Man Proposes, but God Disposes.
It may not be generally known that but for one of those accidents which seem to be almost a direct interposition of Providence, Prof. Morse, the originator of the magnetic telegraph, might have been now an artist instead of the inventor of the telegraph, and that agent of civilization be either unknown or just discovered. We publish from Tuckerman's "Book of the Artists" just from the press of G. P. Putnam & Son, the following reminiscence of Prof. Morse:
"A striking evidence of the waywardness of destiny is afforded by the experience of this artist, if we pass at once from this early and hopeful moment to a more recent incident. He then aimed at renown through devotion to the beautiful; but it would seem as if the genius of his country, in spite of himself, led him to this object, by the less flowery path of utility. He desired to identify his name with art, but it has become far more widely associated with science. A series of bitter disappointments obliged him to "coin his mind for bread", for a long period, of exclusive attention to portrait painting, although, at rare intervals, he accomplished something more satisfactory. More than thirty years since, on a voyage from Europe, in a conversation with his fellow passengers, the theme of discourse happened to be the electromagnet; and one gentleman present related some experiments he had lately witnessed at Paris, which proved the almost incalculable rapidity of movement with which electricity was disseminated. The idea suggested itself to the active mind of the artist, that this wonderful and but partially explored agent might be rendered subservient to that system of intercommunication which had become so important a principle of modern civilization. He brooded over the subject as he walked the deck, or lay wakeful in his berth, and by the time he arrived at New York, had so far matured his invention as to have decided upon a telegraph of signs, which is essentially that now in use. After having sufficiently demonstrated his discovery to the scientific, a long period of toil, anxiety, and suspense intervened before he obtained the requisite facilities for the establishment of the magnetic telegraph. It is now in daily operation in the United States, and its superiority over all similar inventions abroad was confirmed by the testimony of Arago and the appropriation made for its erection by the French Government.
"By one of those coincidences which would be thought appropriate for romance, but which are more common, in fact, than the unobservant are disposed to confess, these two most brilliant events in the painter's life--his first successful work of art and the triumph of his scientific discovery--were brought together, as it were, in a manner singularly fitted to impress the imagination. Six copies of his "Dying Hercules" had been made in London, and the mold was then destroyed. Four of these were distributed by the artist to academies, one he retained, and the last was given to Mr. Bulfinch, the architect of the Capitol--who was engaged at the time upon that building. After the lapse of many years, an accident ruined Morse's own copy, and a similar fate had overtaken the others, at least in America. After vain endeavors to regain one of these trophies of his youthful career, he at length despaired of seeing again what could not fail to be endeared to his memory by the most interesting associations. One day he was superintending the preparations for the first establishment of his telegraph in the room assigned at the Capitol. His perseverence and self-denying labor had at length met its just reward, and he was taking the first active step to obtain a substantial benefit from his invention. It became necessary in locating the wires, to descend into a vault beneath the apartment, which had not been opened for a long period. A man preceded the artist with a lamp. As they passed along the subterranean chamber the latter's attention was excited by something white glimmering through the darkness. In approaching the object, what was his surprise to find himself gazing upon his long-lost Hercules, which he had not seen for twenty years. A little reflection explained the apparent miracle. This was undoubtedly the copy given to his deceased friend, the architect, and temporarily deposited in the vault for safety, and undiscovered after his death.