Identifier: samuelfbmorsehis01morsuoft (find matches)
Title: Samuel F.B. Morse: his letters and journals. Edited and supplemented by his son Edward Lind Morse; illustrated with reporductions of his paintings and with notes and diagrams bearing on the invention of the telegraph
Year: 1914 (1910s)
Authors: Morse, Samuel Finley Breese, 1791-1872 Morse, Edward Lind, 1857-
Subjects: Telegraph
Publisher: Boston Houghton Mifflin
Contributing Library: Gerstein - University of Toronto
Digitizing Sponsor: University of Toronto

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olation over all my earthly prospects. Oh! what a blow! I dare not yet give myseK up tothe full survey of its desolating effects. Every daybrings to my mind a thousand new and fond connec-tions with dear Lucretia, all now ruptured. I feel adreadful void, a heart-sickness, which time does notseem to heal but rather to aggravate. You know the intensity of the attachment whichexisted between dear Lucretia and me, never for amoment interrupted by the smallest cloud; an attach-ment founded, I trust, in the purest love, and dailystrengthening by all the motives which the ties of natureand, more especially, of religion, furnish. I found in dear Lucretia everything I could wish.Such ardor of affection, so uniform, so unaffected, Inever saw nor read of but in her. My fear with regardto the measure of my affection toward her was not thatI might fail of loving her as my own flesh, but that Ishould put her in the place of Him who has said, Thoushalt have no other Gods but me. I felt this to be my
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STUDY FOR PORTRAIT OF LAFAYETTENow in New York Public Library HIS ATTACHMENT TO HIS WIFE 269 greatest danger, and to be saved from this idolatry wasoften the subject of my earnest prayers. If I had desired anything in my dear Lucretia dif-ferent from what she was, it would have been that shehad been less lovely. My whole soul seemed wrapped upin her; with her was connected all that I expected ofhappiness on earth. Is it strange, then, that I now feelthis void, this desolateness, this loneliness, this heart-sickness; that I should feel as if my very heart itself hadbeen torn from me? To any one but those who knew dear Lucretia whatI have said might seem to be but the extravagance of anexcited imagination; but to you, who knew the dearobject I lament, all that I have said must but feeblyshadow her to your memory. It was well for him that he found constant occupationfor his hand and brain at this critical period of his life.The Fates had dealt him this cruel blow for some goodreason best

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