easure 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 Lucretia 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. Is it strange, then, that I now feel this void, this
desolateness, this loneliness, this heart-sickness; that I should feel as
if my very heart itself had been torn from me?

"To any one but those who knew dear Lucretia what I have said might seem
to be but the extravagance of an excited imagination; but to you, who
knew the dear object I lament, all that I have said must but feebly
shadow her to your memory."

[Illustration: STUDY FOR PORTRAIT OF LAFAYETTE
Now in New York Public Library]

It was well for him that he found constant occupation for his hand and
brain at this critical period of his life. The Fates had dealt him this
cruel blow for some good reason best known to themselves. He was being
prepared for a great mission, and it was meet that his soul, like gold,
should be purified by fire; but, at the same time, that the blow might
not utterly overwhelm him, success in his chosen profession seemed again
to be within his grasp.

Writing to his parents from New York, on April 8, 1825, he says:--

"I have as much as I can do, but 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.

"To my friends here I know I seem to be cheerful and happy, but a
cheerful countenance with me covers an aching heart, and often have I
feigned a more than ordinary cheerfulness to hide a more than ordinary
anguish.

"I am blessed with prosperity in my profession. I have just received
another commission from the corporation of the city to paint a
common-sized portrait of Rev. Mr. Stanford for them, to be placed in the
almshouse."

The loss of his young wife was the great tragedy of Morse's life. Time,
with