On going home to Charlestown, he attended a course of anatomical and surgical lectures in Boston. Washington Allston, then at the head of his profession in America, had spent two years in Boston, and was about to return to Europe. Morse went with him and took lodgings in London. At once he wrote home, "I only wish you had this letter now to relieve your minds from anxiety, for while I am writing I can imagine mother wishing that she could hear of my arrival, and thinking of thousands of accidents which may have befallen me. I wish that in an instant I could communicate the information; but three thousand miles are not passed over in an instant, and we must wait four long weeks before we can hear from each other."
On the outside of this letter, yellow with age, he wrote toward the end of his life, "LONGING FOR A TELEGRAPH EVEN IN THIS LETTER."
In London he soon met Benjamin West, born in Springfield, Penn., then at the head of the Royal Academy in England. He had been poor and obscure; now he was distinguished, and courted even by royalty. Morse, ever ambitious, soon arranged to study under West, and became his devoted admirer. He wrote home: "Mr. West is in his seventy-fourth year, but to see him you would suppose him only about five-and-forty.... He expressed great attachment to his native country, and he told me, as a proof of it, he presented them with this large picture ('Christ Healing the Sick'). I walked through his gallery of paintings of his own production. There were upwards of two hundred, consisting principally of the original sketches of his large pieces. He has painted in all upward of six hundred pictures, which is more than any artist ever did, with the exception of Rubens. Mr. West is so industrious now that it is hard to get access to him, and then only between the hours of nine and ten in the morning. He is working on eight or nine different pieces at present, and seems to be more enthusiastic than he ever was before.... No man, perhaps, ever passed through so much abuse, and I am confident no one ever bore up against its insolence with more nobleness of spirit. With a steady perseverance in the pursuit of the sublimest profession, he has travelled on, heedless of his enemies, till he is sure of immortality.
"Excuse my fervor in the praise of this extraordinary man.... I think there can be no stronger proof that human nature is the same always, than that men of genius in all ages have been compelled to undergo the same disappointments, and to pass through the same storms of calumny and abuse, doomed in their lifetime to endure the ridicule or neglect of the world, and to wait for justice till they were dead."
How well, unknowingly, Morse foretold his own career; disappointments, abuse, ridicule!
Stimulated by the industry and renown of West, he worked at his drawing from half-past seven in the forenoon until five in the afternoon, and then again in the evening. He learned what all persons learn, sooner or later, that there is no easy road to fame.
West encouraged the young artist, and this added fuel to the flame of ambition. Desiring admission to the Royal Academy, he spent two weeks in making a drawing from a small cast of the Farnese Hercules. Showing it to Mr. West for his criticism, West said, "Very well, sir, very well; go on and finish it."
"It is finished," replied Morse.
"Oh, no," said Mr. West; "look here, and here, and here."
Morse drew a week longer, and again presented it. "Very well, indeed, sir," he said; "go on and finish it."