“One day, in the Luxembourg, Whistler had his easel in a crowd with others. They were all at work making copies from a famous picture that had just been added to the gallery. Whistler would paint a bit, and then rush back to contemplate what he had done. In one of these mad backward rushes he struck a step-ladder on the top of which was a painter. Over went step-ladder, painter, and all, and the painter, trying to save himself, seized the top of his own canvas and another, pulling them over, easels and all. One knocked down another, and there was a great crash. Whistler was in the midst, and his loud voice was heard, as he sat on the floor, his head protruding through a big canvas that had fallen on him, using expressions of a vigorous type. He was seized by the guardian, because, as Whistler was making the most noise, he assumed that the whole fuss was due to him. This was quite correct; but all the painters coming to his rescue, telling the guardian that it was all an accident, he let Whistler off. “He organized a company of French negro minstrels, writing the songs and stories, and gave a performance which was very amusing. Among the _habitués_ at Madame Busque’s was a student from the School of Mines, Vinton, afterwards Professor of Mining at Columbia College, and during the war a brigadier-general. He himself told me the following story in 1866. One night in South Carolina an officer wandered into his camp. He sent word to the general by the sergeant of the guard that he was an officer who had lost his way, that he asked permission to pass the rest of the night in his camp, adding that he had known General Vinton when a student in Paris. General Vinton sent for the officer, whom he failed to recognize. After some thought he asked the question, ‘Who was the funniest man we knew in Paris?’ ‘Whistler,’ instantly answered the officer. ‘All right,’ says Vinton; ‘take that empty cot; you are no spy.’” Among the students he knew in those days were Degas, Ribot, and Fantin-Latour, whose work every one knows. Manet was working up to his best; in 1861 he painted the “Child with a Sword,” now in the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and altogether the atmosphere was charged with the strong sulphur of revolution. In England the pre-Raphaelites--old and new--were turning the hands of time backward, in France the Impressionists were pressing them forward, in both countries the ferment of change was working. * * * * * When only twenty-four years of age, in 1858, Whistler’s first etchings appeared, published by Delâtre, with a dedication to Seymour Haden, his brother-in-law. In those days the relations between the two men were very cordial; unhappily, not so later, as may be seen in “Gentle Art.” [Illustration]