nd colors well. His drawing is capable of much
improvement, but he is anxious to place himself at the head of his
profession, and, with a little judicious encouragement, will probably
succeed. That patient industry which has in all ages characterized the
masters of the art, he will find it to his interest to apply to his
studies the farther he advances in them. His success has been moderately
good. If he could sell the pictures he has on hand, the avails would
probably pay his way into France."

Referring to these letters the father, writing on January 25, 1815,
says:--

"We have had letters from Dr. Romeyn and Mr. Van Schaick concerning you
which have comforted us much. Since receiving them we don't know but we
have expressed ourselves, in our letters in answer to your last, a little
stronger than we ought in regard to your _political_ feelings and
conduct. I find others who have returned feel pretty much as you do. But
it should be remembered that your situation as an artist is different
from theirs. It is your wisdom to leave politics to politicians and be
solely the artist. But if you are in France these cautions will probably
not be necessary, as you will have no temptation to enter into any
political discussions."

On the 3d of February, 1815, Morse, in writing to his parents, has a very
sad piece of news to communicate to them:--

"I write in great haste and much agitation. Mrs. Allston, the wife of our
beloved friend, died last evening, and the event overwhelmed us all in
the utmost sorrow. As for Mr. Allston, for several hours after the death
of his wife he was almost bereft of reason. Mr. Leslie and I are applying
our whole attention to him, and we have so far succeeded as to see him
more composed."

This was a terrible grief to all the little coterie of friends, for whom
the Allston house had been a home. One of them, Mr. J.J. Morgan, in a
long letter to Morse written from Wiltshire, thus expresses himself:--

"Gracious God! unsearchable, indeed, are thy ways! The insensible, the
brutish, the wicked are powerful and everywhere, in everything
successful; while Allston, who is everything that is amiable, kind, and
good, has been bruised, blow after blow, and now, indeed, his cup is
full. I am too unwell, too little recovered from the effect of your
letter, to write much. Coleridge intends writing to-day; I hope he will.
Allston may derive some little relief from knowing how much his friends
partake of hi