“’There is a young artist called Whistler,
Who in every respect is a bristler;
A tube of white lead
Or a punch on the head
Come equally handy to Whistler.’”

On one occasion a woman said to Whistler: 

“I just came up from the country this morning along the Thames, and there was an exquisite haze in the atmosphere which reminded me so much of some of your little things.  It was really a perfect series of Whistlers.”

“Yes, madam,” responded Whistler, gravely.  “Nature is creeping up.”

* * * * *

Richard A. Canfield, who sat for the portrait now called “His Reverence,” though Canfield was something quite unclerical, recites: 

“After I had my first sitting on New Year’s Day, 1903, I saw Whistler every day until the day I sailed for New York, which was on May 16th.  He was not able to work, however, on all those days.  In fact, there were days at a time when he could do nothing but lie on a couch and talk, as only Whistler could talk, about those things which interested him.  It was mostly of art and artists that he conversed, but now and again he would revert to his younger days at home, to the greatness to which the republic had attained, and to his years at West Point.

“In spite of all that has been said of him, I know that James McNeill Whistler was one of the intensest Americans who ever lived.  He was not what you call an enthusiastic man, but when he reverted to the old days at the Military Academy his enthusiasm was infectious.  I think he was really prouder of the years he spent there—­three, I think they were—­than any other years of his life.  He never tired of telling of the splendid men and soldiers his classmates turned out to be, and he has often said to me that the American army officer trained at West Point was the finest specimen of manhood and of honor in the world.

“It was in this way that I spent every afternoon with Whistler from New Year’s until May 15th, the day before I sailed.  When he was able to work I would sit as I was told, and then he would paint, sometimes an hour, sometimes three.  At other times he would lie on the couch and ask me to sit by and talk to him.  On the morning of the day of the last sitting he sent me a note asking me to take luncheon with him, and Adding that he felt quite himself and up to plenty of work.

“So I went around to his studio, and he painted until well into the late afternoon.  When he was done he said that with a touch or two here and there the picture might be considered finished.  Then he added: 

“’You are going home to-morrow, to my home as well as yours, and you won’t be coming back till the autumn.  I’ve just been thinking that maybe you had better take the picture along with you.  His Reverence will do very well as he is, and maybe there won’t be any work in me when you come back.  I believe I would rather like to think of you having this clerical gentleman in your collection, for I have a notion that it’s the best work I have done.’