“But I do not think that any political collisions, which may incidentally and very infrequently arise, can injure him as an artist; for it is well known to you that the simple fact of his being an American is sufficient to prevent his rising rapidly into notice, since the possession of that character clogs the efforts, or, at least, somewhat clouds the fame of men of superior genius and established talent....  I advised Samuel to go to France and bury himself for six months in the Louvre; from thence to Italy, the seat of the arts.  He inclined to the first part of the plan, and then to return home, but deferred putting it into execution till he heard from his father.  Mr. Allston intended to winter in London.  Morse has a fine taste and 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 his grief.”