You suppose I am so much taken up with the ladies and other good things in New Haven that I have not time to think of one of my old friends.  Alas!  Morse, there are no ladies or anything else to occupy my attention.  They are all gone and we have no amusements.  Even old Value has deserted us, whose music, though an assemblage of “unharmonious sounds,” is infinitely preferable to the harsh grating thunder of his brother.  New Haven is, indeed, this winter a dreary place.  I wrote you about a month since and did then what you wish me now to do,—­I mentioned all that is worth mentioning, which, by the way, is very little, about New Haven and its inhabitants.

Since then I have been to New York and saw the Miss Radcliffs, and, in passing through Stamford, the Miss Davenports.  The mention of the name of Davenport would at one time have excited in your breast emotions unutterable, but now, though Ann is as lovely as ever, your heart requires the influence of another Hart to quicken its pulsations....  Last but not least comes the all-conquering, the angelic queen of Harts.  I have not seen her since she left New Haven, but have heard from her sister Eliza that she is in good health and is going in April to New York with Mrs. Jarvis (her sister) to spend the summer and perhaps a longer time, where she will probably break many a proud heart and bend many a stubborn knee.  I fear, Morse, unless you have her firmly in your toils, I fear she may not be able to withstand every attack, for New York abounds with elegant and accomplished young men.

You mention that you have again changed your mind as to the business which you intend to pursue.  I really thought that the plan of becoming a bookseller would be permanent because sanctioned by parental authority, but I am now convinced that your mind is so much bent upon painting that you will do nothing else effectually.  It is indeed a noble art and if pursued effectually leads to the highest eminence, for painters rank with poets, and to be placed in the scale with Milton and Homer is an honor that few of mortal mould attain unto....  I wish, Finley, that you would paint me a handsome piece for a keepsake as you are going to Europe and may not be back in a hurry.  Present my respects to Mr. Hillhouse.  His father’s family are well.  Adieu.

Your affectionate friend,
JOS.  P. ROSSITER.

From this letter and from others we learn that young Morse’s youthful affections were fixed on a certain charming Miss Jannette Hart, but, alas! he proved a faithless lover, for his friend Rossiter thus reproves him in a letter of May 8, 1811:—­

“Oh! most amazing change!  Can it be possible?  Oh!  Love, and all ye cordial powers of passion, forbid it!  Still, still the dreadful words glare on my sight.  Alas! alas! and is it, then, a fact?  If so ’t is pitiful, ’t is wondrous pitiful.  Cupid, tear off your bandage, new string your bow and tip your arrows with harder adamant.  Oh! shame upon you, only hear the words of your exultant votarist—­’Even Love, which according to the proverb conquers all things, when put in competition with painting, must yield the palm and be a willing captive.’  Oh! fie, fie, good master Cupid, you shoot but poorly if a victim so often wounded can talk in terms like these.