He was a man most difficult to place on canvas. He could not be grasped and held long enough. He himself tried it, but with only moderate success. Others have tried it and failed completely,--that is, failed to portray him at his best; for that matter, no one who has ever drawn or painted him did so when he was at his best, for those moments came only in the seclusion of his own studio, when, alone with model or sitter, he worked absolutely oblivious to everything but his art. No man is at his best when posing for photograph, sketch, or portrait, and Whistler was farther from being an exception to this rule than most others. He knew too well what a portrait should be to feel the indifference which is essential to a perfectly natural pose. Consequently, while few men were better known by sight in Paris and London, scarce any one knew him as he was,--the most profoundly serious, conscientious, and consistent artist of his day and generation. As has been stated, he was always exceedingly particular about his dress,--as finicky as a woman. In his early London days he carried a long, slender wand, like a mahl-stick, for a cane, and was conspicuous wherever he went, not only on account of his diminutive size, but also by his stick and dress. An attendant at an exhibition once wished to relieve him of his cane, but he exclaimed: “Oh, no, my man! I keep this for the critics.” * * * * * The following, by a London correspondent, is a very good description, though of late years he had abandoned the cane and his hair was somewhat grayer: “They say Whistler is fifty-six. But years have nothing to do with him. He is as young in spirit, as lithe in body, as dapper in ‘get-up’ as he was twenty years ago. “Is there another man in London with such vitality as Whistler has,--I care not what his age,--another so dainty, another so sprightly in wit? Do you see that dapper gentleman coming along Cheyne Walk, silk hat with very tall crown and very straight brim; habit apparently broadcloth (frock coat), fitting to perfection a supple figure; feet small as a girl’s,--an American girl’s; hands delicately gloved in yellow; in the right hand a lithe, slim wand, twice as long as a walking stick; glass in eye; black moustache and slight ‘imperial;’ black hair with wavy threads of gray here and there? The dainty gentleman lifts his hat, and you see above his forehead the slender, white lock--the white plume as famous as that of Navarre. This is our friend Whistler, the inimitable, truly called ‘the master.’ You may meet him in the early morning, or at a private view in the afternoon, at an evening party, two hours before midnight or two hours after it; and you will find him as fresh in spirit, as dainty, as lively, as witty at one time as at another.”