surrounded by dangers of various sorts, and it is also a good pen-picture
of the irresponsible actions of a cowardly mob, especially of a Parisian
mob.

The letters which passed between Morse and his friends, James Fenimore
Cooper, the novelist, and Horatio Greenough, the sculptor, are most
interesting, and would of themselves fill a volume. Both Cooper and
Greenough wrote fluently and entertainingly, and I shall select a few
characteristic sentences from the letters of each, resisting the strong
temptation to include the whole correspondence.

Greenough returned to Florence after having roomed with Morse in Paris,
and wrote as follows from there:--

As for the commission from Government, I don't speak of it yet. After
about a fortnight I shall be calm, I think. Morse, I have made up my mind
on one score, namely, that this order shall not be fruitless to the
greater men who are now in our rear. They are sucking now and rocking in
cradles, but I can hear the pung! pung! puffetty! of their hammers, and I
am prophetic, too. We'll see if Yankee land can't muster some ten or a
dozen of them in the course of as many years...

You were right, I had heard of the resolution submitted to Congress, etc.
Mr. Cooper wrote me about it. I have not much faith in Congress, however.
I will confess that, when the spectre Debt has leaned over my pillow of
late, and, smiling ghastlily, has asked if she and I were not intended as
companions through life, I snap my fingers at her and tell her that
Brother Jonathan talks of adopting me, and that he won't have her of his
household. "Go to London, you hag," says I, "where they say you're
handsome and wholesome; don't grind your long teeth at me, or I'll read
the Declaration of Independence to ye." So you see I make uncertain hopes
fight certain fears, and borrow from the generous, good-natured Future
the motives for content which are denied me by the stinted Present...

What shall I say in answer to your remarks on my opinions? Shall I go all
over the ground again? It were useless. That my heart is wrong in a
thousand ways I daily feel, but 't is my stubborn head which refuses to
comprehend the creation as you comprehend it. That we should be grateful
for all we have, I feel--for all we have is given us; nor do I think we
have little. For my part I would be blest in mere existence were I not
goaded by a wish to make my one talent two; and we have Scripture for the
rectitude of such a wish.