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Heroes of the Telegraph
·
John Munro
34
After
he
had
perfected
this
work
to
his
own
eyes,
he
showed
it,
with
not
a
little
pride,
to
Mr.
West,
who
after
scanning
it
awhile
said,
'Very
good,
very
good.
Go
on
and
finish
it.'
Morse
ventured
to
say
that
it
was
finished.
'No!
no!
no!'
answered
West;
'see
there,
and
there,
and
there.
There
is
much
to
be
done
yet.
Go
on
and
finish
it.'
Each
time
the
pupil
showed
it
the
master
said,
'Go
on
and
finish
it.'
[THE
TELEGRAPH
IN
AMERICA,
by
James
D.
Reid]
This
was
a
lesson
in
thoroughness
of
work
and
attention
to
detail
which
was
not
lost
on
the
student.
The
picture
was
exhibited
at
the
Royal
Academy,
in
Somerset
House,
during
the
summer
of
1813,
and
West
declared
that
if
Morse
were
to
live
to
his
own
age
he
would
never
make
a
better
composition.
The
remark
is
equivocal,
but
was
doubtless
intended
as
a
compliment
to
the
precocity
of
the
young
painter.
In
order
to
be
correct
in
the
anatomy
he
had
first
modelled
the
figure
of
his
Hercules
in
clay,
and
this
cast,
by
the
advice
of
West,
was
entered
in
competition
for
a
prize
in
sculpture
given
by
the
Society
of
Arts.
It
proved
successful,
and
on
May
13
the
sculptor
was
presented
with
the
prize
and
a
gold
medal
by
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
before
a
distinguished
gathering
in
the
Adelphi.
Flushed
with
his
triumph,
Morse
determined
to
compete
for
the
prize
of
fifty
guineas
and
a
gold
medal
offered
by
the
Royal
Academy
for
the
best
historical
painting,
and
took
for
his
subject,
'The
Judgment
of
Jupiter
in
the
case
of
Apollo,
Marpessa,
and
Idas.'
The
work
was
finished
to
the
satisfaction
of
West,
but
the
painter
was
summoned
home.
He
was
still,
in
part
at
least,
depending
on
his
father,
and
had
been
abroad
a
year
longer
than
the
three
at
first
intended.
During
this
time
he
had
been
obliged
to
pinch
himself
in
a
thousand
ways
in
order
to
eke
out
his
modest
allowance.
'My
drink
is
water,
porter
being
too
expensive,'
he
wrote
to
his
parents.
'I
have
had
no
new
clothes
for
nearly
a
year.
My
best
are
threadbare,
and
my
shoes
are
out
at
the
toes.
My
stockings
all
want
to
see
my
mother,
and
my
hat
is
hoary
with
age.'
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