"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 growing hoary with age.... 'But,' you will say, 'what do you do with the money, if you live thus sparingly?' Why, I will tell you the whole. When I first came to London, I was told, if I meant to support the character of a gentleman, I must take especial care of my personal appearance; so I thought it a matter of course that I must spare no expense in order to appear well. So, this being first in my mind, I (supposing very wisely that London folks had nothing else to do but to see how I was dressed) laid out a considerable part of my money on myself; meanwhile, picture-galleries and collections, with many other places which I ought constantly to have visited, and which cost some money, were neglected. And why? Because _I could not afford it_. "Well, in process of time, I found no very particular advantage to be gained by supporting the character of a gentleman, for these reasons: in the first place, _nobody saw me_; in the second place, if they _had seen me_, they would not _have known me_; and, thirdly, if they had _known_ me, they would not have _cared_ a farthing about me. So I thought within myself what I came to England for, and I found that it was not to please English folks, but to study painting; and, as I found I must sacrifice painting to dress and visiting, or dress and visiting to painting, I determined on the latter, and ever since have lived accordingly, and now the tables are turned. I visit galleries and collections, purchase prints, etc.; and when I am asked why I don't pay more attention to my dress, I reply that I _cannot_ afford it." Morse had now painted the "Death of Hercules," a large picture, eight feet by six feet and a half. The painting was received at the exhibition at Somerset House, though six hundred other works were refused. It was adjudged by the press to be one of the best _nine_ among a thousand pictures; many of them by such men as Turner, Lawrence, and Wilkie. Surely, he had reason to be encouraged. What little leisure Morse could obtain he spent in reading the old poets,--Spenser, Chaucer, Dante, and Tasso. He now made the acquaintance of Rogers, Coleridge, and others. Once, as he was going into the country with Coleridge, he took in the carriage Irving's "History of New York." On retiring, Coleridge took the book and began to read. Morse fell asleep, and in the morning was surprised to find the lights burning, and his friend still reading. It was now ten o'clock, and Coleridge was so absorbed that he did not know that the whole night had passed. Later, Irving and Coleridge became warm friends.