Samuel F. B. Morse, His Letters and Journals / In Two Volumes, Volume I.

by Samuel Finley Breese Morse

JANUARY 4, 1825—NOVEMBER 18, 1825

Success in New York.—Chosen to paint portrait of Lafayette.—Hope of a permanent home with his family.—Meets Lafayette in Washington.—Mutually attracted.—Attends President's levee.—Begins portrait of Lafayette.— Death of his wife.—Crushed by the news.—His attachment to her.—Epitaph composed by Benjamin Silliman.—Bravely takes up his work again.— Finishes portrait of Lafayette.—Describes it in letter of a later date. —Sonnet on death of Lafayette's dog.—Rents a house in Canal Street, New York.—One of the founders of National Academy of Design.—Tactful resolutions on organization.—First thirty members.—Morse elected first president.—Reëlected every year until 1845.—Again made president in 1861.—Lectures on Art.—Popularity.

It is a commonly accepted belief that a particularly fine, clear day is apt to be followed by a storm. Meteorologists can probably give satisfactory scientific reasons for this phenomenon, but, be that as it may, how often do we find a parallel in human affairs. A period of prosperity and happiness in the life of a man or of a nation is almost invariably followed by calamities, small or great; but, fortunately for individuals and for nations, the converse is also true. The creeping pendulum of fate, pausing for an instant at its highest point, dips down again to gather impetus for a higher swing.

And so it was with Morse. Fate was preparing for him a heavy blow, one of the tragedies of his eventful life, and, in order to hearten him for the trial, to give him strength to bear up under it, she cheered his professional path with the sun of prosperity.

Writing to his wife from New York on January 4, 1825, he says:—

"You will rejoice with me, I know, in my continued and increasing success. I have just learned in confidence, from one of the members of the committee of the corporation appointed to procure a full-length portrait of Lafayette, that they have designated me as the painter of it, and that a subcommittee was appointed to wait on me with the information. They will probably call to-morrow, but, until it is thus officially announced to me, I wish the thing kept secret, except to the family, until I write you more definitely on the subject, which I will do the moment the terms, etc., are settled with the committee.

"I shall probably be under the necessity of going to Washington to take it immediately (the corporation, of course, paying my expenses). But of this in my next."

"January 6, 1825. I have been officially notified of my appointment to paint the full-length portrait of Lafayette for the City of New York, so that you may make it as public as you please.

"The terms are not definitely settled; the committee is disposed to be very liberal. I shall have at least seven hundred dollars—probably one thousand. I have to wait until an answer can be received from Washington, from Lafayette to know when he can see me. The answer will arrive probably on Wednesday morning; after that I can determine what to do about going on.

"The only thing I fear is that it is going to deprive me of my dear Lucretia. Recollect the old lady's saying, often quoted by mother, 'There is never a convenience but there ain't one'; I long to see you."

It was well for the young man that he did not realize how dreadfully his jesting fears were to be realized.

Further on he says: "I have made an arrangement with Mr. Durand to have an engraving of Lafayette's portrait. I receive half the profits. Vanderlyn, Sully, Peale, Jarvis, Waldo, Inman, Ingham, and some others were my competitors in the application for this picture."

"January 8. Your letter of the 5th I have just received, and one from the committee of medical students engaging me to paint Dr. Smith's portrait for them when I come to New Haven. They are to give me one hundred dollars. I have written them that I should be in New Haven by the 1st of February, or, at farthest, by the 6th; so that it is only prolonging for a little longer, my dear wife, the happy meeting which I anticipated for the 25th of this month. Events are not under our own control.

"When I consider how wonderfully things are working for the promotion of the great and long-desired event—that of being constantly with my dear family—all unpleasant feelings are absorbed in this joyful anticipation, and I look forward to the spring of the year with delightful prospects of seeing my dear family permanently settled with me in our own hired house here. There are more encouraging prospects than I can trust to paper at present which must be left for your private ear, and which in magnitude are far more valuable than any encouragement yet made known to me. Let us look with thankful hearts to the Giver of all these blessings."

"Washington, February 8, 1825. I arrived safely in this city last evening. I find I have no time to lose, as the Marquis will leave here the 23d. I have seen him and am to breakfast with him to-morrow, and to commence his portrait. If he allows me time sufficient I have no fear as to the result. He has a noble face. In this I am disappointed, for I had heard that his features were not good. On the contrary, if there is any truth in expression of character, there never was a more perfect example of accordance between the face and the character. He has all that noble firmness and consistency, for which he has been so distinguished, strongly indicated in his whole face.

"While he was reading my letters I could not but call to mind the leading events of his truly eventful life. 'This is the man now before me, the very man,' thought I, 'who suffered in the dungeon of Olmütz; the very man who took the oaths of the new constitution for so many millions, while the eyes of thousands were fixed upon him (and which is so admirably described in the Life which I read to you just before I left home); the very man who spent his youth, and his fortune, and his time, to bring about (under Providence) our happy Revolution; the friend and companion of Washington, the terror of tyrants, the firm and consistent supporter of liberty, the man whose beloved name has rung from one end of this continent to the other, whom all flock to see, whom all delight to honor; this is the man, the very identical man!' My feelings were almost too powerful for me as I shook him by the hand and received the greeting of—'Sir, I am exceedingly happy in your acquaintance, and especially on such an occasion.'"

Thus began an acquaintance which ripened into warm friendship between Morse and Lafayette, and which remained unbroken until the death of the latter.

"February 10, 1825. I went last night to the President's levee, the last which Mr. Monroe will hold as President of the United States. There was a great crowd and a great number of distinguished characters, among whom were General Lafayette; the President-elect, J.Q. Adams; Mr. Calhoun, the Vice-President elect; General Jackson, etc. I paid my respects to Mr. Adams and congratulated him on his election. He seemed in some degree to shake off his habitual reserve, and, although he endeavored to suppress his feelings of gratification at his success, it was not difficult to perceive that he felt in high spirits on the occasion. General Jackson went up to him and, shaking him by the hand, congratulated him cordially on his election. The General bears his defeat like a man, and has shown, I think, by this act a nobleness of mind which will command the respect of those who have been most opposed to him.

"The excitement (if it may be called such) on this great question in Washington is over, and everything is moving on in its accustomed channel again. All seem to speak in the highest terms of the order and decorum preserved through the whole of this imposing ceremony, and the good feeling which seems to prevail, with but trivial exceptions, is thought to augur well in behalf of the new administration."

(There was no choice by the people in the election of that year, and John
Quincy Adams had been chosen President by a vote of the House of
Representatives.)

"I went last night in a carriage with four others—Captain Chauncey of the navy; Mr. Cooper, the celebrated author of the popular American novels; Mr. Causici (pronounced Cau-see-chee), the sculptor; and Mr. Owen, of Lanark, the celebrated philanthropist.

"Mr. Cooper remarked that we had on board a more singularly selected company, he believed, than any carriage at the door of the President, namely, a misanthropist (such he called Captain Chauncey, brother of the Commodore), a philanthropist (Mr. Owen), a painter (myself), a sculptor (Mr. Causici), and an author (himself).

"The Mr. Owen mentioned above is the very man I sometimes met at Mr. Wilberforce's in London, and who was present at the interesting scene I have often related that occurred at Mr. Wilberforce's. He recollected the circumstance and recognized me, as I did him, instantly, although it is twelve years ago.

"I am making progress with the General, but am much perplexed for want of time; I mean his time. He is so harassed by visitors and has so many letters to write that I find it exceedingly difficult to do the subject justice. I give him the last sitting in Washington to-morrow, reserving another sitting or two when he visits New York in July next. I have gone on thus far to my satisfaction and do not doubt but I shall succeed entirely, if I am allowed the requisite number of sittings. The General is very agreeable. He introduced me to his son by saying: 'This is Mr. Morse, the painter, the son of the geographer; he has come to Washington to take the topography of my face.' He thinks of visiting New Haven again when he returns from Boston. He regretted not having seen more of it when he was there, as he was much pleased with the place. He remembers Professor Silliman and others with great affection.

"I have left but little room in this letter to express my affection for my dearly loved wife and children; but of that I need not assure them. I long to hear from you, but direct your letters next to New York, as I shall probably be there by the end of next week, or the beginning of the succeeding one.

"Love to all the family and friends and neighbors. Your affectionate husband, as ever."

Alas! that there should have been no telegraph then to warn the loving husband of the blow which Fate had dealt him.

As he was light-heartedly attending the festivities at the White House, and as he was penning these two interesting letters to his wife, letters which she never read, and anticipating with keenest pleasure a speedy reunion, she lay dead at their home in New Haven.

His father thus conveys to him the melancholy intelligence:—

"February 8th, 1825. My affectionately beloved Son,—Mysterious are the ways of Providence. My heart is in pain and deeply sorrowful while I announce to you the sudden and unexpected death of your dear and deservedly loved wife. Her disease proved to be an affection of the heart—incurable, had it been known. Dr. Smith's letter, accompanying this, will explain all you will desire to know on this subject.

"I wrote you yesterday that she was convalescent. So she then appeared and so the doctor pronounced. She was up about five o'clock yesterday P.M. to have her bed made as usual; was unusually cheerful and social; spoke of the pleasure of being with her dear husband in New York ere long; stepped into bed herself, fell back with a momentary struggle on her pillow, her eyes were immediately fixed, the paleness of death overspread her countenance, and in five minutes more, without the slightest motion, her mortal life terminated.

"It happened that just at this moment I was entering her chamber door with Charles in my arms, to pay her my usual visit and to pray with her. The nurse met me affrighted, calling for help. Your mother, the family, our neighbors, full of the tenderest sympathy and kindness, and the doctors thronged the house in a few minutes. Everything was done that could be done to save her life, but her 'appointed time' had come, and no earthly power or skill could stay the hand of death.

"It was the Lord who gave her to you, the chiefest of all your earthly blessings, and it is He that has taken her away, and may you be enabled, my son, from the heart to say: 'Blessed be the name of the Lord.'… The shock to the whole family is far beyond, in point of severity, that of any we have ever before felt, but we are becoming composed, we hope on grounds which will prove solid and lasting.

"I expect this will reach you on Saturday, the day after the one we have appointed for the funeral, when you will have been in Washington a week and I hope will have made such progress in your business as that you will soon be able to return….

"You need not hurry home. Nothing here requires it. We are all well and everything will be taken good care of. Give yourself no concern on that account. Finish your business as well as you will be able to do it after receiving this sad news."

This blow was an overwhelming one. He could not, of course, compose himself sufficiently to continue his work on the portrait of Lafayette, and, having apprised the General of the reason for this, he received from the following sympathetic letter:—

I have feared to intrude upon you, my dear sir, but want to tell you how deeply I sympathize in your grief—a grief of which nobody can better than me appreciate the cruel feelings.

You will hear from me, as soon as I find myself again near you, to finish the work you have so well begun.

Accept my affectionate and mournful sentiment.

LAFAYETTE.

The day after he received his father's letter he left Washington and wrote from Baltimore, where he stopped over Sunday with a friend, on February 13:—

MY DEAR FATHER,—The heart-rending tidings which you communicated reached me in Washington on Friday evening. I left yesterday morning, spend this day here at Mr. Cushing's, and set out on my return home to-morrow. I shall reach Philadelphia on Monday night, New York on Tuesday night, and New Haven on Wednesday night.

Oh! is it possible, is it possible? Shall I never see my dear wife again?

But I cannot trust myself to write on this subject. I need your prayers and those of Christian friends to God for support. I fear I shall sink under it.

Oh! take good care of her dear children.

Your agonized son,
FINLEY.

Another son had been born to him on January 20, 1825, and he was now left with three motherless children to provide for, and without the sustaining hope of a speedy and permanent reunion with them and with his beloved wife.

Writing to a friend more than a month after the death of his wife, he says:—

"Though late in performing the promise I made you of writing you when I arrived home, I hope you will attribute it to anything but forgetfulness of that promise. The confusion and derangement consequent on such an afflicting bereavement as I have suffered have rendered it necessary for me to devote the first moments of composure to looking about me, and to collecting and arranging the fragments of the ruin which has spread such desolation over all my earthly prospects.

"Oh! what a blow! I dare not yet give myself up to the full survey of its desolating effects. Every day brings to my mind a thousand new and fond connections with dear Lucretia, all now ruptured. I feel a dreadful void, a heart-sickness, which time does not seem to heal but rather to aggravate.

"You know the intensity of the attachment which existed between dear Lucretia and me, never for a moment interrupted by the smallest cloud; an attachment founded, I trust, in the purest love, and daily strengthening by all the motives which the ties of nature and, more especially, of religion, furnish.

"I found in dear Lucretia everything I could wish. Such ardor of affection, so uniform, so unaffected, I never saw nor read of but in her. My fear with regard to the measure of my affection toward her was not that I might fail of 'loving her as my own flesh,' but that I should put her in the place of Him who has said, 'Thou shalt have no other Gods but me.' I felt this to be my greatest danger, and to be saved from this idolatry was often the subject of my earnest prayers.

"If I had desired anything in my dear Lucretia different from what she was, it would have been that she had been less lovely. My whole soul seemed wrapped up in her; with her was connected all that I expected of happiness on earth. Is it strange, then, that I now feel this void, this desolateness, this loneliness, this heart-sickness; that I should feel as if my very heart itself had been torn from me?

"To any one but those who knew dear Lucretia what I have said might seem to be but the extravagance of an excited imagination; but to you, who knew the dear object I lament, all that I have said must but feebly shadow her to your memory."

[Illustration: STUDY FOR PORTRAIT OF LAFAYETTE
Now in New York Public Library]

It was well for him that he found constant occupation for his hand and brain at this critical period of his life. The Fates had dealt him this cruel blow for some good reason best known to themselves. He was being prepared for a great mission, and it was meet that his soul, like gold, should be purified by fire; but, at the same time, that the blow might not utterly overwhelm him, success in his chosen profession seemed again to be within his grasp.

Writing to his parents from New York, on April 8, 1825, he says:—

"I have as much as I can do, but after being fatigued at night and having my thoughts turned to my irreparable loss, I am ready almost to give up. The thought of seeing my dear Lucretia, and returning home to her, served always to give me fresh courage and spirits whenever I felt worn down by the labors of the day, and now I hardly know what to substitute in her place.

"To my friends here I know I seem to be cheerful and happy, but a cheerful countenance with me covers an aching heart, and often have I feigned a more than ordinary cheerfulness to hide a more than ordinary anguish.

"I am blessed with prosperity in my profession. I have just received another commission from the corporation of the city to paint a common-sized portrait of Rev. Mr. Stanford for them, to be placed in the almshouse."

The loss of his young wife was the great tragedy of Morse's life. Time, with her soothing touch, healed the wound, but the scar remained. Hers must have been, indeed, a lovely character. Professor Benjamin Silliman, Sr., one of her warmest friends, composed the epitaph which still remains inscribed upon her tombstone in the cemetery at New Haven. (See opposite page.)

IN MEMORY OF LUCRETIA PICKERING WIFE OF SAMUEL F.B. MORSE WHO DIED 7TH OF FEBRUARY A.D. 1825, AGED 25 YEARS.

SHE COMBINED, IN HER CHARACTER AND PERSON, A RARE ASSEMBLAGE OF EXCELLENCES: BEAUTIFUL IN FORM, FEATURES AND EXPRESSION PECULIARLY BLAND IN HER MANNERS, HIGHLY CULTIVATED IN MIND, SHE IRRESISTIBLY DREW ATTENTION, LOVE, AND RESPECT; DIGNIFIED WITHOUT HAUGHTINESS, AMIABLE WITHOUT TAMENESS, FIRM WITHOUT SEVERITY, AND CHEERFUL WITHOUT LEVITY, HER UNIFORM SWEETNESS OF TEMPER SPREAD PERPETUAL SUNSHINE AROUND EVERY CIRCLE IN WHICH SHE MOVED. "WHEN THE EAR HEARD HER IT BLESSED HER, WHEN THE EYE SAW HER IT GAVE WITNESS TO HER." IN SUFFERINGS THE MOST KEEN, HER SERENITY OF MIND NEVER FAILED HER; DEATH TO HER HAD NO TERRORS, THE GRAVE NO GLOOM. THOUGH SUDDENLY CALLED FROM EARTH, ETERNITY WAS NO STRANGER TO HER THOUGHTS, BUT A WELCOME THEME OF CONTEMPLATION. RELIGION WAS THE SUN THAT ILLUMINED EVERY VIRTUE, AND UNITED ALL IN ONE BOW OF BEAUTY. HERS WAS THE RELIGION OF THE GOSPEL; JESUS CHRIST HER FOUNDATION, THE AUTHOR AND FINISHER OF HER FAITH. IN HIM SHE RESTS, IN SURE EXPECTATION OF A GLORIOUS RESURRECTION.

With a heavy heart, but bravely determining not to be overwhelmed by this crushing blow, Morse took up his work again. He finished the portrait of Lafayette, and it now hangs in the City Hall in New York. Writing of it many years later to a gentleman who had made some enquiries concerning it, he says:—

"In answer to yours of the 8th instant, just received, I can only say it is so long since I have seen the portrait I painted of General Lafayette for the City of New York, that, strange to say, I find it difficult to recall even its general characteristics.

"That portrait has a melancholy interest for me, for it was just as I had commenced the second sitting of the General at Washington that I received the stunning intelligence of Mrs. Morse's death, and was compelled abruptly to suspend the work. I preserve, as a gratifying memorial, the letter of condolence and sympathy sent in to me at the time by the General, and in which he speaks in flattering terms of the promise of the portrait as a likeness.

"I must be frank, however, in my judgment of my own works of that day. This portrait was begun under the sad auspices to which I have alluded, and, up to the close of the work, I had a series of constant interruptions of the same sad character. A picture painted under such circumstances can scarcely be expected to do the artist justice, and as a work of art I cannot praise it. Still, it is a good likeness, was very satisfactory to the General, and he several times alluded to it in my presence in after years (when I was a frequent visitor to him in Paris) in terms of praise.

"It is a full-length, standing figure, the size of life. He is represented as standing at the top of a flight of steps, which he has just ascended upon a terrace, the figure coming against a glowing sunset sky, indicative of the glory of his own evening of life. Upon his right, if I remember, are three pedestals, one of which is vacant as if waiting for his bust, while the two others are surmounted by the busts of Washington and Franklin—the two associated eminent historical characters of his own time. In a vase on the other side is a flower-the helianthus—with its face toward the sun, in allusion to the characteristic stern, uncompromising consistency of Lafayette-a trait of character which I then considered, and still consider, the great prominent trait of that distinguished man."

Morse, like many men who have excelled in one branch of the fine arts, often made excursions into one of the others. I find among his papers many scraps of poetry and some more ambitious efforts, and while they do not, perhaps, entitle him to claim a poet's crown, some of them are worthy of being rescued from oblivion. The following sonnet was sent to Lafayette under the circumstances which Morse himself thus describes:—

"Written on the loss of a faithful dog of Lafayette's on board the steamboat which sank in the Mississippi. The dog, supposing his master still on board, could not be persuaded to leave the cabin, but perished with the vessel.

"Lost, from thy care to know thy master free
Can we thy self-devotion e'er forget?
'Twas kindred feeling in a less degree
To that which thrilled the soul of Lafayette.
He freely braved our storms, our dangers met,
Nor left the ship till we had 'scaped the sea.
Thine was a spark of noble feeling bright
Caught from the fire that warms thy master's heart.
His was of Heaven's kindling, and no small part
Of that pure fire is His. We hail the light
Where'er it shines, in heaven, in man, in brute;
We hail that sacred light howe'er minute,
Whether its glimmering in thy bosom rest
Or blaze full orb'd within thy master's breast."

This was sent to General Lafayette on the 4th of July, 1825, accompanied by the following note:—

"In asking your acceptance of the enclosed poetic trifle, I have not the vanity to suppose it can contribute much to your gratification; but if it shall be considered as an endeavor to show to you some slight return of gratitude for the kind sympathy you evinced towards me at a time of deep affliction, I shall have attained my aim. Gladly would I offer to you any service, but, while a whole nation stands waiting to answer the expression of your smallest wish, my individual desire to serve you can only be considered as contending for a portion of that high honor which all feel in serving you."

Concealing from the world his great sorrow, and bravely striving always to maintain a cheerful countenance, Morse threw himself with energy into his work in New York, endeavoring to keep every minute occupied.

He seems to have had his little daughter with him for a while, for in a letter of March 12, 1825, occurs this sentence: "Little Susan has had the toothache once or twice, and I have promised her a doll if she would have it out to-day—I am this moment stopped by her coming in and showing me the tooth out, so I shall give her the doll."

But he soon found that it would be impossible for him to do justice to his work and at same time fulfil his duties as a parent, and for many years afterwards his motherless children found homes with different relatives, but the expense of their keep and education was always borne by their father.

On the 1st of May, 1825, he moved into new quarters, having rented an entire house at No. 20 Canal Street for the sum of four hundred dollars a year, and he says, "My new establishment will be very commodious for my professional studies, and I do not think its being so far 'up town' will, on the whole, be any disadvantage to me."

"May 26, 1825. I have at length become comfortably settled and begin to feel at home in my new establishment. All things at present go smoothly. Brother Charles Walker and Mr. Agate join with me in breakfast and tea, and we find it best for convenience, economy, and time to dine from home,—it saves the perplexity of providing marketing and the care of stores, and, besides, we think it will be more economical and the walk will be beneficial." While success in his profession seemed now assured, and while orders poured in so fast that he gladly assisted some of his less fortunate brother artists by referring his would-be patrons to them, he also took a deep interest in the general artistic movement of the time.

He was, by nature, intensely enthusiastic, and his strong personality ever impressed itself on individuals and communities with which he came in contact. He was a born leader of men, and, like so many other leaders, often so forgetful of self in his eager desire for the general good as to seriously interfere with his material prosperity. This is what happened to him now, for he gave so liberally of himself in the formation of a new artistic body in New York, and in the preparation of lectures, that he encroached seriously on time which might have been more lucratively employed.

His brother Sidney comments on this in a letter to the other brother Richard: "Finley is well and in good spirits, though not advancing very rapidly in his business. He is full of the Academy and of his lectures— can hardly talk on any other subject. I despair of ever seeing him rich or even at ease in his pecuniary circumstances from efforts of his own, though able to do it with so little effort. But he may be in a better way, perhaps, of getting a fortune in his present course than he would be in the laborious path which we are too apt to think is the only road to wealth and ultimate ease."

We have seen that Morse was one of the founders of an academy of art in Charleston, South Carolina, and we have seen that, after his departure from that city, this academy languished and died. Is it an unfair inference that, if he had remained permanently in Charleston, so sad a fate would not have overtaken the infant academy? In support of this inference we shall now see that he was largely instrumental in bringing into being an artistic association, over which he presided for many years, and which has continued to prosper until, at the present day, it is the leading artistic body in this country.

When Morse settled in New York in 1825 there existed an American Academy of Arts, of which Colonel Trumbull, the celebrated painter, was the president. While eminent as a painter, Trumbull seems to have lacked executive ability and to have been rather haughty and overbearing in his manner, for Morse found great dissatisfaction existing among the professional artists and students.

At first it was thought that, by bringing their grievances before the board of directors of the Academy, conditions might be changed, and on the 8th of November, 1825, a meeting was called in the rooms of the Historical Society, and the "New York Drawing Association" was formed, and Morse was chosen to preside over its meetings. It was not intended, at first, that this association should be a rival of the old Academy, but that it should give to its members facilities which were difficult of attainment in the Academy, and should, perhaps, force that institution to become more liberal.

It was not successful in the latter effort, for at a meeting of the Drawing Association on the evening of the 14th of January, 1825, Morse, the president, proposed certain resolutions which he introduced by the following remarks:—

"We have this evening assumed a new attitude in the community; our negotiations with the Academy are at an end; our union with it has been frustrated after every proper effort on our part to accomplish it. The two who were elected as directors from our ticket have signified their non-acceptance of the office. We are therefore left to organize ourselves on a plan that shall meet the wishes of us all.

"A plan of an institution which shall be truly liberal, which shall be mutually beneficial, which shall really encourage our respective arts, cannot be devised in a moment; it ought to be the work of great caution and deliberation and as simple as possible in its machinery. Time will be required for the purpose. We must hear from distant countries to obtain their experience, and it must necessarily be, perhaps, many months before it can be matured.

"In the mean time, however, a preparatory, simple organization can be made, and should be made as soon as possible, to prevent dismemberment, which may be attempted by outdoor influence. On this subject let us all be on our guard; let us point to our public documents to any who ask what we have done and why we have done it, while we go forward minding only our own concerns, leaving the Academy of Fine Arts as much of our thoughts as they will permit us, and, bending our attention to our own affairs, act as if no such institution existed.

"One of our dangers at present is division and anarchy from a want of organization suited to the present exigency. We are now composed of artists in the four arts of design, namely, painting, sculpture, architecture, and engraving. Some of us are professional artists, others amateurs, others students. To the professed and practical artist belongs the management of all things relating to schools, premiums, and lectures, so that amateur and student may be most profited. The amateurs and students are those alone who can contend for the premiums, while the body of professional artists exclusively judge of their rights to premiums and award them.

"How shall we first make the separation has been a question which is a little perplexing. There are none of us who can assume to be the body of artists without giving offence to others, and still every one must perceive that, to organize an academy, there must be the distinction between professional artists, amateurs who are students, and professional students. The first great division should be the body of professional artists from the amateurs and students, constituting the body who are to manage the entire concerns of the institution, who shall be its officers, etc.

"There is a method which strikes me as obviating the difficulty; place it on the broad principle of the formation of any society—universal suffrage. We are now a mixed body; it is necessary for the benefit of all that a separation into classes be made. Who shall make it?

"Why, obviously the body itself. Let every member of this association take home with him a list of all the members of it. Let each one select for himself from the whole list fifteen, whom he would call professional artists, to be the ticket which he will give in at the next meeting.

"These fifteen thus chosen shall elect not less than ten, nor more than fifteen, professional artists, in or out of the association, who shall (with the previously elected fifteen) constitute the body to be called the National Academy of the Arts of Design. To these shall be delegated the power to regulate its entire concerns, choose its members, select its students, etc.

"Thus will the germ be formed to grow up into an institution which we trust will be put on such principles as to encourage—not to depress—the arts. When this is done our body will no longer be the Drawing Association, but the National Academy of the Arts of Design, still including all the present association, but in different capacities.

"One word as to the name 'National Academy of the Arts of Design.' Any less name than 'National' would be taking one below the American Academy, and therefore is not desirable. If we were simply the 'Associated Artists,' their name would swallow us up; therefore 'National' seems a proper one as to the arts of design. These are painting, sculpture, architecture, and engraving, while the fine arts include poetry, music, landscape gardening, and the histrionic arts. Our name, therefore, expresses the entire character of our institution and that only."

From this we see that Morse's enthusiasm was tempered with tact and common sense. His proposals were received with unanimous approval, and on the 15th of January, 1826, the following fifteen were chosen:—S.F.B. Morse, Henry Inman, A.B. Durand, John Frazee, William Wall, Charles C. Ingham, William Dunlap, Peter Maverick, Ithiel Town, Thomas S. Cummings, Edward Potter, Charles C. Wright, Mosely J. Danforth, Hugh Reinagle, Gerlando Marsiglia. These fifteen professional artists added by ballot to their number the following fifteen:—Samuel Waldo, William Jewett, John W. Paradise, Frederick S. Agate, Rembrandt Peale, James Coyle, Nathaniel Rogers, J. Parisen, William Main, John Evers, Martin E. Thompson, Thomas Cole, John Vanderlyn (who declined), Alexander Anderson, D.W. Wilson.

Thus was organized the National Academy of Design. Morse was elected its first president and was annually reëlected to that office until the year 1845, when, the telegraph having now become an assured success, he felt that he could not devote the necessary time and thought to the interests of the Academy, and he insisted on retiring.

In the year 1861 he was prevailed upon by Thomas S. Cummings, one of the original academicians, but now a general, to become again the president, and he served in that office for a year. The General, in a letter to Mr. Prime in 1873, says, "and, I may add, was beloved by all."

I shall not attempt to give a detailed account of the early struggles of the Academy, closely interwoven though they be with Morse's life. Those who may be interested in the matter will find them all detailed in General Cummings' "Records of the National Academy of Design."

Morse prepared and delivered a number of lectures on various subjects pertaining to the fine arts, and most of these have been preserved in pamphlet form. In this connection I shall quote again from the letter of General Cummings before alluded to:—

"Mr. Morse's connection with the Academy was doubtless unfavorable in a pecuniary point of view; his interest in it interfering with professional practice, and the time taken to enable him to prepare his course of lectures materially contributed to favor a distribution of his labors in art to other hands, and it never fully returned to him. His 'Discourse on Academies of Art,' delivered in the chapel of Columbia College, May, 1827, will long stand as a monument of his ability in the line of art literature.

"As an historical painter Mr. Morse, after Allston, was probably the best prepared and most fully educated artist of his day, and should have received the attention of the Government and a share of the distributions in art commissions."

That his efforts were appreciated by his fellow artists and by the cultivated people of New York is thus modestly described in a letter to his parents of November 18, 1825:—

"I mentioned that reputation was flowing in upon me. The younger artists have formed a drawing association at the Academy and elected me their president. We meet in the evenings of three days in a week to draw, and it has been conducted thus far with such success as to have trebled the number of our association and excited the attention and applause of the community. There is a spirit of harmony among the artists, every one says, which never before existed in New York, and which augurs well for the success of the arts.

"The artists are pleased to attribute it to my exertions, and I find in them in consequence expressions and feelings of respect which have been very gratifying to me. Whatever influence I have had, however, in producing this pleasant state of things, I think there was the preparation in the state of mind of the artists themselves. I find a liberal feeling in the younger part of them, and a refinement of manners, which will redeem the character of art from the degradation to which a few dissipated interlopers have, temporarily, reduced it.

"A Literary Society, admission to which must be by unanimous vote, and into which many respectable literary characters of the city have been denied admission, has chosen me a member, together with Mr. Hillhouse and Mr. Bryant, poets. This indicates good feelings towards me, to say the least, and, in the end, will be of advantage, I have no doubt."