In etching and lithography and the painting of portraits he, at most, simply did as well or better what others have done before; but in the composition of harmonies of color to please the eye, as harmonies of sound please the ear, he accomplished results which are unique. What he did with the needle is not so wholly and absolutely unlike all that had been done before as to render comparisons impossible; whereas with the brush in his domain of color Whistler stands alone. His art was his own; he painted like no other man dead or living. His etchings were so fine, so subtle, that the world had difficulty in comprehending them; but it did learn to like them, and that, too, at a comparatively early date. But even now his pictures are fully understood by no one; and yet they have had a profounder influence upon the art of to-day than those of any other master. He opened the door of the East to the painters of the West and showed them how they might paint after the manner of the best there is in the Oriental world, and not only retain, but accentuate their own individuality. The secret of Whistler’s art, as of all great art, is that it was the absolutely true and unaffected expression of his convictions and of his impressions of the life and world about him; and his impressions and convictions in the domain of color, like those of Beethoven in the world of sound, were worth recording. He is to color what Beethoven is to sound, and his distinguishing merit is that of all the men of his century or of many preceding centuries he was the only one to treat color as a composer of music treats sound,--as material for the arrangement of harmonies to please the eye as music pleases the ear. * * * * * When Burne-Jones, in the Ruskin suit, was asked if he saw any art quality in “The Falling Rocket,” he apologetically said, “I must speak the truth, you know,” and then testified: “It has fine color and atmosphere,” but of detail and composition “absolutely none.” As if the shower of fire of a falling rocket against the blackness of night could have sharp detail and composition; as if anything were possible beyond “fine color and atmosphere;” and color and atmosphere are all Whistler intended. “My whole scheme,” he himself testified, “was only to bring about a certain harmony of color,” and, according to the only decently qualified witness for the other side, he succeeded. Even Frith, the painter of “Derby Day” and the “Rake’s Progress,” said, “There is a pretty color which pleases the eye, but there is nothing more.” Why should there be anything more, if to please the eye were the painter’s sole intention? Is it not as legitimate to please the eye with compositions of color, otherwise meaningless, as it is to please the ear with compositions of sound?