“As Allston had his hand on the bell-pull, the door was opened and a visitor passed out, immediately followed by a coarse-looking person with a large, shaggy head of hair, whom Allston at once took for a domestic.  He accordingly enquired if Mr. Abernethy was in.

“‘What do you want of Mr. Abernethy?’ demanded this uncouth-looking person with the harshest possible Scotch accent.

“‘I wished to see him,’ gently replied Allston, somewhat shocked by the coarseness of his reception.  ‘Is he at home?’

“‘Come in, come in, mon,’ said the same uncouth personage.

“‘But he may be engaged,’ responded Allston.  ’Perhaps I had better call another time.’

“‘Come in, mon, I say,’ replied the person addressed; and, partly by persuasion and partly by force, Allston, followed by Morse, was induced to enter the hall, which they had no sooner done than the person who admitted them closed the street door, and, placing his back against it, said:—­

“’Now, tell me what is your business with Mr. Abernethy.  I am Mr. Abernethy.’

“‘I have come to consult you,’ replied Allston, ‘about an affection—­’

“‘What the de’il hae I to do with your affections?’ bluntly interposed Abernethy.

“‘Perhaps, Mr. Abernethy,’ said Allston, by this time so completely overcome by the apparent rudeness of the eminent surgeon as to regret calling on him at all, ’you are engaged at present, and I had better call again.’

“‘De’il the bit, de’il the bit, mon,’ said Abernethy.  ‘Come in, come in.’  And he preceded them to his office, and examined his case, which proved to be a slight one, with such gentleness as almost to lead them to doubt whether Abernethy within his consulting-room, and Abernethy whom they had encountered in the passage, was really the same personage.”

While Morse was enjoying all these new experiences in England, the good people at home were jogging along in their accustomed ruts, but were deeply interested in the doings of the absent son and brother.

His mother writes on January 11, 1813:—­

“Your letters are read with great pleasure by your acquaintance.  I do not show those in which you say anything on politics, as I do not approve your change, and think it would only prejudice others.  For that reason I do not wish you to write on that subject, as I love to read all your observations to your friends.

“We cannot get Edwards to be a ladies’ man at all.  He will not visit among the young ladies; he is as old as fifty, at least.”

This same youthful misogynist and philosopher also writes to his brother on January 11:  “I intend soon writing another letter in which I shall prove to your satisfaction that poetry is much superior to painting.  You asserted the contrary in one of your letters, and brought an argument to prove it.  I shall show the fallacy of that argument, and bring those to support my doctrine which are incontrovertible.”