Having wandered far afield in the endeavor to point out the intimate connection between, first, a man and his work,--which connection every one admits,--and, secondly, between the race and the work,--a connection which is not so readily perceived,--let us return to Whistler, whose work furnishes proof positive of what has been said. It is commonly taken for granted that if a man lives and studies and works abroad for many years he loses his individuality and becomes in some mysterious manner the offspring of the country where he works. It is assumed that American painters residing in Rome become more or less Italian; that those residing in Paris become more or less French; that those residing in London become more or less English; while those who move restlessly from place to place become more or less of characterless cosmopolites. All of which is true inversely to the real strength and genius of the artist. A weak man is swerved by this influence and that and--chameleon like--takes on the hues of his surroundings, but a strong man simply absorbs and assimilates without in the slightest degree losing his individuality. Unhappily, many American artists residing abroad possess so little stamina, so little of real character, so little of genius, that they are--like topers--dependent upon the daily stimulus afforded by the manifold art activities about them; they never get out of school, but remain helplessly dependent upon teachers and copy-books. The annual Salon, like a college commencement day, is their great incentive; their petty exhibitions are so many field-days necessary to sustain childish enthusiasm. Happily, all do not yield to those influences, and no two yield in precisely the same degree,--the extent to which individuality is lost depending upon the weakness of the man. A poor, weak, wishy-washy American quickly falls into the habit of painting pictures after the manner of those about him, and his mannerisms out-Herod Herod; others, with more character, yield less to their environment; while the chosen few simply absorb whatever of good they find, and without yielding a jot of their individuality, without swerving to the right or to the left, go on producing after their own fashion things which belong to them and the race that produced them. For more than forty years Whistler was the conspicuous example of the last-named class,--a class so small that it included besides himself--no others. Great as certain of our American artists residing abroad undoubtedly are, good as many of these surely are, creditable on the whole as all are to American art, there is not one whose work does not betray the influences of his environment; there is not one who has not sacrificed something of his originality, something of his strength, something of his native force and character on strange altars, saving and excepting, always, Whistler. * * * * *