eek and
comfortable visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn the
picture, and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly rejected the task
and the reward. But if the face were the index of anything uncommon,
in thought, sentiment, or experience; or if he met a beggar in the
street, with a white beard and a furrowed brow; or if sometimes a child
happened to look up and smile; he would exhaust all the art on them
that he denied to wealth.

Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter became an
object of general curiosity. If few or none could appreciate the
technical merit of his productions, yet there were points in regard to
which the opinion of the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment
of the amateur. He watched the effect that each picture produced on
such untutored beholders, and derived profit from their remarks, while
they would as soon have thought of instructing Nature herself as him
who seemed to rival her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was
tinctured with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed it
an offence against the Mosaic law, and even a presumptuous mockery of
the Creator, to bring into existence such lively images of His
creatures. Others, frightened at the art which could raise phantoms at
will, and keep the form of the dead among the living, were inclined to
consider the painter as a magician, or perhaps the famous Black Man, of
old witch-times, plotting mischief in a new guise. These foolish
fancies were more than half believed among the mob. Even in superior
circles, his character was invested with a vague awe, partly rising
like smoke-wreaths from the popular superstitions, but chiefly caused
by the varied knowledge and talents which he made subservient to his
profession.

Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and Elinor were eager to
obtain their portraits, as the first of what, they doubtless hoped,
would be a long series of family pictures. The day after the
conversation above recorded, they visited the painter's rooms. A
servant ushered them into an apartment, where, though the artist
himself was not visible, there were personages whom they could hardly
forbear greeting with reverence. They knew, indeed, that the whole
assembly were but pictures, yet felt it impossible to separate the idea
of life and intellect from such striking counterfeits. Several of the
portraits were known to them, either as distinguished characters of the