Among the committee men in Congress to whom this matter was referred was John Quincy Adams, ex-President of the United States. In discussing the subject, Mr. Adams submitted a resolution opening the competition to foreign artists as well as to American, giving it as his opinion that there were no artists in this country of sufficient talent properly to execute such monumental works. The artists and their friends were, naturally, greatly incensed at this slur cast upon them, and an indignant and remarkably able reply appeared anonymously in the New York "Evening Post." The authorship of this article was at once saddled on Morse, who was known to wield a facile and fearless pen. Mr. Adams took great offense, and, as a result, Morse's name was rejected and his great opportunity passed him by. There can be no reasonable doubt that, had he received this commission, he would have deferred the perfecting of his telegraphic device until others had so far distanced him in the race that he could never have overtaken them. Instead of his having been the author of the "Evening Post" article, it transpired that he had not even heard of Mr. Adams's resolution until his friend Fenimore Cooper, the real author of the answer, told him of both attack and reply. This was the second great tragedy of Morse's life; the first was the untimely death of his young wife, and this other marked the death of his hopes and ambitions as an artist. He was stunned. The blow was as unexpected as it was overwhelming, and what added to its bitterness was that it had been innocently dealt by the hand of one of his dearest friends, who had sought to render him a favor. The truth came out too late to influence the decision of the committee; the die was cast, and his whole future was changed in the twinkling of an eye; for what had been to him a joy and an inspiration, he now turned from in despair. He could not, of course, realize at the time that Fate, in dealing him this cruel blow, was dedicating him to a higher destiny. It is doubtful if he ever fully realized this, for in after years he could never speak of it unmoved. In a letter to this same friend, Fenimore Cooper, written on November 20, 1849, he thus laments:-- "Alas! My dear sir, the very name of _pictures_ produces a sadness of heart I cannot describe. Painting has been a smiling mistress to many, but she has been a cruel jilt to me. I did not abandon her, she abandoned me. I have taken scarcely any interest in painting for many years. Will you believe it? When last in Paris, in 1845, I did not go into the Louvre, nor did I visit a single picture gallery.