this argument?

"By the way, Mr. Allston has just published a volume of poems, a copy of
which I will endeavor to send you. They are but just published, so that
the opinion of the public is not yet ascertained, but there is no doubt
they will forever put at rest the calumny that America has never produced
a poet.

"I have lately been enquiring for the coat-of-arms which belongs to the
Morse family. For this purpose I wish to know from what part of this
Kingdom the Morses emigrated, and if you can recollect anything that
belongs to the arms. If you will answer these questions minutely, I can,
for half a crown, ascertain the arms and crest which belong to the
family, which (as there is a degree of importance attached to heraldry in
this country) may be well to know. I have seen the arms of one Morse
which have been in the family three hundred years. So we can trace our
antiquity as far as any family."

A letter from a college-mate, Mr. Joseph Hillhouse, written in Boston on
July 12, 1813, gives a pretty picture of Morse's home, and contains some
quaint gossip which I shall transcribe:--

"On Saturday afternoon the beauty of the weather invited my cousin
Catherine Borland, my sister Mary (who is here on a visit), and myself to
take a walk over to Charlestown for the purpose of paying a visit to your
good parents. We found them just preparing tea, and at once concluded to
join the family party.

"Present to the eye of your fancy the closing-in of a fine, blue-skied,
sunny American Saturday evening, whose tranquillity and repose rendered
it the fit precursor of the Sabbath. Imagine the tea-table placed in your
sitting-parlor, all the windows open, and round it, first, the
housekeeper pouring out tea; next her, Miss C. Borland; next her, your
mother, whose looks spoke love as often as you were mentioned, and that
was not infrequently, I assure you. On your mother's right sat my sister,
next whom was your father in his long green-striped study gown, his
apostolic smile responding to the eye of your mother when his dear son
was his theme. I was placed (and an honorable post I considered it) at
his right hand.

"There the scene for you. Can you paint it? Neither of your brothers was
at home....

"In home news we have little variety. The sister of your quondam flame,
Miss Ann Hart, bestowed her hand last winter on Victory as personified in
our little fat captain, Isaac Hull, who is now reposing in the shade of
his laure