American juries _never_ have full authority. They are always dominated by some bugbear of politics or obligation, and I always found them very disgusting affairs. In Paris, in 1889, I was chosen as a member of the jury for the World’s Fair. The United States government, through our ambassador, issued a statement that our acts would be absolutely final, and we had every hope of making this show a beautiful affair. We had the money and we had the painters, but we reckoned without democracy and—Rush C. Hawkins, the commissioner. As Whistler afterward said, “How intensely American to appoint a colonel of dragoons at the head of art!” The first thing that he did was to beautify the room—without asking the advice of any of us, of course—and the result was a triumph. The _pièce de résistance_ of the occasion was a great big ripe red-plush tomato, or rather something that looked like one tomato on top of another, plunked right down in the center of the room, ostensibly for the people to sit on. It must have cost thousands! Mr. Hawkins’s next act was to “invite” a number of prominent painters to exhibit their work and then send them before the jury. Whistler was one of these. He had been invited by the Prince of Wales to send to the British exhibit, but had been patriotic enough to prefer to be represented in the American section. When he found that he had to go before the jury, he promptly withdrew his pictures—a portrait and twenty-six etchings. The voting was such a farce. We had handed the black-and-white section over to Stanley Reinhart, telling him to do as he pleased. When the question of the Whistler etchings arose, a prominent member of the jury insisted that we all pass on them. I objected, as I could see that the etchings had been carefully chosen as a group and all should go together. A half dozen men were on my side, but we were overridden, and the spectacle of those artists having these etchings by Jimmie Whistler passed before them, one by one, and choosing five or six from this priceless collection (when they had accepted all of Abbey’s and Reinhart’s without discussion) was ludicrous. The result was that Whistler sent all of his work over to the English show, where it was one of the cards. I was so ashamed of my country! Speaking afterward to the prominent member of the jury who had insisted upon this farcical voting, I forced him to give me his reason. He said that he did not like Whistler, and would not vote for anything by him, anyway!