* * * * *
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?"
"I never was born, my child; I came from on high."