red dollars of this sum I had already
laid aside, when an article in the New York 'Mirror,' of the 16th
October, determined me at once to commence the refunding of the sums
received."

What the substance of the article in the "Mirror" was, I do not know, but
it was probably one of those scurrilous and defamatory attacks, from many
of which he suffered in common with other persons of prominence, and
which was called forth, perhaps, by his activity in the politics of the
day.

That I have not exaggerated in saying that he was almost on the verge of
starvation during these dark years is evidenced by the following word
picture from the pen of General Strother, of Virginia, known in the world
of literature under the pen name of "Porte Crayon":--

"I engaged to become Morse's pupil, and subsequently went to New York and
found him in a room in University Place. He had three other pupils, and I
soon found that our professor had very little patronage. I paid my fifty
dollars that settled for one quarter's instruction. Morse was a faithful
teacher, and took as much interest in our progress--more indeed than--we
did ourselves. But he was very poor. I remember that when my second
quarter's pay was due my remittance from home did not come as expected,
and one day the professor came in and said, courteously:--

"'Well, Strother my boy, how are we off for money?'

"'Why, Professor,' I answered, 'I am sorry to say I have been
disappointed; but I expect a remittance next week.'

"'Next week!' he repeated sadly. 'I shall be dead by that time.'

"'Dead, Sir?'

"'Yes, dead by starvation.'

"I was distressed and astonished. I said hurriedly:--

"'Would ten dollars be of any service?'

"'Ten dollars would save my life; that is all it would do.'

"I paid the money, all that I had, and we dined together. It was a modest
meal but good, and, after he had finished, he said:--

"'This is my first meal for twenty-four hours. Strother, don't be an
artist. It means beggary. Your life depends upon people who know nothing
of your art and care nothing for you. A house-dog lives better, and the
very sensitiveness that stimulates an artist to work keeps him alive to
suffering.'"

Another artist describes the conditions in 1841 in the following words:--

"In the spring of 18411 was searching for a studio in which to set up my
easel. My 'house-hunting' ended at the New York University, where I found
what I wanted in one of the turrets of t