He must pick up his brush again; he must again woo the fickle goddess of art, who had deserted him before, and who would, in all probability, be chary of her favors now.

In that dark hour it would not have been strange if his trust in God had wavered, if he had doubted the goodness of that Providence to whose mysterious workings he had always submissively bowed.

But his faith seems to have risen triumphant even under this crushing stroke, for he thus describes the events of that fateful night, and of the next morning, in a letter to Bishop Stevens, of Pennsylvania, written many years later:-- "The last days of the last session of that Congress were about to close.
A bill appropriating thirty thousand dollars for my purpose had passed the House, and was before the Senate for concurrence.

On the last day of the session [3d of March, 1843] I had spent the whole day and part of the evening in the Senate chamber, anxiously watching, the progress of the passing of the various bills, of which there were, in the morning of that day, over one hundred and forty to be acted upon before the one in which I was interested would be reached; and a resolution had a few days before been passed to proceed with the bills on the calendar in their regular order, forbidding any bill to be taken up out of its regular place.
"As evening approached there seemed to be but little chance that the Telegraph Bill would be reached before the adjournment, and consequently I had the prospect of the delay of another year, with the loss of time, and all my means already expended.

In my anxiety I consulted with two of my senatorial friends--Senator Huntington, of Connecticut, and Senator Wright, of New York--asking their opinion of the probability of reaching the bill before the close of the session.