So absorbed did he become in this picture, that once he arose in the night, mistaking the light of the moon for the day, and went to his work, and another time attempted to enter the hall on Sunday, forgetting even the days of the week. When the work was finished and exhibited, everybody was too much interested in his own affairs to care about congressmen, and the picture failed to attract the public. It proved a loss pecuniarily, and was purchased by an Englishman and taken to England. Twenty-five years afterward, it was found in the third story of a store in New York, nailed against a board partition, and covered with dust. It had been sent over from London by a house which had advanced a sum of money upon it while in England. The picture afterward became the property of the artist Daniel Huntington. Morse now went to Albany, hoping to obtain some patronage from public men. After long waiting, he writes to his wife: "I have not as yet received any application for a portrait. Many tell me I have come at the wrong time--the same tune that has been rung in my ears so long! I hope the right time will come by and by. The winter, it is said, is the proper season; but, as it is better in the South in that season, and it will be more profitable to be there, I shall give Albany a thorough trial and do my best. If I should not find enough to employ me here, I think I shall return to New York and settle there. This I had rather not do at present, but it may be the best that I can do. Roaming becomes more and more irksome. Imperious necessity alone drives me to this course. Don't think by this I am faint-hearted. I shall persevere in this course, painful as is the separation from my family, until Providence clearly points out my duty to return." Morse now turned his attention to the invention of a machine for carving marble, from which he hoped for pecuniary success, but success did not result from it. He now went to New York to try his fortune. But things were no brighter. He wrote to Lucretia: "My last two letters have held out to you some encouraging prospects of success here, but now they seem darkened again. I have had nothing to do this week thus far but to wait patiently. I have advertised in both of the city papers that I should remain one week to receive applications, but as yet it has produced no effect.... I sleep in my room on the floor, and put my bed out of sight during the day, as at Washington.... I have been active in calling on my friends and inviting them to my room; they have promised to come, but as yet few have called. As far as human foresight can perceive, my prospects seem gloomy indeed. The only gleam of hope--and I cannot underrate it--is from confidence in God. When I look upward, it calms my apprehensions for the future, and I seem to hear a voice saying: 'If I clothe the lilies of the field, shall I not also clothe you?' Here is my strong confidence, and I will wait patiently for the direction of Providence."