A London visitor at the Lambs Club recounted a new version of the notable enmity which followed the friendship that had existed between Whistler and Wilde.  The latter one day asked the artist’s opinion upon a poem which he had written, presenting a copy to be read.  Whistler read it and was handing it back without comment.

“Well,” queried Wilde, “do you perceive any worth?”

“It’s worth its weight in gold,” replied Whistler.

The poem was written on the very thinnest tissue-paper, weighing practically nothing.  The coolness between the two men is said to have dated from that moment.

* * * * *

Walking up to Du Maurier and Wilde at the time the former was portraying the Postlethwaites in Punch, Whistler asked, whimsically, “I say, which of you invented the other, eh?”

* * * * *

When Oscar Wilde was married, this Whistler telegram met him at the door of St. James’s Church, Sussex Gardens: 

“Fear I may not be able to reach you in time for ceremony—­don’t wait.”

* * * * *

“Heaven!” said Oscar once, when the two were together at Forbes-Robertson’s and a pert flash fell from the artist’s lips.  “I wish I had said that!”

“Never mind, dear Oscar—­you will,” retorted Whistler.

* * * * *

When Lady Archibald Campbell sat for her portrait Lord Archibald was quite uncomfortable at the idea, and made certain that it was a condescension, not a commission.  The painting was duly completed, received its due of scathing criticism, and became famous.  At this the lady, meeting the artist, remarked: 

“I hear my portrait has been exhibited everywhere and become famous.”

“Sh-sh-sh!” he said.  “So it has, my dear Lady Archibald, but every discretion has been exercised that Lord Archibald could desire.  Your name is not mentioned.  The portrait is known as ’The Yellow Buckskin.’”

* * * * *

Carlyle told Whistler he liked his portrait because the painter had given him “clean linen.”  Watts had made his collar green in a previous portrait.

* * * * *

Sitting wearied Carlyle.  One day as he left the studio he met little Miss Alexander tripping in for her turn, and asked her name.

“I am Miss Alexander,” she said, “and I am going to have my portrait painted.”

“Puir lassie, puir lassie,” murmured the old philosopher, pityingly.

* * * * *

Whistler’s interest was aroused when the Cyclopeans were building the Savoy Hotel.  “Hurry!” he said.  “Where are my things?  I must catch that now, for it will never again be so beautiful.”

* * * * *

His model once asked him: 

“Where were you born?”