William Edgerton, had he been forced by necessity to have made

the art of painting his profession would have made for himself a

reputation of no inferior kind. But amateur art, like amateur

literature, rarely produces any admirable fruits. Complete success

only attends the devotee to the muse. The worship must be exclusive

at her altar; the attendance constant and unremitting. There must

be no partial, no divided homage. She is a jealous mistress, like

all the rest. The lover of her charms, if he would secure her

smiles, must be a professor at her shrine. He can not come and go

at pleasure. She resents such impertinence by neglect. In plain

terms, the fine arts must be made a business by those who desire

their favor. Like law, divinity, physic, they constitute a profession

of their own; require the same diligent endeavor, close study,

fond pursuit! William Edgerton loved painting, but his business

was the law. He loved painting too much to love his profession. He

gave too much of his time to the law to be a successful painter--too

much time to painting to be a lawyer. He was nothing! At the bar he

never rose a step after the first day, when, together, we appeared

in our mutual maiden case; and contenting himself with the occasional

execution of a landscape, sketchy and bold, but without finish,

he remained in that nether-land of public consideration, unable to

grasp the certainties of either pursuit at which he nevertheless

was constantly striving; striving, however, with that qualified

degree of effort, which, if it never could secure the prize, never

could fatigue him much with the endeavor to do so.

He was perfectly delighted when he first saw some of the sketches

of my wife. He had none of that little jealousy which so frequently

impairs the temper and the worth of amateurs. He could admire

without prejudice, and praise without reserve. He praised them. He

evidently admired them. He sought every occasion to see them, and

omitted none in which to declare his opinion of their merits. This,

in the first pleasant season of my marriage--when the leaves were

yet green and fresh upon the tree of love--was grateful to my

feelings. I felt happy to discover that my judgment had not erred

in the selection of my wife. I stimulated her industry that I might

listen to my friend's eulogy. I suggested subjects for her pencil.

I fitted up an apartment especially as a studio for her use. I

bought her some fine studies, lay figures, heads in marble and

plaster; and lavished, in this way, the small surplus fund which

had heretofore accrued from my professional industry, and that

personal frugality with which it was accompanied.

William Edgerton was now for ever at our house. He brought his own

pictures for the inspection of my wife. He sometimes painted in her

studio. He devised rural and aquatic parties with sole reference

to landscape scenery and delineation; and indifferent to the law

always, he now abandoned himself almost entirely to those tastes

which seemed to have acquired of a sudden, the strangest and the

strongest impulse.




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