timate. He was very glad to see me and
calls on me every day while I am painting. He keeps his carriage and
horses and is in the first circles here. I ride out occasionally with
him; shall begin his portrait next week."

Like a breath of fresh air, in all the heat and dust of these troublous
times, comes this request from his gentle mother in a letter of May 8,
1812:--

"Miss C. Dexter requests the favor of you to take a sketch of the face of
Mr. Southey and send it her. He is a favorite writer with her and she has
a great desire to see the style of his countenance. If you can get it,
enclose it in a genteel note to her with a brief account of him, his age
and character, etc."

The next letter of May 25, 1812, is from Morse to his parents.

"I have told you in former letters that my lodgings are at 82 Great
Titchfield Street and that my room-mate is Leslie, the young man who is
so much talked of in Philadelphia. We have lived together since December
and have not, as yet, had a falling out. I find his thoughts of art agree
perfectly with my own. He is enthusiastic and so am I, and we have not
time, scarcely, to think of anything else; everything we do has a
reference to art, and all our plans are for our mutual advancement in it.
Our amusements are walking, _occasionally_ attending the theatres, and
the company of Mr. Allston and a few other gentlemen, consisting of three
or four painters and poets. We meet by turn at each other's rooms and
converse and laugh.

"Mr. Allston is our most intimate friend and companion. I can't feel too
grateful to Him for his attentions to me; he calls every day and
superintends all we are doing. When I am at a stand and perplexed in some
parts of the picture, he puts me right and encourages me to proceed by
praising those parts which he thinks good, but he is faithful and always
tells me when anything is bad.

"It is a mortifying thing sometimes to me, when I have been painting all
day very hard and begin to be pleased with what I have done, on showing
it to Mr. Allston, with the expectation of praise, and not only of praise
but a score of 'excellents,' 'well dones,' and 'admirables'; I say it is
mortifying to hear him after a long silence say: 'Very bad, sir; that is
not flesh, it is mud, sir; it is painted with brick dust and clay.'

"I have felt sometimes ready to dash my palette knife through it and to
feel at the moment quite angry with him; but a little reflection restores
me