Sarah Knowles Bolton

Samuel F. B. Morse was born at the foot of Breed's Hill, Charlestown, Mass., April 27, 1791. He was the eighth child in a family of eleven children, all of whom, except three sons, Samuel, Richard, and Sidney, died in their infancy.

The father, Jedediah Morse, was a doctor of divinity, having studied under Jonathan Edwards, and was also a journalist and writer of books. He helped to establish the "Boston Recorder," now the "Congregationalist," and with others laid the foundations of the Theological Seminary at Andover, the American Board of Foreign Missions, the American Bible Society, and the American Tract Society. He was an impulsive, hopeful man of wonderful energy, and, as Daniel Webster said, he was "always thinking, always writing, always talking, always acting."

His wife, Elizabeth Ann Breese, was the granddaughter of Samuel Finley, President of Princeton College, a woman of strong will, excellent judgment, and extremely pleasant manners. From the one, the boy Finley inherited energy and hope; from the other, agreeable manners and indomitable perseverance.

[From the Portrait Gallery of Eminent Men and Women.]

At four years of age Finley was sent to a school near the parsonage, kept by "Old Ma'am Rand." Being an invalid, she governed with a long rattan which reached from her chair across the schoolroom. Finley, early developing artistic tastes, sketched the teacher's face with a pin on a chest of drawers. Probably the picture was not handsome, for the offender was punished by being pinned to her dress. Breaking away, and carrying part of the dress with him, the rattan did its appropriate work!

At seven he was sent to a school at Andover, and fitted for Phillips Academy. He received helpful letters from his father. At ten, Dr. Morse writes him: "Your natural disposition, my dear son, renders it proper for me earnestly to recommend to you to attend to one thing at a time; it is impossible that you can do two things well at the same time, and I would therefore never have you attempt it. Never undertake to do what ought not to be done, and then, whatever you undertake, endeavor to do it in the best manner. It is said of DeWitt, a celebrated statesman in Holland, who was torn to pieces in the year 1672, that he did the whole business of the republic, and yet had time left to go to assemblies in the evening, and sup in company.

"Being asked how he could possibly find time to go through so much business, and yet amuse himself in the evenings as he did, he answered: 'There was nothing so easy, for that it was only doing one thing at a time, and never putting off anything till to-morrow that could be done to-day.' This steady and undissipated attention to one object is a sure mark of a superior genius, as hurry, bustle, and agitation are the never-failing symptoms of a weak and frivolous mind."

At this early age Finley pored over Plutarch's "Lives of Illustrious Men," and resolved, as many another boy from reading these volumes, to be somebody. There is scarcely a more important thing for a child than that parents should put into his or her hands stimulating and helpful books. When Finley was thirteen, he wrote a sketch of the "Life of Demosthenes," and sent it to his father.

At fourteen he was admitted to the Freshman class at Yale, but did not attend college till the following year. He was a good scholar in geometry and history, but was especially fond of natural philosophy and chemistry. Under Professor Jeremiah Day he began to study electricity, and witnessed the following experiments with great interest: "Let the fluid pass through a chain, or through any metallic bodies placed at small distances from each other, the fluid in a dark room will be visible between the links of the chain, or between the metallic bodies.... If the circuit be interrupted by several folds of paper, a perforation will be made through it, and each of the leaves will be protruded by the stroke from the middle to the outward leaves."

Writing upon this subject sixty years afterward, Morse said, "The fact that the presence of electricity can be made visible in any desired part of the circuit was the crude seed which took root in my mind, and grew up into form, and ripened into the invention of the telegraph."

Under Professor Benjamin Silliman, a name greatly honored in science, Morse found great delight and profit. He wrote to his parents, that he should bring home "a chemical trough, gun-barrels, retorts, etc."

With this fondness for science, Morse showed a decided ability in art. He took pictures of his classmates, at one dollar each, and miniatures on ivory at five dollars each, thus helping to pay his expenses. The price charged was very low, but possibly it was all the pictures were worth, for as yet he had never taken a lesson.

Long before his college course was at an end, he had decided to become a painter, probably much against the unspoken wishes of his parents, who must have felt that poverty would be his companion, for some years, at best.

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."

"Is it not finished?" asked Morse, half discouraged.

"Not yet," said West; "see you have not marked that muscle, nor the articulations of the finger-joints."

A third time he presented the drawing, and received the same advice as before. "I cannot finish it," said Morse, despairingly.

"Well," said West, "I have tried you long enough. Now, sir, you have learned more by this drawing than you would have accomplished in double the time by a dozen half-finished beginnings. It is not numerous drawings, but the character of one, which makes a thorough draughtsman. Finish one picture, sir, and you are a painter."

Morse was now admitted to the Royal Academy, and had visions of becoming great. He writes home: "I have just finished a model in clay of a figure ('The Dying Hercules'), my first attempt at sculpture. Mr. Allston is extremely pleased with it; he says it is better than all the things I have done since I have been in England, put together, and says I must send a cast of it home to you, and that it will convince you that I shall make a painter.... Mr. West also was extremely delighted with it. He said it was not merely an academical figure, but displayed thought. He could not have paid me a higher compliment.... My passion for my art is so firmly rooted that I am confident no human power could destroy it. The more I study, the greater I think is its claim to the appellation of divine, and I never shall be able sufficiently to show my gratitude to my parents for enabling me to pursue that profession without which I am sure I should be miserable. And if it is my destiny to become GREAT, and worthy of a biographical memoir, my biographer will never be able to charge upon my parents that bigoted attachment to any individual profession, the exercise of which spirit by parents toward their children has been the ruin of some of the greatest geniuses."

The model of the "Dying Hercules" was sent to the Society of Arts at the Adelphi, and Morse received the gold medal given for the best work in painting, sculpture, and architecture.

Morse had taken letters of introduction to several prominent persons, like Wilberforce and Zachary Macaulay, the father of the historian, but he was too busy to use them. He gives another reason also—poverty. He says, "With regard to my expenses, I got through the first year with two hundred pounds, and hope the same sum will carry me through the second. If you knew the manner in which we live, you would wonder how it was possible I could have made so great a change in my habits. I am obliged to screw and pinch myself in a thousand things in which I used to indulge myself at home.... I breakfast on simple bread and butter, and two cups of coffee; I dine on either beef, mutton, or pork (veal being out of the question, as it is one shilling and six pence per pound), baked, with potatoes, warm perhaps twice a week, all the rest of the week cold; at tea, bread and butter, with two cups of tea. This is my daily round.

"I have had no new clothes for nearly a year; my best are threadbare, and my shoes are out at the toes; my stockings all want to see my mother, and my hat is growing hoary with age.... 'But,' you will say, 'what do you do with the money, if you live thus sparingly?' Why, I will tell you the whole. When I first came to London, I was told, if I meant to support the character of a gentleman, I must take especial care of my personal appearance; so I thought it a matter of course that I must spare no expense in order to appear well. So, this being first in my mind, I (supposing very wisely that London folks had nothing else to do but to see how I was dressed) laid out a considerable part of my money on myself; meanwhile, picture-galleries and collections, with many other places which I ought constantly to have visited, and which cost some money, were neglected. And why? Because I could not afford it.

"Well, in process of time, I found no very particular advantage to be gained by supporting the character of a gentleman, for these reasons: in the first place, nobody saw me; in the second place, if they had seen me, they would not have known me; and, thirdly, if they had known me, they would not have cared a farthing about me. So I thought within myself what I came to England for, and I found that it was not to please English folks, but to study painting; and, as I found I must sacrifice painting to dress and visiting, or dress and visiting to painting, I determined on the latter, and ever since have lived accordingly, and now the tables are turned. I visit galleries and collections, purchase prints, etc.; and when I am asked why I don't pay more attention to my dress, I reply that I cannot afford it."

Morse had now painted the "Death of Hercules," a large picture, eight feet by six feet and a half. The painting was received at the exhibition at Somerset House, though six hundred other works were refused. It was adjudged by the press to be one of the best nine among a thousand pictures; many of them by such men as Turner, Lawrence, and Wilkie. Surely, he had reason to be encouraged.

What little leisure Morse could obtain he spent in reading the old poets,—Spenser, Chaucer, Dante, and Tasso. He now made the acquaintance of Rogers, Coleridge, and others. Once, as he was going into the country with Coleridge, he took in the carriage Irving's "History of New York." On retiring, Coleridge took the book and began to read. Morse fell asleep, and in the morning was surprised to find the lights burning, and his friend still reading. It was now ten o'clock, and Coleridge was so absorbed that he did not know that the whole night had passed. Later, Irving and Coleridge became warm friends.

In need of money, Morse repaired to Bristol, where he spent several months, having had the promise of work; but not a single person called to look at his pictures, and not one came for a portrait. He had already been abroad four years, and now stern necessity called him home. He had just finished a large picture, "The Judgment of Jupiter in the Case of Apollo, Marpessa, and Ida," to compete for the highest prize offered by the Royal Academy for historical composition; but as he could not be present to receive the premium, he was not allowed to enter the picture. He accordingly brought it home with him, arriving in Boston October 18, 1815.

Dr. Morse had engaged a studio for his son in Boston, and the "Judgment of Jupiter" was opened for exhibition. People came, and saw, and praised, and went away without leaving any orders for pictures. A year went by, and not one person offered to buy the "Judgment of Jupiter," and not one person ordered a historical work. This was indeed discouraging to an enthusiastic artist. He began now to turn his mind toward invention, for which he had a natural tendency; and during the evenings he thought out an improvement in the common pump, one that could be adapted to the forcing-pump in the fire-engine. The pump and the "Judgment of Jupiter" certainly had not very much in common.

The patent pump was put on exhibition on Gray's Wharf in Charlestown, but it did not cause money to flow into the pockets of its inventor.

Disappointed in his art work, Morse took letters of introduction from his father to several ministers in the neighboring towns, and started out to paint portraits at fifteen dollars apiece. This was not very much better than the five-dollar miniatures on ivory while in college, especially as he had been to the expense of four years in Europe.

At Concord, N. H., he had good success, writing home that he had "painted five portraits, had two more engaged, and many more talked of." While in London he had written to his parents, "I came very near being at my old game of falling in love; but I find that love and painting are quarrelsome companions, and that the house of my heart was too small for both of them, so I have turned Mrs. Love out-of-doors. 'Time enough,' thought I (with true old-bachelor complacency), 'time enough for you these ten years to come.'"

But Morse did not wait ten years, for at twenty-four he fell in love with Lucretia P. Walker of Concord, and was engaged to her. She was not only beautiful, but of the same lovable and intellectual type as Grace Webster, who held the heart of Daniel Webster while he lived. She combined sound judgment with much tenderness of feeling. Morse was a tall, graceful, handsome young man, with blue eyes and winsome manners.

Dr. Morse and his wife at once sent for their prospective daughter to visit them. She came, and, as she pleased a mother who idolized Finley, it is safe to conclude that she was indeed lovely.

In January, 1818, having been assured that he would find work in Charleston, S. C., he sailed from New York, and met with a pleasant reception in the home of his uncle, Dr. Finley. He found the society agreeable, but month after month passed, and there was not a single request for a portrait. At last, as he was about to return to New England, he begged his uncle to sit for a painting, as a small return for his kindness. He did so, and an admirable picture resulted.

Friends came to see it. At once Charleston perceived that a real artist was in the city. He soon had one hundred and fifty orders at sixty dollars each! Hope came again to his heart; after a few months he returned to Boston, and October 1, 1818, he married Lucretia Walker.

At the request of the Common Council of Charleston, he now painted the portrait of James Monroe, then President of the United States, and a year later went again to South Carolina, leaving his wife and an infant daughter in Concord, with her parents. On his return, Dr. Morse having resigned his pastorate at Charlestown, and moved to New Haven, Ct., Finley also moved thither. Here he found delight in renewing his studies of galvanism and electricity under Professor Silliman.

Tiring of portraits, and longing for preËminence in art, he conceived the idea of a historical piece, the "House of Representatives," with eighty portraits of individual members. For this purpose he went to Washington, and began his work in earnest. He writes to his young wife: "I am up at daylight, have my breakfast and prayers over, and commence the labors of the day long before the workmen are called to work on the Capitol by the bell. This I continue unremittingly till one o'clock, when I dine in about fifteen minutes, and then pursue my labors until tea, which scarcely interrupts me, as I often have my cup of tea in one hand and pencil in the other. Between ten and eleven o'clock I retire to rest. This has been my course every day (Sundays, of course, excepted) since I have been here, making about fourteen hours study out of the twenty-four. This, you will say, is too hard, and that I shall injure my health. I can say that I never enjoyed better health, and my body, by the simple fare I live on, is disciplined to this course.... I have had a great deal of difficulty with the perspective of my picture. But I have conquered, and have accomplished my purpose. After having drawn in the greater part three times, I have as many times rubbed it all out again. I have been, several times, from daylight until eleven o'clock at night, solving a simple problem.

"How I do long to see that dear little girl of mine, and to hear her sweet prattle! Instruct her early, my dear wife, in the most important of all concerns; teach her that there is a great Father above, her obligations to him and to her Saviour. Kiss her often for papa, and tell her he will come back one of these days."

So absorbed did he become in this picture, that once he arose in the night, mistaking the light of the moon for the day, and went to his work, and another time attempted to enter the hall on Sunday, forgetting even the days of the week. When the work was finished and exhibited, everybody was too much interested in his own affairs to care about congressmen, and the picture failed to attract the public. It proved a loss pecuniarily, and was purchased by an Englishman and taken to England. Twenty-five years afterward, it was found in the third story of a store in New York, nailed against a board partition, and covered with dust. It had been sent over from London by a house which had advanced a sum of money upon it while in England. The picture afterward became the property of the artist Daniel Huntington.

Morse now went to Albany, hoping to obtain some patronage from public men. After long waiting, he writes to his wife: "I have not as yet received any application for a portrait. Many tell me I have come at the wrong time—the same tune that has been rung in my ears so long! I hope the right time will come by and by. The winter, it is said, is the proper season; but, as it is better in the South in that season, and it will be more profitable to be there, I shall give Albany a thorough trial and do my best. If I should not find enough to employ me here, I think I shall return to New York and settle there. This I had rather not do at present, but it may be the best that I can do. Roaming becomes more and more irksome. Imperious necessity alone drives me to this course. Don't think by this I am faint-hearted. I shall persevere in this course, painful as is the separation from my family, until Providence clearly points out my duty to return."

Morse now turned his attention to the invention of a machine for carving marble, from which he hoped for pecuniary success, but success did not result from it. He now went to New York to try his fortune. But things were no brighter.

He wrote to Lucretia: "My last two letters have held out to you some encouraging prospects of success here, but now they seem darkened again. I have had nothing to do this week thus far but to wait patiently. I have advertised in both of the city papers that I should remain one week to receive applications, but as yet it has produced no effect.... I sleep in my room on the floor, and put my bed out of sight during the day, as at Washington.... I have been active in calling on my friends and inviting them to my room; they have promised to come, but as yet few have called. As far as human foresight can perceive, my prospects seem gloomy indeed. The only gleam of hope—and I cannot underrate it—is from confidence in God. When I look upward, it calms my apprehensions for the future, and I seem to hear a voice saying: 'If I clothe the lilies of the field, shall I not also clothe you?' Here is my strong confidence, and I will wait patiently for the direction of Providence."

Again he writes to his wife: "My cash is almost gone, and I begin to feel some anxiety and perplexity to know what to do. I have advertised, and visited, and hinted, and pleaded, and even asked one man to sit, but all to no purpose.... My expenses, with the most rigid economy too, are necessarily great; my rent to-morrow will amount to thirty-three dollars, and I have nothing to pay it with. What can I do? I have been here five weeks, and there is not the smallest prospect now of any difference as to business."

He now attempted to obtain a situation in the legation about to be sent to Mexico. The place was promised, and Morse went to Washington, only to find that the expedition had been abandoned.

There was an occasional rift in the clouds, as when the corporation of the city of New York commissioned Morse to paint for them a portrait of General Lafayette, then in Washington, the price to be about one thousand dollars. As Sully, Peale, Inman, and other prominent artists were competitors in the application for this picture, to receive the commission was indeed an honor.

Morse now wrote cheerfully to his wife: "When I consider how wonderfully things are working for the promotion of the great and long desired event,—that of being constantly with my dear family,—all unpleasant feelings are absorbed in this joyful anticipation, and I look forward to the spring of the year with delightful prospects of seeing my dear family permanently settled with me in our own hired house here."

February 8, 1825, he wrote his wife that he had met Lafayette, "the man whose beloved name has rung from one end of this continent to the other, whom all flock to see, whom all delight to honor."

That very day a letter was penned him, not this time by the wife, but by his father. "My affectionately beloved son: Mysterious are the ways of Providence. My heart is in pain and deeply sorrowful, while I announce to you the sudden and unexpected death of your dear and deservedly loved wife. Her death proved to be an affection of the heart, incurable had it been known.... I wrote you yesterday that she was convalescent. So she then appeared and so the doctor pronounced. She was up about five o'clock yesterday afternoon, to have her bed made, as usual; was unusually cheerful and social; spoke of the pleasure of being with her dear husband in New York ere long; stepped into bed herself, fell back, with a momentary struggle, on her pillow; her eyes were immediately fixed, the paleness of death overspread her countenance, and in five minutes more, without the slightest motion, her mortal life terminated.

"It happened that, just at this moment, I was entering her chamber-door, with Charles in my arms, to pay her my usual visit, and to pray with her. The nurse met me affrighted, calling for help. Your mother, the family, and neighbors, full of the tenderest sympathy and kindness, and the doctor, thronged the house in a few minutes; everything was done that could be done, to save her life. But her appointed time had come, and no earthly skill or power could stay the hand of death. It was the Lord who gave her to you, the chiefest of all your earthly blessings, and it is he that has taken her away; and may you be enabled, my son, from the heart to say, 'Blessed be the name of the Lord!'"

The heart of Morse was well nigh broken. The woman he had idolized had gone from him in a moment. He wrote back to his father: "Oh, is it possible? is it possible? Shall I never see my dear wife again? But I cannot trust myself to write on the subject. I need your prayers, and those of Christian friends, to God for support. I fear I shall sink under it.

"Oh, take good care of her dear children!

"Your agonized son,

"Finley."

Travelling by stage, he did not reach New Haven till his wife had been buried a week. A month later he wrote to a friend: "I dare not yet give myself up to the full survey of its desolating effects; every day brings to my mind a thousand new and fond connections with dear Lucretia, all now ruptured. I feel a dreadful void, a heart-sickness, which time does not seem to heal, but rather to aggravate. You know the intensity of the attachment which existed between dear L. and me, never for a moment interrupted by the smallest cloud; an attachment founded, I trust, in the purest love, and daily strengthening by all the motives which the ties of nature and more especially of religion furnish.

"I found in dear L. everything that I could wish. Such ardor of affection, so uniform, so unaffected, I never saw nor read of, but in her. My fear with regard to the measure of my affection toward her, was not that I might fail of 'loving her as my own flesh,' but that I should put her in the place of Him who has said, 'Thou shalt have no other gods but me.' I felt this to be my greatest danger, and to be saved from this idolatry was often the subject of my earnest prayers. If I had desired anything in my dear L. different from what she was, it would have been that she had been less lovely. My whole soul seemed wrapped up in her; with her was connected all that I expected of happiness on earth."

She was but twenty-five, and had shared only the sorrows and privations of her young husband. How pitiful it seemed that she could not live to share his grand success. Whatever may come into a man's life afterwards, he never forgets an affection like this. It blossoms in the warm sunlight of his youth; it never withers, even though other flowers take root in the heart.

Truly says George Eliot: "There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and to have recovered hope."

This despair seemed to have settled upon Morse. He went back to New York, and now had plenty of work, but he said, "After being fatigued at night, and having my thoughts turned to my irreparable loss, I am ready almost to give up. The thought of seeing my dear Lucretia, and returning home to her, served always to give me fresh courage and spirits whenever I felt worn down by the labors of the day, and now I hardly know what to substitute in her place."

Hard, indeed, it seemed, that this "plenty of work" did not come in Lucretia's life-time. Why are so many of the best and sweetest things in this world a little too late in their coming? Is it because perfection attained is not best for mortals?

About this time the National Academy of Design was organized, and Morse was made president, holding this position for eighteen years, till his work on the telegraph required his whole attention. These years were extremely busy years. So numerous were his sitters, that he was obliged to send many to his artist friends. In his evenings he prepared a series of lectures on the Fine Arts, which he delivered to large and fashionable audiences at the New York AthenÆum. He also wrote at this time a life of Lucretia Maria Davidson, a young poet who died at Plattsburg, N. Y., when she was seventeen, and several pamphlets against the growing power of the Romish Church.

Four years after the death of his wife he sailed for Italy, still further to study his beloved art. In London he again met Rogers, the poet,—"he has not the proverbial lot of the poet,—he is not poor, for he is one of the wealthiest bankers, and lives in splendid style," said Morse,—Turner, "the best landscape-painter living," Irving, our secretary of legation, and other distinguished men.

For three years Morse remained in Europe, in Rome becoming the friend of Thorwaldsen, whose portrait he painted; in Florence, of Horatio Greenough, the sculptor, of James Fenimore Cooper, and many others. In Paris, Morse painted the "Gallery of the Louvre," working from nine till four daily, meeting Baron Humboldt, and receiving the cordial hospitality of General Lafayette.

October 1, 1832, he sailed from Havre, on the packet ship Sully, for New York. That passage marked an epoch not only in the life of S. F. B. Morse, but an epoch in American progress. At the dinner-table the conversation turned upon recent discoveries in electro-magnetism, and the experiments of AmpÈre with the electro-magnet. Morse said, "If the presence of electricity can be made visible in any part of the circuit," and he had seen that it could years before in the class-room at Yale College, "I see no reason why intelligence may not be transmitted instantaneously by electricity."

He thought the subject over as he walked upon the deck, and as he lay in his berth, too deeply interested to sleep. If intelligence could be transmitted, it could be recorded. He took from his pocket a note-book, and thought out his alphabet of dots and lines. He showed his sketches to his fellow-passengers,—not a wise thing, as it proved, when, later, one of the persons on board laid claim to the invention, causing some years of litigation.

When the vessel reached New York, Morse said, "Well, captain, should you hear of the telegraph one of these days as the wonder of the world, remember the discovery was made on board the good ship Sully."

Electricity had been known and studied since early times. It had been ascertained that the electric force could be stored up, as in the Leyden jar, and that it could be conducted through long metallic wires. The discovery of the Voltaic pile, or battery, in 1800, gave a great impetus to the study. Oersted of Copenhagen found that the position of the magnetic needle may be changed by the electric current, and that a magnet will induce electricity in a coil of wire. Schweigger of Halle discovered that "the deflection of the needle may be increased by coiling an insulated wire in a series of ovals or flat rings, compactly disposed, in a loop, and conducting the current around the needle from end to end." AmpÈre developed the theory of electro-magnetism, and proposed to the French Academy in 1820 a plan for a telegraph, in which there was to be a needle for each letter.

In 1827 Morse had listened to a course of lectures, given by Prof. James Freeman Dana, upon these matters, so that the subject was still fresh in his mind when he crossed the ocean in the Sully. Prof. Joseph Henry's important discoveries were also well known.

Says Prof. E. N. Horsford of Cambridge, Mass., in the admirable life of Morse written by Dr. Samuel IrenÆus Prime: "He knew generally, when he stepped on board the Sully, in 1832, that a soft-iron horseshoe-shaped bar of iron could be rendered magnetic while a current of galvanic electricity was passing through a wire wound round it; and he knew that electricity had been transmitted, apparently instantaneously, through wires of great length, by Franklin and others.... In the leisure of ship-life the idea of a recording electric telegraph seized Professor Morse's mind, and he gave expression to his conviction that it was possible. As it was possible to dispatch and to arrest the current, he conceived that some device could be found for compelling it to manifest itself by this intermittent action, and produce a record.

"He knew, for he had witnessed it years before, that by means of a battery and an electro-magnet reciprocal motion could be produced. He knew that the force which produced it could be transmitted along a wire. He believed that the battery current could be made, through an electro-magnet, to produce physical effects at a distance. He saw in his mind's eye the existence of an agent and a medium by which reciprocal motion could be not only produced, but controlled, at a distance. The question that addressed itself to him at the outset was naturally this: 'How can I make use of the simple up-and-down motion of opening and closing a circuit to write an intelligible message at one end of a wire, and at the same time print it at the other?'...

"Like many a kindred work of genius, it was in nothing more wonderful than in its simplicity. First, he caused a continuous ribbon or strip of paper to move under a pencil by clock-work, that could be wound up. The paper moved horizontally. The pencil moved only up and down; when resting on the paper it made a mark—if for an instant only, a dot; if for a longer time, a line. When lifted from the paper it left a blank.... The grandeur of this wonderful alphabet of dots, lines, and spaces has not been fully appreciated....

"Not one of all the brilliant scientific men who have attached their names to the history of electro-magnetism had brought the means to produce the practical registering telegraph. Some of them had ascended the tower that looked out on the field of conquest. Some of them brought keener vision than others. Some of them stood higher than others; but the genius of invention had not recognized them. There was needed an inventor."

As soon as Morse left the ship Sully, and met his brothers Richard and Sidney, he told them that he had made an important invention, "one that would astonish the world, and of the success of which he was perfectly sanguine." He became an inmate of Richard's house, living there several months.

From this time onward for twelve years he labored to give his telegraph to mankind; labored in the midst of distressing poverty, the ridicule of acquaintances, and the indifference of the world. Three motherless children were dependent upon him, but he could do little for them.

On the corner of Nassau and Beekman Streets, in the newspaper building erected by his brothers,—they were the editors and proprietors of the "New York Observer,"—in the fifth story, a room was assigned to him which he used for studio, sleeping-room, kitchen, and workshop. On one side was his cot, on the other his tools and crude machine. He whittled the models, and then made the moulds and castings. Here, from day to day, the simplest food was brought him, he preparing his own tea.

In the year 1835, having been appointed professor of the Literature of the Arts of Design in the New York City University, he took rooms in the third story of the university building. "There," he says, "I immediately commenced, with very limited means, to experiment upon my invention. My first instrument was made up of an old picture or canvas frame fastened to a table; the wheels of an old wooden clock, moved by a weight to carry the paper forward; three wooden drums, upon one of which the paper was wound and passed over the other two; a wooden pendulum suspended to the top piece of the picture or stretching-frame, and vibrating across the paper as it passes over the centre wooden drum; a pencil at the lower end of the pendulum, in contact with the paper; an electro-magnet fastened to a shelf across the picture or stretching-frame, opposite to an armature made fast to the pendulum; a type rule, and type for breaking the circuit, resting on an endless band, composed of carpet-binding, which passed over two wooden rollers, moved by a wooden crank, and carried forward by points projecting from the bottom of the rule downward into the carpet-binding; a lever, with a small weight on the upper side; and a tooth, projecting downward at one end, operated on by the type; and a metallic fork, also projecting downward over two mercury-cups; and a short circuit of wire, embracing the helices of the electro-magnet connected with the positive and negative poles of the battery, and terminating in the mercury-cups."

Morse was now so poor that he bought his food in small quantities from some grocery, and prepared it himself. He says, "To conceal from my friends the stinted manner in which I lived, I was in the habit of bringing my food to my room in the evenings, and this was my mode of life for many years."

In this year, 1835, says Professor Horsford, "Morse made his discovery of the relay, the most brilliant of all the achievements to which his name must be forever attached. It was the discovery of a means by which the current, which through distance from its source had become feeble, could be reËnforced or renewed. This discovery, according to the different objects for which it is employed, is variously known as the registering magnet, the local circuit, the marginal circuit, the repeater, etc. It made transmission from one point on a main line through indefinitely great distances, and through an indefinite number of branch lines, and to an indefinite number of way-stations, and registration at all, possible and practicable, from a single act of a single operator."

Poor, longing for money to carry forward his plans, despondent lest some one think out a kindred machine and supplant him, Morse was also suffering from injustice in his art work. Our government having offered to American artists commissions to paint pictures for the panels in the Rotunda of the Capitol, the friends of Morse urged that he, as the president of the National Academy of Design, be one of the artists chosen by the committee. John Quincy Adams, ex-President of the United States, and one of the committee, urged that foreign artists be allowed to compete, stating that no American artists were competent for the work. This, of course, gave offence, and James Fenimore Cooper wrote a severe article, in the "New York Evening Post," upon Mr. Adams's remarks. The article was attributed to Morse, and his name was rejected by the committee. This was a great disappointment.

He said, years afterward, "The blow I received from Congress ... has almost destroyed my enthusiasm for my art.... I have not painted a picture since that decision.... When I applied to paint one of the Rotunda pictures, I was in my full vigor. I had just returned from three years' hard study in Italy, ... and felt a consciousness of ability to execute a work creditable to my country. I hazarded everything almost for this single object. When so unexpectedly I was repelled, I staggered under the blow. I have endeavored in every way to prevent its effects upon my mind; but it is a thorn which perpetually obtrudes its point, and would goad me to death were it not for its aspect in the light of God's overruling providence. Then all is right."

From time to time prominent men came to the university, to see the telegraph. They saw, thought it wonderful, doubted its practicability, and did not offer to invest any money in the enterprise. Finally, in 1837, Mr. Alfred Vail, a young graduate of the University of the City of New York, became interested, helped to construct an improved machine at his father's brass-works at Speedwell, N. J., for Morse to take to Washington for exhibition, and provided the means for his going.

After five long years, Morse had finally found some one ready to help. Arriving at Washington, he obtained the use of the room of the Committee on Commerce, to show his telegraph. Congressmen came, wondered, and went away doubting.

He now caused a respectful memorial to be presented to Congress, asking an appropriation of thirty thousand dollars, to test the telegraph between two cities. The petition was referred to a committee, quietly ignored, and Morse heard no more concerning it.

He sailed for Europe in 1838, to take out a patent for his work, but could obtain none in England, as Wheatstone and Cooke had already patented a magnetic-needle telegraph, entirely unlike that of Morse, invented four years later, says Professor Horsford, but brought before the public about the same time, 1837. In point of active use, Wheatstone's preceded Morse's telegraph by six years, on account of the indifference of Congress in helping the inventor.

In Paris, Morse submitted his telegraph to the Institute, and Arago, Humboldt, and others were delighted with it. As Morse was sending a word from one room to the other, Robert Walsh said to him, "The next word you may write is 'Immortality,' for the sublimity of this invention is of surpassing grandeur. I see now that all physical obstacles, which may for a while hinder, will inevitably be overcome. The problem is solved; MAN MAY INSTANTLY CONVERSE WITH HIS FELLOW-MAN IN ANY PART OF THE WORLD."

Morse returned to New York after eleven months, disappointed that Congress had done nothing, "without," as he said, "a farthing in my pocket, and have to borrow even for my meals." In Paris, having learned from M. Daguerre, the inventor of the daguerreotype, the process, Morse introduced it in this country, and earned enough by taking pictures to reimburse him for his European journey. Many crowded to his rooms to be taught, and he cheerfully imparted the knowledge he possessed.

As the months went by and Congress did nothing, Morse became despondent. He had not the means even to pay postage on letters. He said, "I am sick at heart.... I feel at times almost ready to cast the whole matter to the winds, and turn my attention forever from the subject." The Vails were unable to help the enterprise further, at present. Morse was still teaching a few pupils at the university. Gen. Strother, of Virginia, "Porte Crayon," thus tells of Morse's pecuniary condition: "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 in 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.'"

Even the janitor of the University building said to a young man who was looking for a studio for himself: "You will have an artist for your neighbor, though he is not here much of late; he seems to be getting rather shiftless, he is wasting his time over some silly invention, a machine by which he expects to send messages from one place to another. He is a very good painter, and might do well if he would only stick to his business; but, Lord!" he added, with a sneer of contempt, "the idea of telling by a little streak of lightning what a body is saying at the other end of it!"

"Judge of my astonishment," says the young man, "when he informed me that the 'shiftless individual,' whose foolish waste of time so much excited his commiseration, was none other than the president of the National Academy of Design,—the most exalted position, in my youthful artistic fancy, it was possible for mortal to attain."

Once more, in some way, Morse obtained the money to go to Washington, and make another effort. December 30, 1842, a bill was at last submitted, asking for the thirty-thousand-dollar appropriation. It received much ridicule from some of the members. One suggested that there should be an appropriation for mesmeric experiments; another suggested the same for Millerism. At last the vote was taken in the House, Morse sitting in the gallery watching the result with feverish anxiety. The vote stood 89 yeas to 83 nays. IT WAS CARRIED.

Would it pass the Senate? The amount of business to be transacted made its coming up improbable. The last day of the session came. Morse sat all the day and evening in the gallery, and finally went to his hotel, nearly prostrated from disappointment.

In the morning, as he came down to breakfast, Annie G. Ellsworth, the daughter of his old friend, the Commissioner of Patents, came toward him with a bright smile, saying: "I have come to congratulate you!"

"For what, my dear friend?"

"On the passage of your bill."

Morse could scarcely believe the good news, that the bill had passed, in the last moments of the session, without opposition. He was nearly overcome with joy, and told the young lady that she should send the first message over the first line.

He at once proceeded to construct the first line of his electric telegraph between Washington and Baltimore. Ezra Cornell, later one of the most successful constructors and largest proprietors of telegraphs, and the founder of Cornell University, was employed at a salary of one thousand dollars a year.

After many perplexities, the line was completed. On May 24, 1844, Morse invited his friends to assemble in the chamber of the United States Supreme Court, where he had his instrument in connection with Baltimore. Annie Ellsworth's mother had suggested to her these words from the Bible, for the first message: "What hath God wrought!" No words could have been more in accordance with Morse's feelings. Taking his seat at the instrument, he spelled out the words, and instantly they were received by Mr. Vail in Baltimore, who resent them the same moment to Washington. The strip of paper on which this message is printed is now in the AthenÆum at Hartford, Conn.

What must have been Professor Morse's feelings at that moment. The day of triumph had come—the twelve weary years of poverty were over. Hereafter he was to be like one of the princes of the world.

A telegraph company was formed which offered to sell the telegraph to the government for one hundred thousand dollars. Congress refused to buy, much to the subsequent profit of the Morse company. In less than thirty years, the Morse telegraph was used in America upon two hundred and fifty thousand miles of wire, and in foreign countries upon six hundred thousand miles of wire, while the telegraph receipts throughout the world were about forty million dollars yearly.

There were many amusing incidents in connection with this early telegraph. "A pretty little girl tripped into the Washington City termination, and, after a great deal of hesitation and blushing, asked how long it would take to send to Baltimore. The interesting appearance of the little questioner attracted Mr. Morse's attention, and he very blandly replied, 'One second!'

"'Oh, how delightful, how delightful!' ejaculated the little beauty, her eyes glistening with delight. 'One second only; here, send this even quicker if you can.' And Mr. Morse found in his hand a neatly folded, gilt-edged note, the very perfume and shape of which told a volume of love.

"'I cannot send this note,' said Mr. Morse, with some feeling; 'it is impossible.'

"'Oh, do, do!' implored the distracted girl. 'William and I have had a quarrel, and I shall die if he don't know that I forgive him in a second. I know I shall.'

"Mr. Morse still objected to sending the note, when the fair one, brightening up, asked, 'You will, then, send me on, won't you?'

"'Perhaps,' said one of the clerks, 'it would take your breath away to travel forty miles in a second.'

"'Oh, no, it won't! no, it won't, if it carries me to William! The cars in the morning go so slow I can't wait for them.'

"Mr. Morse now comprehended the mistake which the petitioner was laboring under, and attempted to explain the process of conveying important information along the wires. The letter-writer listened a few moments, impatiently, and then rolled her burning epistle into a ball, in the excitement under which she labored, and thrust it into her bosom.

"'It's too slow!' she finally exclaimed; 'it's too slow! and my heart will break before William knows I forgive him; and you are a cruel man, Mr. Morse,' said the fair creature, the tears coming into her eyes, 'that you won't let me travel by the telegraph to see William.' And, full of emotion, she left the office."

All these years Morse was longing for a home. In 1845 he wrote his daughter, who was now married and living in Porto Rico, in the West Indies, "I do long for the time, if it shall be permitted, to have you, with your husband and little Charles, around me; I feel my loneliness more and more keenly every day. Fame and money are, in themselves, a poor substitute for domestic happiness: as means to that end, I value them. Yesterday was the sad anniversary (the twentieth) of your dear mother's death, and I spent the most of it in thinking of her."

Two years later he purchased two hundred acres on the Hudson River, near Poughkeepsie, calling it "Locust Grove," and built a handsome and spacious Italian villa for his residence. With the telegraph in his library, he could now converse with men in all parts of the world. Here he gathered his children and grandchildren around him. He was now fifty-six years old. Fame and money had come late in life. The next year he married Miss Sarah E. Griswold, the daughter of his cousin, a lady thirty years his junior.

His life here was peaceful and happy, most of the day being spent in reading and writing. He was very fond of nature. One of his daughters writes: "He loved flowers. He would take one in his hand, and talk for hours about its beauty, its wonderful construction, and the wisdom and love of God in making so many varied forms of life and color to please our eyes. In his later years he became deeply interested in the microscope, and purchased one of great excellence and power. For whole hours, all the afternoon or evening, he would sit over it, examining flowers, or the animalcula in different fluids. Then he would gather his children about him, and give us a sort of extempore lecture on the wonders of creation, invisible to the naked eye, but so clearly brought to view by the magnifying power of the microscope.

"He was very fond of animals, cats and birds in particular. He tamed a little flying-squirrel, and it became so fond of him that it would sit on his shoulder while he was at his studies, and would eat out of his hand, and sleep in his pocket. To this little animal he became so much attached that we took it with us to Europe, where it came to an untimely end, in Paris, by running into an open fire."

In New York he bought a large house, No. 5 West Twenty-second Street, for his winter residence, and, on a vacant lot adjoining, erected an elegant building for his library and study. What a contrast between this and the time when "Porte Crayon" gave him ten dollars, which Morse said would save his life!

Honors now poured in upon him. In 1835 he had been elected a member of the Historical Institute of France.

In 1837, a member of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts of Belgium.

In 1839 the Great Silver Medal of the Academy of Industry of Paris was voted him.

In 1841, a corresponding member of the National Institution for the Promotion of Science at Washington.

In 1842, the gold medal of the American Institute.

In 1845, a corresponding member of the ArchÆological Society of Belgium.

In 1846, Doctor of Laws by Yale College.

In 1848, the first decoration ever bestowed by the Sultan of Turkey upon a citizen of the United States, Nishan Iftikar, in diamonds; he was also made a member of the American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia.

In 1849, a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Boston.

In 1851, a golden snuff-box containing the Prussian golden medal for scientific merit.

In 1852, the Great Gold Medal of Arts and Sciences from the King of WÜrtemberg.

In 1855, the Great Gold Medal of Science and Art from the Emperor of Austria.

In 1856, the brevet and decoration as Chevalier of the Imperial Order of the Legion of Honor, from the Emperor of France.

In 1856, the Cross of the Order of Dannebrog from the King of Denmark.

In 1858, a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences in Sweden.

In 1859, the order of knighthood and Commander of the First Class of the Royal Order of Isabella the Catholic, from Isabella II. of Spain.

In 1860, Knight of the Tower and Sword, from the King of Portugal.

In 1864, Chevalier of the Royal Order of Saints Lazaro and Mauritio, from Victor Emmanuel II., King of Italy.

In 1866, honorary member of the SociÉtÉ de Physique et d'Histoire Naturelle of Geneva, Switzerland.

In 1857, Morse aided in the attempt to lay the Atlantic cable, being made electrician of the company. This was eminently fitting, as he had laid the first submarine cable, in 1842, October 18; one moonlight night in the harbor of New York City, between Castle Garden and Governor's Island.

In 1858, France, Austria, Belgium, the Netherlands, Piedmont, Russia, the Holy See, Sweden, Tuscany, and Turkey presented Mr. Morse with an honorary gratuity of four hundred thousand francs, "as a reward, altogether personal, of your useful labors."

During an extended trip in Europe, he was presented at the Court of Alexander III. in Russia, and met Baron Humboldt at Potsdam, from whom he received a large photograph of himself, on which he wrote in French: "To Mr. S. F. B. Morse, whose philosophic and useful labors have rendered his name illustrious in two worlds. The homage of the high and affectionate esteem of Alexander Humboldt." After also visiting his daughter in the West Indies, his return to Poughkeepsie in 1859 was made by the people a time of rejoicing. Crowds flocked to the station to welcome him. The children of the public schools joined in the procession, while bells rung, flags waved, and bands played, as they followed the carriage of Professor Morse to the gateway of his residence, which had been festooned with flowers and evergreens. Was ever a man more honored? The world loves heroes, though it takes very little pains to help men or women to achieve greatness.

In 1866, Morse crossed the ocean again to give his children the opportunity of study abroad. He was now seventy-five years old, yet seemingly as vigorous as ever. At the Paris Exposition he was one of the committee upon telegraphic instruments. At DÜsseldorf, he was received with great enthusiasm by the artists of the city. He purchased there five valuable pictures, as he was now in circumstances to be a patron of art. He also purchased Allston's celebrated painting of "Jeremiah," for seven thousand dollars, and gave it to Yale College; a portrait of Allston, at five hundred dollars, he presented to the Academy of Design. Thus did he remember the man who had been his friend in his young manhood.

Morse also gave to the Union Theological Seminary, in the city of New York, ten thousand dollars, endowing a lectureship on the "Relation of the Bible to the Sciences," named in honor of his father.

In 1868, a public dinner was given Professor Morse in New York, by the distinguished men of the day. Chief Justice Chase presided, and made an able address. After recounting the discoveries of others in electricity, "not least illustrious among these illustrious men, our countryman Henry," he said: "And it is the providential distinction and splendid honor of the eminent American who is our guest to-night that, happily prepared by previous acquirements and pursuits, he was quick to seize the opportunity, and give to the world the first recording telegraph. Fortunate man! thus to link his name forever with the greatest wonder and the greatest benefit of the age!" Other addresses were made by Bryant, Evarts, and many prominent men.

In 1871, June 10, a bronze statue of Professor Morse was unveiled in Central Park, the money for it being raised, in small amounts, from telegraphic operatives all over the country. In the evening, a brilliant reception was tendered him in the Academy of Music, the following despatch being sent on his ORIGINAL register: "Greeting and thanks to the telegraphic fraternity throughout the land. Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good-will to men."

And then the white-haired Morse, now eighty years old, took his seat at the instrument, and signed his name to his message—"S. F. B. Morse." The entire audience rose and cheered, and many eyes filled with tears, as he gave his farewell address.

The last time Mr. Morse appeared in public was when he unveiled the statue of Benjamin Franklin in Printing-House Square, in front of the City Hall, January 17, 1872.

Death came in a few weeks. To his pastor, Rev. Dr. Adams, he said in response to a remark concerning the goodness of God to him in the past, "The best is yet to come."

Near the last, when the physicians were inspecting his lungs, and tapping upon his breast, one said, "This is the way we doctors telegraph."

"Very good," said the dying man, and passed away, April 2, 1872.

He was buried with distinguished honors from Madison Square Presbyterian Church, New York. Scientific, philanthropic, and religious institutions everywhere adopted resolutions of respect for his memory. A solemn service was held in the hall of the House of the Representatives at Washington, April 16, with appropriate addresses from Garfield and others. An oil painting of Professor Morse hung in front of the main gallery, surrounded by the historic words, "What hath God wrought!" Telegraphic messages were sent from Europe, Asia, and Africa, to this memorial meeting. Did any of those present remember how Congress allowed him nearly to die of despair and want, only a few years before? Truly a life that reads like a romance, in its misfortunes and its fortunes! Through all the days of poverty, as well as prosperity, Morse preserved his earnest Christian character, and his childlike, tender, loving nature. Trials did not embitter him, as they sometimes do, and honors did not exalt him above his fellows. American history does not furnish a more sublime illustration of faith in God and indomitable perseverance.