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Updated: June 26, 2025
She must have married John Kensett because an establishment is more complete with a man at the head of it, for that was the chief end of her life to keep all things in perfect running order in that elegantly appointed home, and to keep abreast of the times in all new adornings and furnishings under the sun.
The floor was covered with a yielding tapestry carpet, and the walls were adorned with paintings from the pencils of Van Dyke, Rubens, Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the productions of the more modern Turner, Kensett, Church, and Bierstadt.
We went together, the day before I was to leave town, to the Gallery of Paintings. As we watched a fine landscape by Kensett, a stream of sunshine rested a moment on the canvas, giving motion and color, as it were, to the pictured sunlight. Miss Stuart turned to me. "Why will you not imprison sunlight in that way, Mr. Desmond? That would be artistic."
Kensett could get no vision of a daughter-in-law except a tall woman with severe expression. "She is an heiress," Benjie wrote. Well, what of that? John's wife had property too. She would likely be proud, and ashamed of a plain old woman like her.
John Kensett was one of those icy women with thin lips and cold grey eyes, made up from the first without a heart women who make a cool atmosphere about them even in the heat of summer. She was tall and stylish and handsomely dressed, and when she mounted her gold eyeglasses and through them severely looked one over, she was formidable indeed to so meek a woman as her mother-in-law.
Cole and Durand and Ingham and Inman and Chapman and Bryant and Verplanck and Charles Hoffman were in it when I first became acquainted with it; and younger artists have been brought into it since, Gray and' Huntingdon and Kensett, and other non-professional gentlemen interested in art, and the meetings have been always pleasant.
'Really it is very nice of you to come to the train. At the same moment a bald, mild-eyed gentleman emerged from the depths of the same compartment, carrying a large, covered basket. "'How are you, Kensett? he said. 'Glad to see you again. Rather warm in that compartment no, I will not trust this basket to an expressman; give Wilhelmina your arm and I'll follow.
The pictures of George Inness, Sanford Gifford, Kensett, McEntee, Hart, Eastman Johnson, Hubbard, Church, Casilaer, Whittredge, and the others had been frequently discussed around the piano on the top floor at Miss Teetum's, and their merits and supposed demerits often hotly contested. He had met Kensett once at the house of Mr.
Had he known how quiet the sleep was to be, the calm triumphant faith of the singer would not have wavered, nor would the peace with which he laid down have been less. The will had never been made, so the old homestead must be sold and divided among them all. They met at an early day to arrange affairs. Mr. John Kensett, the eldest son, and Mrs.
Kensett started as her eye fell on familiar objects; there was the claw-footed mahogany centre-table with antique carvings, her straight-backed old rocker, and "father's" dear arm-chair, both newly cushioned, and otherwise brightened up. The sofa, too, of ancient pattern, that had stood in her parlour at Hawthorn for forty years, looked like an old friend in a new dress.
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