathedral at all."

The time has not come for any comprehensive estimate of the sculpture of
our own country. So many of our artists are still living that it would
be unjust to speak of them in connection with those whose work is
complete and whose rank is fixed as a matter of history. We have no