In showing his work to visitors he exercised all the reserve and discretion of the Japanese, who places before his guests but one kakemona during that most formal and elaborate of social festivities, the “Tea Ceremony,” or who, under pressure of repeated requests, takes from its little box and unfolds from its many silken wrappings one, just one, of his precious bits of porcelain. No more on the same day, lest the surfeited guests fail in appreciation. If in his studio, Whistler would first turn to the wall every picture and arrange the few pieces of furniture so that nothing should attract the vagrant eye, then he would place the one picture he wished seen on the easel in the best of light, without, however, letting it be seen until frame and glass were carefully wiped, when, stepping back on a line with his visitor, he, too, would enjoy his work as if he saw it for the first time. He would never exhibit anything he was tired of, and he never tired of anything he exhibited. This appreciation of his own work, his enthusiasm over what he had done, was often misunderstood by people accustomed to the false modesty of artists who stand dumb while others vainly strive to see in their work the beauties which they of all people can best make known. * * * * * If time permitted he might bring forth two, or even three, pictures, but rarely more, and always each by itself. If some visitor, presuming on his good nature,--and he was indulgent in the extreme to those he liked,--insisted on placing the pictures side by side for comparison, as is the custom in shops, he was as uneasy and unhappy as would be a poet if several persons insisted on reading aloud before him several of his poems at the same time,--for what is a picture but a poem, mute to the ear but clarion-voiced to the eye? * * * * * In public exhibitions of his works he had the same sense of the eternal fitness of things. First of all, the room must be properly lighted, and Whistler’s paintings require a soft light. In his studio the skylight was well arranged with shades, so he could keep the light soft and constant; and frequently he would draw the shades so as to make the room quite dark, and then view portrait and sitter as they loomed up in shadow. “Some students planned to call on him one New Year’s morning. A friendly student, not at all sure that Whistler would like it, gave him a little tip as to the surprise party. “‘Tell them that I never receive callers,’ he exclaimed, excitedly. The student explained that he wasn’t supposed to know anything about it. “‘Are you sure they mean well?’ he inquired, anxiously. And on being reassured, ‘Well, tell them I never receive visitors in the morning.’