SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE MORSE. 233 



condition : " He was very poor. I remember that 

 when my second quarter's pay was due, my re- 

 mittance from home did not come as expected; 

 and one day the professor came in, and said, 

 courteously : 



" ' Well, Strother, my boy, how are we off for 

 money ? ' 



" ' Why, professor,' I answered, ' I am sorry to 

 say I have been disappointed; but I expect a 

 remittance next week.' 



" ' Next week,' he repeated, sadly ; ' I shall be 

 dead by that time.' 



" ' Dead, sir ? ' 



" ' Yes, dead by starvation ! ' 



" I was distressed and astonished. I said, hur- 

 riedly : ' Would ten dollars be of any service ? ' 



" ' Ten dollars would save my life ; that is all it 

 would do.' 



" I paid the money, all that I had, and we dined 

 together. It was a modest meal, but good, and, 

 after he had finished, he said : ' This is my first 

 meal in twenty-four hours. Strother, don't be an 

 artist. It means beggary. Your life depends 

 upon people who know nothing of your art, and 

 care nothing for you. A house-dog lives better, 

 and the very sensitiveness that stimulates an 

 artist to work keeps him alive to suffering.' " 



Even the janitor of the University building said 

 to a young man who was looking for a studio for 

 himself : " You will have an artist for your neigh- 

 bor, though he is not here much of late ; he seems 



