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Title: John James Audubon

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</PRE>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
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      &nbsp;
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      &nbsp;
    </p>
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      &nbsp;
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      &nbsp;
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    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><br>
    <br>
     
    <h1>
      JOHN JAMES AUDUBON
    </h1>
    <center>
      <b><i>John Burroughs</i><br></b> 
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>
      <p>
        &nbsp;
      </p>
	<b>TO C. B.</b>
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      PREFACE.
    </h2>
    <p>
      The pioneer in American ornithology was Alexander Wilson, a
      Scotch weaver and poet, who emigrated to this country in
      1794, and began the publication of his great work upon our
      birds in 1808. He figured and described three hundred and
      twenty species, fifty-six of them new to science. His death
      occurred in 1813, before the publication of his work had been
      completed.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the chief of American ornithologists was John James
      Audubon. Audubon did not begin where Wilson left off. He was
      also a pioneer, beginning his studies and drawings of the
      birds probably as early as Wilson did his, but he planned
      larger and lived longer. He spent the greater part of his
      long life in the pursuit of ornithology, and was of a more
      versatile, flexible, and artistic nature than was Wilson. He
      was collecting the material for his work at the same time
      that Wilson was collecting his, but he did not begin the
      publication of it till fourteen years after Wilson's death.
      Both men went directly to Nature and underwent incredible
      hardships in exploring the woods and marshes in quest of
      their material. Audubon's rambles were much wider, and
      extended over a much longer period of time. Wilson, too,
      contemplated a work upon our quadrupeds, but did not live to
      begin it. Audubon was blessed with good health, length of
      years, a devoted and self-sacrificing wife, and a buoyant,
      sanguine, and elastic disposition. He had the heavenly gift
      of enthusiasm&#8212;a passionate love for the work he set out
      to do. He was a natural hunter, roamer, woodsman; as
      unworldly as a child, and as simple and transparent. We have
      had better trained and more scientific ornithologists since
      his day, but none with his abandon and poetic fervour in the
      study of our birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Both men were famous pedestrians and often walked hundreds of
      miles at a stretch. They were natural explorers and voyagers.
      They loved Nature at first hand, and not merely as she
      appears in books and pictures. They both kept extensive
      journals of their wanderings and observations. Several of
      Audubon's (recording his European experiences) seem to have
      been lost or destroyed, but what remain make up the greater
      part of two large volumes recently edited by his
      grand-daughter, Maria R. Audubon.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wish here to express my gratitude both to Miss Audubon, and
      to Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, for permitting me to draw
      freely from the "Life and Journals" just mentioned. The
      temptation is strong to let Audubon's graphic and glowing
      descriptions of American scenery, and of his tireless
      wanderings, speak for themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is from these volumes, and from the life by his widow,
      published in 1868, that I have gathered the material for this
      brief biography.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's life naturally divides itself into three periods:
      his youth, which was on the whole a gay and happy one, and
      which lasted till the time of his marriage at the age of
      twenty-eight; his business career which followed, lasting ten
      or more years, and consisting mainly in getting rid of the
      fortune his father had left him; and his career as an
      ornithologist which, though attended with great hardships and
      privations, brought him much happiness and, long before the
      end, substantial pecuniary rewards.
    </p>
    <p>
      His ornithological tastes and studies really formed the main
      current of his life from his teens onward. During his
      business ventures in Kentucky and elsewhere this current came
      to the surface more and more, absorbed more and more of his
      time and energies, and carried him further and further from
      the conditions of a successful business career.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br>
      J. B.<br>
      WEST PARK, NEW YORK, January, 1902.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      CHRONOLOGY
    </h2>
    <h3>
      1780
    </h3>
    <p>
      <i>May 4</i>. John James La Forest Audubon was born at
      Mandeville, Louisiana.
    </p>
    <p>
      (Paucity of dates and conflicting statements make it
      impossible to insert dates to show when the family moved to
      St. Domingo, and thence to France.)
    </p>
    <h3>
      1797 (?)
    </h3>
    <p>
      Returned to America from France. Here followed life at Mill
      Grove Farm, near Philadelphia.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1805 or 6
    </h3>
    <p>
      Again in France for about two years. Studied under David, the
      artist. Then returned to America.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1808
    </h3>
    <p>
      <i>April</i> 8. Married Lucy Bakewell, and journeyed to
      Louisville, Kentucky, to engage in business with one Rozier.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1810
    </h3>
    <p>
      <i>March</i>. First met Wilson, the ornithologist.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1812
    </h3>
    <p>
      Dissolved partnership with Rozier.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1808-1819
    </h3>
    <p>
      Various business ventures in Louisville, Hendersonville, and
      St. Genevi&egrave;ve, Kentucky, again at Hendersonville,
      thence again to Louisville.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1819
    </h3>
    <p>
      Abandoned business career. Became taxidermist in Cincinnati.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1820
    </h3>
    <p>
      Left Cincinnati. Began to form definite plans for the
      publication of his drawings. Returned to New Orleans.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1822
    </h3>
    <p>
      Went to Natchez by steamer. Gunpowder ruined two hundred of
      his drawings on this trip. Obtained position of
      Drawing-master in the college at Washington, Mississippi. At
      the close of this year took his first lessons in oils.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1824
    </h3>
    <p>
      Went to Philadelphia to get his drawings published. Thwarted.
      There met Sully, and Prince Canino.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1826
    </h3>
    <p>
      Sailed for Europe to introduce his drawings.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1827
    </h3>
    <p>
      Issued prospectus of his "Birds."
    </p>
    <h3>
      1828
    </h3>
    <p>
      Went to Paris to canvass. Visited Cuvier.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1829
    </h3>
    <p>
      Returned to the United States, scoured the woods for more
      material for his biographies.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1830
    </h3>
    <p>
      Returned to London with his family.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1830-1839
    </h3>
    <p>
      Elephant folio, <i>The Birds of North America</i>, published.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1831-39
    </h3>
    <p>
      <i>American Ornithological Biography</i> published in
      Edinburgh.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1831
    </h3>
    <p>
      Again in America for nearly three years.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1832-33
    </h3>
    <p>
      In Florida, South Carolina, and the Northern States,
      Labrador, and Canada.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1834
    </h3>
    <p>
      Completion of second volume of "Birds," also second volume of
      <i>American Ornithological Biography</i>.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1835
    </h3>
    <p>
      In Edinburgh.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1836
    </h3>
    <p>
      To New York again&#8212;more exploring; found books, papers
      and drawings had been destroyed by fire, the previous year.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1837
    </h3>
    <p>
      Went to London.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1838
    </h3>
    <p>
      Published fourth volume of <i>American Ornithological
      Biography</i>.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1839
    </h3>
    <p>
      Published fifth volume of "Biography."
    </p>
    <h3>
      1840
    </h3>
    <p>
      Left England for the last time.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1842
    </h3>
    <p>
      Built house in New York on "Minnie's Land," now Audubon Park.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1843
    </h3>
    <p>
      Yellowstone River Expedition.
    </p>
    <h3>
      1840-44
    </h3>
    <p>
      Published the reduced edition of his "Bird Biographies."
    </p>
    <h3>
      1846
    </h3>
    <p>
      Published first volume of "Quadrupeds."
    </p>
    <h3>
      1848
    </h3>
    <p>
      Completed <i>Quadrupeds and Biography of American
      Quadrupeds</i>. (The last volume was not published till 1854,
      after his death.)
    </p>
    <h3>
      1851
    </h3>
    <p>
      <i>January 27</i>. John James Audubon died in New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.
    </h1>
    <h2>
      I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      There is a hopeless confusion as to certain important dates
      in Audubon's life. He was often careless and unreliable in
      his statements of matters of fact, which weakness during his
      lifetime often led to his being accused of falsehood. Thus he
      speaks of the "memorable battle of Valley Forge" and of two
      brothers of his, both officers in the French army, as having
      perished in the French Revolution, when he doubtless meant
      uncles. He had previously stated that his only two brothers
      died in infancy. He confessed that he had no head for
      mathematics, and he seems always to have been at sea in
      regard to his own age. In his letters and journals there are
      several references to his age, but they rarely agree. The
      date of his birth usually given, May 4, 1780, is probably
      three or four years too early, as he speaks of himself as
      being nearly seventeen when his mother had him confirmed in
      the Catholic Church, and this was about the time that his
      father, then an officer in the French navy, was sent to
      England to effect a change of prisoners, which time is given
      as 1801.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two race strains that mingle in him probably account for
      this illogical habit of mind, as well as for his romantic and
      artistic temper and tastes.
    </p>
    <p>
      His father was a sea-faring man and a Frenchman; his mother
      was a Spanish Creole of Louisiana&#8212;the old chivalrous
      Castilian blood modified by new world conditions. The father,
      through commercial channels, accumulated a large property in
      the island of St. Domingo. In the course of his trading he
      made frequent journeys to Louisiana, then the property of the
      French government. On one of these trips, probably, he
      married one of the native women, who is said to have
      possessed both wealth and beauty. The couple seem to have
      occupied for a time a plantation belonging to a French
      Marquis, situated at Mandeville on the North shore of Lake
      Pontchartrain. Here three sons were born to them, of whom
      John James La Forest was the third. The daughter seems to
      have been younger.
    </p>
    <p>
      His own mother perished in a slave insurrection in St.
      Domingo, where the family had gone to live on the Audubon
      estate at Aux Cayes, when her child was but a few months old.
      Audubon says that his father with his plate and money and
      himself, attended by a few faithful servants, escaped to New
      Orleans. What became of his sister he does not say, though
      she must have escaped with them, since we hear of her
      existence years later. Not long after, how long we do not
      know, the father returned to France, where he married a
      second time, giving the son, as he himself says, the only
      mother he ever knew. This woman proved a rare exception among
      stepmothers&#8212;but she was too indulgent, and, Audubon
      says, completely spoiled him, bringing him up to live like a
      gentleman, ignoring his faults and boasting of his merits,
      and leading him to believe that fine clothes and a full
      pocket were the most desirable things in life.
    </p>
    <p>
      This she was able to do all the more effectively because the
      father soon left the son in her charge and returned to the
      United States in the employ of the French government, and
      before long became attached to the army under La Fayette.
      This could not have been later than 1781, the year of
      Cornwallis' surrender, and Audubon would then have been
      twenty-one, but this does not square with his own statements.
      After the war the father still served some years in the
      French navy, but finally retired from active service and
      lived at La Gerb&eacute;ti&egrave;re in France, where he died
      at the age of ninety-five, in 1818.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon says of his mother: "Let no one speak of her as my
      step-mother. I was ever to her as a son of her own flesh and
      blood and she was to me a true mother." With her he lived in
      the city of Nantes, France, where he appears to have gone to
      school. It was, however, only from his private tutors that he
      says he got any benefit. His father desired him to follow in
      his footsteps, and he was educated accordingly, studying
      drawing, geography, mathematics, fencing, and music.
      Mathematics he found hard dull work, as have so many men of
      like temperament, before and since, but music and fencing and
      geography were more to his liking. He was an ardent,
      imaginative youth, and chafed under all drudgery and routine.
      His foster-mother, in the absence of his father, suffered him
      to do much as he pleased, and he pleased to "play hookey"
      most of the time, joining boys of his own age and
      disposition, and deserting the school for the fields and
      woods, hunting birds' nests, fishing and shooting and
      returning home at night with his basket filled with various
      natural specimens and curiosities. The collecting fever is
      not a bad one to take possession of boys at this age.
    </p>
    <p>
      In his autobiography Audubon relates an incident that
      occurred when he was a child, which he thinks first kindled
      his love for birds. It was an encounter between a pet parrot
      and a tame monkey kept by his mother. One morning the parrot,
      Mignonne, asked as usual for her breakfast of bread and milk,
      whereupon the monkey, being in a bad humour, attacked the
      poor defenceless bird, and killed it. Audubon screamed at the
      cruel sight, and implored the servant to interfere and save
      the bird, but without avail. The boy's piercing screams
      brought the mother, who succeeded in tranquillising the
      child. The monkey was chained, and the parrot buried, but the
      tragedy awakened in him a lasting love for his feathered
      friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's father seems to have been the first to direct his
      attention to the study of birds, and to the observance of
      Nature generally. Through him he learned to notice the
      beautiful colourings and markings of the birds, to know their
      haunts, and to observe their change of plumage with the
      changing seasons; what he learned of their mysterious
      migrations fired his imagination.
    </p>
    <p>
      He speaks of this early intimacy with Nature as a feeling
      which bordered on frenzy. Watching the growth of a bird from
      the egg he compares to the unfolding of a flower from the
      bud.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pain which he felt in seeing the birds die and decay was
      very acute, but, fortunately, about this time some one showed
      him a book of illustrations, and henceforth "a new life ran
      in my veins," he says. To copy Nature was thereafter his one
      engrossing aim.
    </p>
    <p>
      That he realised how crude his early efforts were is shown by
      his saying: "My pencil gave birth to a family of cripples."
      His steady progress, too, is shown in his custom, on every
      birthday, of burning these 'Crippled' drawings, then setting
      to work to make better, truer ones.
    </p>
    <p>
      His father returning from a sea voyage, probably when the son
      was about twenty years old, was not well pleased with the
      progress that the boy was making in his studies. One morning
      soon after, Audubon found himself with his trunk and his
      belongings in a private carriage, beside his father, on his
      way to the city of Rochefort. The father occupied himself
      with a book and hardly spoke to his son during the several
      days of the journey, though there was no anger in his face.
      After they were settled in their new abode, he seated his son
      beside him and taking one of his hands in his, calmly said:
      "My beloved boy, thou art now safe. I have brought thee here
      that I may be able to pay constant attention to thy studies;
      thou shalt have ample time for pleasures, but the remainder
      <i>must</i> be employed with industry and care."
    </p>
    <p>
      But the father soon left him on some foreign mission for his
      government and the boy chafed as usual under his tasks and
      confinement. One day, too much mathematics drove him into
      making his escape by leaping from the window, and making off
      through the gardens attached to the school where he was
      confined. A watchful corporal soon overhauled him, however,
      and brought him back, where he was confined on board some
      sort of prison ship in the harbour. His father soon returned,
      when he was released, not without a severe reprimand.
    </p>
    <p>
      We next find him again in the city of Nantes struggling with
      more odious mathematics, and spending all his leisure time in
      the fields and woods, studying the birds. About this time he
      began a series of drawings of the French birds, which grew to
      upwards of two hundred, all bad enough, he says, but yet real
      representations of birds, that gave him a certain pleasure.
      They satisfied his need of expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      At about this time, too, though the year we do not know, his
      father concluded to send him to the United States, apparently
      to occupy a farm called Mill Grove, which the father had
      purchased some years before, on the Schuylkill river near
      Philadelphia. In New York he caught the yellow fever: he was
      carefully nursed by two Quaker ladies who kept a boarding
      house in Morristown, New Jersey.
    </p>
    <p>
      In due time his father's agent, Miers Fisher, also a Quaker,
      removed him to his own villa near Philadelphia, and here
      Audubon seems to have remained some months. But the gay and
      ardent youth did not find the atmosphere of the place
      congenial. The sober Quaker grey was not to his taste. His
      host was opposed to music of all kinds, and to dancing,
      hunting, fishing and nearly all other forms of amusement.
      More than that, he had a daughter between whom and Audubon he
      apparently hoped an affection would spring up. But Audubon
      took an unconquerable dislike to her. Very soon, therefore,
      he demanded to be put in possession of the estate to which
      his father had sent him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the month and year in which he entered upon his life at
      Mill Grove, we are ignorant. We know that he fell into the
      hands of another Quaker, William Thomas, who was the tenant
      on the place, but who, with his worthy wife, seems to have
      made life pleasant for him. He soon became attached to Mill
      Grove, and led a life there just suited to his temperament.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hunting, fishing, drawing, music, occupied my every moment;
      cares I knew not and cared naught about them. I purchased
      excellent and beautiful horses, visited all such neighbours
      as I found congenial spirits, and was as happy as happy could
      be."
    </p>
    <p>
      Near him there lived an English family by the name of
      Bakewell, but he had such a strong antipathy to the English
      that he postponed returning the call of Mr. Bakewell, who had
      left his card at Mill Grove during one of Audubon's
      excursions to the woods. In the late fall or early winter,
      however, he chanced to meet Mr. Bakewell while out hunting
      grouse, and was so pleased with him and his well-trained
      dogs, and his good marksmanship, that he apologised for his
      discourtesy in not returning his call, and promised to do so
      forthwith. Not many mornings thereafter he was seated in his
      neighbour's house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well do I recollect the morning," he says in the
      autobiographical sketch which he prepared for his sons, "and
      may it please God that I never forget it, when for the first
      time I entered Mr. Bakewell's dwelling. It happened that he
      was absent from home, and I was shown into a parlour where
      only one young lady was snugly seated at her work by the
      fire. She rose on my entrance, offered me a seat, assured me
      of the gratification her father would feel on his return,
      which, she added, would be in a few moments, as she would
      despatch a servant for him. Other ruddy cheeks and bright
      eyes made their transient appearance, but, like spirits gay,
      soon vanished from my sight; and there I sat, my gaze
      riveted, as it were, on the young girl before me, who, half
      working, half talking, essayed to make the time pleasant to
      me. Oh! may God bless her! It was she, my dear sons, who
      afterwards became my beloved wife, and your mother. Mr.
      Bakewell soon made his appearance, and received me with the
      manner and hospitality of a true English gentleman. The other
      members of the family were soon introduced to me, and Lucy
      was told to have luncheon produced. She now rose from her
      seat a second time, and her form, to which I had paid but
      partial attention, showed both grace and beauty; and my heart
      followed every one of her steps. The repast over, dogs and
      guns were made ready.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lucy, I was pleased to believe, looked upon me with some
      favour, and I turned more especially to her on leaving. I
      felt that certain '<i>Je ne sais quoi</i>' which intimated
      that, at least, she was not indifferent to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      The winter that followed was a gay and happy one at Mill
      Grove; shooting parties, skating parties, house parties with
      the Bakewell family, were of frequent occurrence. It was
      during one of these skating excursions upon the Perkiomen in
      quest of wild ducks, that Audubon had a lucky escape from
      drowning. He was leading the party down the river in the dusk
      of the evening, with a white handkerchief tied to a stick,
      when he came suddenly upon a large air hole into which, in
      spite of himself, his impetus carried him. Had there not
      chanced to be another air hole a few yards below, our hero's
      career would have ended then and there. The current quickly
      carried him beneath the ice to this other opening where he
      managed to seize hold of the ice and to crawl out.
    </p>
    <p>
      His friendship with the Bakewell family deepened. Lucy taught
      Audubon English, he taught her drawing, and their friendship
      very naturally ripened into love, which seems to have run its
      course smoothly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon was happy. He had ample means, and his time was
      filled with congenial pursuits. He writes in his journal: "I
      had no vices, but was thoughtless, pensive, loving, fond of
      shooting, fishing, and riding, and had a passion for raising
      all sorts of fowls, which sources of interest and amusement
      fully occupied my time. It was one of my fancies to be
      ridiculously fond of dress; to hunt in black satin breeches,
      wear pumps when shooting, and to dress in the finest ruffled
      shirts I could obtain from France."
    </p>
    <p>
      The evidences of vanity regarding his looks and apparel,
      sometimes found in his journal, are probably traceable to his
      foster-mother's unwise treatment of him in his youth. We have
      seen how his father's intervention in the nick of time
      exercised a salutary influence upon him at this point in his
      career, directing his attention to the more solid
      attainments. Whatever traces of this self-consciousness and
      apparent vanity remained in after life, seem to have been
      more the result of a na&iuml;ve character delighting in
      picturesqueness in himself as well as in Nature, than they
      were of real vanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      In later years he was assuredly nothing of the dandy; he
      himself ridicules his youthful fondness for dress, while
      those who visited him during his last years speak of him as
      particularly lacking in self-consciousness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although he affected the dress of the dandies of his time, he
      was temperate and abstemious. "I ate no butcher's meat, lived
      chiefly on fruits, vegetables, and fish, and never drank a
      glass of spirits or wine until my wedding day." "All this
      time I was fair and rosy, strong and active as one of my age
      and sex could be, and as active and agile as a buck."
    </p>
    <p>
      That he was energetic and handy and by no means the mere
      dandy that his extravagance in dress might seem to indicate,
      is evidenced from the fact that about this time he made a
      journey on foot to New York and accomplished the ninety miles
      in three days in mid-winter. But he was angry, and anger is
      better than wine to walk on.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cause of his wrath was this; a lead mine had been
      discovered upon the farm of Mill Grove, and Audubon had
      applied to his father for counsel in regard to it. In
      response, the elder Audubon had sent over a man by the name
      of Da Costa who was to act as his son's partner and partial
      guardian&#8212; was to teach him mineralogy and mining
      engineering, and to look after his finances generally. But
      the man, Audubon says, knew nothing of the subjects he was
      supposed to teach, and was, besides, "a covetous wretch, who
      did all he could to ruin my father, and, indeed, swindled
      both of us to a large amount." Da Costa pushed his authority
      so far as to object to Audubon's proposed union with Lucy
      Bakewell, as being a marriage beneath him, and finally
      plotted to get the young man off to India. These things very
      naturally kindled Audubon's quick temper, and he demanded of
      his tutor and guardian money enough to take him to France to
      consult with his father. Da Costa gave him a letter of credit
      on a sort of banker-broker residing in New York. To New York
      he accordingly went, as above stated, and found that the
      banker-broker was in the plot to pack him off to India. This
      disclosure kindled his wrath afresh. He says that had he had
      a weapon about him the banker's heart must have received the
      result of his wrath. His Spanish blood began to declare
      itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he sought out a brother of Mr. Bakewell and the uncle of
      his sweetheart, and of him borrowed the money to take him to
      France. He took passage on a New Bedford brig bound for
      Nantes. The captain had recently been married and when the
      vessel reached the vicinity of New Bedford, he discovered
      some dangerous leaks which necessitated a week's delay to
      repair damages. Audubon avers that the captain had caused
      holes to be bored in the vessel's sides below the water line,
      to gain an excuse to spend a few more days with his bride.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a voyage of nineteen days the vessel entered the Loire,
      and anchored in the lower harbour of Nantes, and Audubon was
      soon welcomed by his father and fond foster-mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      His first object was to have the man Da Costa disposed of,
      which he soon accomplished; the second, to get his father's
      consent to his marriage with Lucy Bakewell, which was also
      brought about in due time, although the parents of both
      agreed that they were "owre young to marry yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon now remained two years in France, indulging his taste
      for hunting, rambling, and drawing birds and other objects of
      Natural History.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was probably about the years 1805 and 1806. France was
      under the sway of Napoleon, and conscriptions were the order
      of the day. The elder Audubon became uneasy lest his son be
      drafted into the French army; hence he resolved to send him
      back to America. In the meantime, he interested one Rozier in
      the lead mine and had formed a partnership between him and
      his son, to run for nine years. In due course the two young
      men sailed for New York, leaving France at a time when
      thousands would have been glad to have followed their
      footsteps.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this voyage their vessel was pursued and overhauled by a
      British privateer, the <i>Rattlesnake</i>, and nearly all
      their money and eatables were carried off, besides two of the
      ship's best sailors. Audubon and Rozier saved their gold by
      hiding it under a cable in the bow of the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      On returning to Mill Grove, Audubon resumed his former habits
      of life there. We hear no more of the lead mine, but more of
      his bird studies and drawings, the love of which was fast
      becoming his ruling passion. "Before I sailed for France, I
      had begun a series of drawings of the birds of America, and
      had also begun a study of their habits. I at first drew my
      subject dead, by which I mean to say that after procuring a
      specimen, I hung it up, either by the head, wing, or foot,
      and copied it as closely as I could." Even the hateful Da
      Costa had praised his bird pictures and had predicted great
      things for him in this direction. His words had given Audubon
      a great deal of pleasure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. William Bakewell, the brother of his Lucy, has given us a
      glimpse of Audubon and his surroundings at this time.
      "Audubon took me to his house, where he and his companion,
      Rozier, resided, with Mrs. Thomas for an attendant. On
      entering his room, I was astonished and delighted that it was
      turned into a museum. The walls were festooned with all sorts
      of birds' eggs, carefully blown out and strung on a thread.
      The chimney piece was covered with stuffed squirrels,
      raccoons and opossums; and the shelves around were likewise
      crowded with specimens, among which were fishes, frogs,
      snakes, lizards, and other reptiles. Besides these stuffed
      varieties, many paintings were arrayed upon the walls,
      chiefly of birds. He had great skill in stuffing and
      preserving animals of all sorts. He had also a trick of
      training dogs with great perfection, of which art his famous
      dog Zephyr was a wonderful example. He was an admirable
      marksman, an expert swimmer, a clever rider, possessed great
      activity, prodigious strength, and was notable for the
      elegance of his figure, and the beauty of his features, and
      he aided Nature by a careful attendance to his dress. Besides
      other accomplishments, he was musical, a good fencer, danced
      well, had some acquaintance with legerdemain tricks, worked
      in hair, and could plait willow baskets." He adds that
      Audubon once swam across the Schuylkill with him on his back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Audubon was now eager to marry, but Mr. Bakewell advised him
      first to study the mercantile business. This he accordingly
      set out to do by entering as a clerk the commercial house of
      Benjamin Bakewell in New York, while his friend Rozier
      entered a French house in Philadelphia.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Audubon was not cut out for business; his first venture
      was in indigo, and cost him several hundred pounds. Rozier
      succeeded no better; his first speculation was a cargo of
      hams shipped to the West Indies which did not return one
      fifth of the cost. Audubon's want of business habits is shown
      by the statement that at this time he one day posted a letter
      containing eight thousand dollars without sealing it. His
      heart was in the fields and woods with the birds. His room
      was filled with drying bird skins, the odour from which, it
      is said, became so strong that his neighbours sent a
      constable to him with a message to abate the nuisance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Despairing of becoming successful business men in either New
      York or Philadelphia, he and Rozier soon returned to Mill
      Grove. During some of their commercial enterprises they had
      visited Kentucky and thought so well of the outlook there
      that now their thoughts turned thitherward.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here we get the first date from Audubon; on April 8, 1808, he
      and Lucy Bakewell were married. The plantation of Mill Grove
      had been previously sold, and the money invested in goods
      with which to open a store in Louisville, Kentucky. The day
      after the marriage, Audubon and his wife and Mr. Rozier
      started on their journey. In crossing the mountains to
      Pittsburg the coach in which they were travelling upset, and
      Mrs. Audubon was severely bruised. From Pittsburg they
      floated down the Ohio in a flatboat in company with several
      other young emigrant families. The voyage occupied twelve
      days and was no doubt made good use of by Audubon in
      observing the wild nature along shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      In Louisville, he and Rozier opened a large store which
      promised well. But Audubon's heart was more and more with the
      birds, and his business more and more neglected. Rozier
      attended to the counter, and, Audubon says, grew rich, but he
      himself spent most of the time in the woods or hunting with
      the planters settled about Louisville, between whom and
      himself a warm attachment soon sprang up. He was not growing
      rich, but he was happy. "I shot, I drew, I looked on Nature
      only," he says, "and my days were happy beyond human
      conception, and beyond this I really cared not."
    </p>
    <p>
      He says that the only part of the commercial business he
      enjoyed was the ever engaging journeys which he made to New
      York and Philadelphia to purchase goods.
    </p>
    <p>
      These journeys led him through the "beautiful, the darling
      forests of Ohio, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania," and on one
      occasion he says he lost sight of the pack horses carrying
      his goods and his dollars, in his preoccupation with a new
      warbler.
    </p>
    <p>
      During his residence in Louisville, Alexander Wilson, his
      great rival in American ornithology, called upon him. This is
      Audubon's account of the meeting: "One fair morning I was
      surprised by the sudden entrance into our counting room at
      Louisville of Mr. Alexander Wilson, the celebrated author of
      the American Ornithology, of whose existence I had never
      until that moment been apprised. This happened in March,
      1810. How well do I remember him as he then walked up to me.
      His long, rather hooked nose, the keenness of his eyes, and
      his prominent cheek bones, stamped his countenance with a
      peculiar character. His dress, too, was of a kind not usually
      seen in that part of the country; a short coat, trousers and
      a waistcoat of grey cloth. His stature was not above the
      middle size. He had two volumes under his arm, and as he
      approached the table at which I was working, I thought I
      discovered something like astonishment in his countenance.
      He, however, immediately proceeded to disclose the object of
      his visit, which was to procure subscriptions for his work.
      He opened his books, explained the nature of his occupations,
      and requested my patronage. I felt surprised and gratified at
      the sight of his volumes, turned over a few of the plates,
      and had already taken my pen to write my name in his favour,
      when my partner rather abruptly said to me in French: 'My
      dear Audubon, what induces you to subscribe to this work!
      Your drawings are certainly far better; and again, you must
      know as much of the habits of American birds as this
      gentleman.' Whether Mr. Wilson understood French or not, or
      if the suddenness with which I paused disappointed him, I
      cannot tell; but I clearly perceived he was not pleased.
      Vanity, and the encomiums of my friend, prevented me from
      subscribing. Mr. Wilson asked me if I had many drawings of
      birds, I rose, took down a large portfolio, laid it on the
      table, and showed him as I would show you, kind reader, or
      any other person fond of such subjects, the whole of the
      contents, with the same patience, with which he had showed me
      his own engravings. His surprise appeared great, as he told
      me he had never had the most distant idea that any other
      individual than himself had been engaged in forming such a
      collection. He asked me if it was my intention to publish,
      and when I answered in the negative, his surprise seemed to
      increase. And, truly, such was not my intention; for, until
      long after, when I met the Prince of Musignano in
      Philadelphia, I had not the least idea of presenting the
      fruits of my labours to the world. Mr. Wilson now examined my
      drawings with care, asked if I should have any objection to
      lending him a few during his stay, to which I replied that I
      had none. He then bade me good morning, not, however, until I
      had made an arrangement to explore the woods in the vicinity
      along with him, and had promised to procure for him some
      birds, of which I had drawings in my collection, but which he
      had never seen. It happened that he lodged in the same house
      with us, but his retired habits, I thought, exhibited a
      strong feeling of discontent, or a decided melancholy. The
      Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute made me
      melancholy, too, and I felt for him. I presented him to my
      wife and friends, and seeing that he was all enthusiasm,
      exerted myself as much as was in my power to procure for him
      the specimens which he wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We hunted together and obtained birds which he had never
      before seen; but, reader, I did not subscribe to his work,
      for, even at that time, my collection was greater than his.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thinking that perhaps he might be pleased to publish the
      results of my researches, I offered them to him, merely on
      condition that what I had drawn, or might afterward draw and
      send to him, should be mentioned in his work as coming from
      my pencil. I at the same time offered to open a
      correspondence with him, which I thought might prove
      beneficial to us both. He made no reply to either proposal,
      and before many days had elapsed, left Louisville on his way
      to New Orleans, little knowing how much his talents were
      appreciated in our little town, at least by myself and my
      friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilson's account of this meeting is in curious contrast to
      that of Audubon. It is meagre and unsatisfactory. Under date
      of March 19, he writes in his diary at Louisville: "Rambled
      around the town with my gun. Examined Mr. &#8212;&#8212;'s
      [Audubon's] drawings in crayons&#8212;very good. Saw two new
      birds he had, both <i>Motacillae</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>March</i> 21. "Went out this afternoon shooting with Mr.
      A. Saw a number of Sandhill cranes. Pigeons numerous."
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally, in winding up the record of his visit to Louisville,
      he says, with palpable inconsistency, not to say falsehood,
      that he did not receive one act of civility there, nor see
      one new bird, and found no naturalist to keep him company.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some years afterward, Audubon hunted him up in Philadelphia,
      and found him drawing a white headed eagle. He was civil, and
      showed Audubon some attention, but "spoke not of birds or
      drawings."
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilson was of a nature far less open and generous than was
      Audubon. It is evident that he looked upon the latter as his
      rival, and was jealous of his superior talents; for superior
      they were in many ways. Audubon's drawings have far more
      spirit and artistic excellence, and his text shows far more
      enthusiasm and hearty affiliation with Nature. In accuracy of
      observation, Wilson is fully his equal, if not his superior.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Audubon had deserted his business, his business soon
      deserted him; he and his partner soon became discouraged (we
      hear no more about the riches Rozier had acquired), and
      resolved upon moving their goods to Hendersonville, Kentucky,
      over one hundred miles further down the Ohio. Mrs. Audubon
      and her baby son were sent back to her father's at Fatland
      Ford where they remained upwards of a year.
    </p>
    <p>
      Business at Hendersonville proved dull; the country was but
      thinly inhabited and only the coarsest goods were in demand.
      To procure food the merchants had to resort to fishing and
      hunting. They employed a clerk who proved a good shot; he and
      Audubon supplied the table while Rozier again stood behind
      the counter.
    </p>
    <p>
      How long the Hendersonville enterprise lasted we do not know.
      Another change was finally determined upon, and the next
      glimpse we get of Audubon, we see him with his clerk and
      partner and their remaining stock in trade, consisting of
      three hundred barrels of whiskey, sundry dry goods and
      powder, on board a keel boat making their way down the Ohio,
      in a severe snow storm, toward St. Genevi&egrave;ve, a
      settlement on the Mississippi River, where they proposed to
      try again. The boat is steered by a long oar, about sixty
      feet in length, made of the trunk of a slender tree, and
      shaped at its outer extremity like the fin of a dolphin; four
      oars in the bow propelled her, and with the current they made
      about five miles an hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Audubon, who seems to have returned from her father's,
      with her baby, or babies, was left behind at Hendersonville
      with a friend, until the result of the new venture should be
      determined.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the course of six weeks, after many delays, and adventures
      with the ice and the cold, the party reached St.
      Genevi&egrave;ve.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon has given in his journal a very vivid and interesting
      account of this journey. At St. Genevi&egrave;ve, the whiskey
      was in great demand, and what had cost them twenty-five cents
      a gallon, was sold for two dollars. But Audubon soon became
      discouraged with the place and longed to be back in
      Hendersonville with his family. He did not like the low bred
      French-Canadians, who made up most of the population of the
      settlement. He sold out his interest in the business to his
      partner, who liked the place and the people, and here the two
      parted company. Audubon purchased a fine horse and started
      over the prairies on his return trip to Hendersonville.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this journey he came near being murdered by a woman and
      her two desperate sons who lived in a cabin on the prairies,
      where the traveller put up for the night. He has given a
      minute and graphic account of this adventure in his journal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cupidity of the woman had been aroused by the sight of
      Audubon's gold watch and chain. A wounded Indian, who had
      also sought refuge in the shanty had put Audubon upon his
      guard. It was midnight, Audubon lay on some bear skins in one
      corner of the room, feigning sleep. He had previously slipped
      out of the cabin and had loaded his gun, which lay close at
      hand. Presently he saw the woman sharpen a huge carving
      knife, and thrust it into the hand of her drunken son, with
      the injunction to kill yon stranger and secure the watch. He
      was just on the point of springing up to shoot his would-be
      murderers, when the door burst open, and two travellers, each
      with a long knife, appeared. Audubon jumped up and told them
      his situation. The drunken sons and the woman were bound, and
      in the morning they were taken out into the woods and were
      treated as the Regulators treated delinquents in those days.
      They were shot. Whether Audubon did any of the shooting or
      not, he does not say. But he aided and abetted, and his
      Spanish blood must have tingled in his veins. Then the cabin
      was set on fire, and the travellers proceeded on their way.
    </p>
    <p>
      It must be confessed that this story sounds a good deal like
      an episode in a dime novel, and may well be taken with a
      grain of allowance. Did remote prairie cabins in those days
      have grindstones and carving knives? And why should the
      would-be murderers use a knife when they had guns?
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon reached Hendersonville in early March, and witnessed
      the severe earthquake which visited that part of Kentucky the
      following November, 1812. Of this experience we also have a
      vivid account in his journals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon continued to live at Hendersonville, his pecuniary
      means much reduced. He says that he made a pedestrian tour
      back to St. Genevi&egrave;ve to collect money due him from
      Rozier, walking the one hundred and sixty-five miles, much of
      the time nearly ankle-deep in mud and water, in a little over
      three days. Concerning the accuracy of this statement one
      also has his doubts. Later he bought a "wild horse," and on
      its back travelled over Tennessee and a portion of Georgia,
      and so around to Philadelphia, later returning to
      Hendersonville.
    </p>
    <p>
      He continued his drawings of birds and animals, but, in the
      meantime, embarked in another commercial venture, and for a
      time prospered. Some years previously he had formed a
      co-partnership with his wife's brother, and a commercial
      house in charge of Bakewell had been opened in New Orleans.
      This turned out disastrously and was a constant drain upon
      his resources.
    </p>
    <p>
      This partner now appears upon the scene at Hendersonville and
      persuades Audubon to erect, at a heavy outlay, a steam grist
      and saw mill, and to take into the firm an Englishman by the
      name of Pease.
    </p>
    <p>
      This enterprise brought fresh disaster. "How I laboured at
      this infernal mill, from dawn till dark, nay, at times all
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      They also purchased a steamboat which was so much additional
      weight to drag them down. This was about the year 1817. From
      this date till 1819, Audubon's pecuniary difficulties
      increased daily. He had no business talent whatever; he was a
      poet and an artist; he cared not for money, he wanted to be
      alone with Nature. The forests called to him, the birds
      haunted his dreams.
    </p>
    <p>
      His father dying in 1818, left him a valuable estate in
      France, and seventeen thousand dollars, deposited with a
      merchant in Richmond, Virginia; but Audubon was so dilatory
      in proving his identity and his legal right to this cash,
      that the merchant finally died insolvent, and the legatee
      never received a cent of it. The French estate he transferred
      in after years to his sister Rosa.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Finally, Audubon gave up the struggle of trying to be a
      business man. He says: "I parted with every particle of
      property I had to my creditors, keeping only the clothes I
      wore on that day, my original drawings, and my gun, and
      without a dollar in my pocket, walked to Louisville alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      This he speaks of as the saddest of all his
      journeys&#8212;"the only time in my life when the wild
      turkeys that so often crossed my path, and the thousands of
      lesser birds that enlivened the woods and the prairies, all
      looked like enemies, and I turned my eyes from them, as if I
      could have wished that they had never existed."
    </p>
    <p>
      But the thought of his beloved Lucy and her children soon
      spurred him to action. He was a good draughtsman, he had been
      a pupil of David, he would turn his talents to account.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As we were straightened to the very utmost, I undertook to
      draw portraits at the low price of five dollars per head, in
      black chalk. I drew a few gratis, and succeeded so well that
      ere many days had elapsed I had an abundance of work."
    </p>
    <p>
      His fame spread, his orders increased. A settler came for him
      in the middle of the night from a considerable distance to
      have the portrait of his mother taken while she was on the
      eve of death, and a clergyman had his child's body exhumed
      that the artist might restore to him the lost features.
    </p>
    <p>
      Money flowed in and he was soon again established with his
      family in a house in Louisville. His drawings of birds still
      continued and, he says, became at times almost a mania with
      him; he would frequently give up a head, the profits of which
      would have supplied the wants of his family a week or more,
      "to represent a little citizen of the feathered tribe."
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1819 he was offered the position of taxidermist in the
      museum at Cincinnati, and soon moved there with his family.
      His pay not being forthcoming from the museum, he started a
      drawing school there, and again returned to his portraits.
      Without these resources, he says, he would have been upon the
      starving list. But food was plentiful and cheap. He writes in
      his journal: "Our living here is extremely moderate; the
      markets are well supplied and cheap, beef only two and one
      half cents a pound, and I am able to supply a good deal
      myself. Partridges are frequently in the streets, and I can
      shoot wild turkeys within a mile or so. Squirrels and
      Woodcock are very abundant in the season, and fish always
      easily caught."
    </p>
    <p>
      In October, 1820, we again find him adrift, apparently with
      thought of having his bird drawings published, after he shall
      have further added to them by going through many of the
      southern and western states.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaving his family behind him, he started for New Orleans on
      a flatboat. He tarried long at Natchez, and did not reach the
      Crescent City till midwinter. Again he found himself
      destitute of means, and compelled to resort to portrait
      painting. He went on with his bird collecting and bird
      painting; in the meantime penetrating the swamps and bayous
      around the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this time he seems to have heard of the publication of
      Wilson's "Ornithology," and tried in vain to get sight of a
      copy of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring he made an attempt to get an appointment as
      draughtsman and naturalist to a government expedition that
      was to leave the next year to survey the new territory ceded
      to the United States by Spain. He wrote to President Monroe
      upon the subject, but the appointment never came to him. In
      March he called upon Vanderlyn, the historical painter, and
      took with him a portfolio of his drawings in hopes of getting
      a recommendation. Vanderlyn at first treated him as a
      mendicant and ordered him to leave his portfolio in the
      entry. After some delay, in company with a government
      official, he consented to see the pictures.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The perspiration ran down my face," says Audubon, "as I
      showed him my drawings and laid them on the floor." He was
      thinking of the expedition to Mexico just referred to, and
      wanted to make a good impression upon Vanderlyn and the
      officer. This he succeeded in doing, and obtained from the
      artist a very complimentary note, as he did also from
      Governor Robertson of Louisiana.
    </p>
    <p>
      In June, Audubon left New Orleans for Kentucky, to rejoin his
      wife and boys, but somewhere on the journey engaged himself
      to a Mrs. Perrie who lived at Bayou Sara, Louisiana, to teach
      her daughter drawing during the summer, at sixty dollars per
      month, leaving him half of each day to follow his own
      pursuits. He continued in this position till October when he
      took steamer for New Orleans. "My long, flowing hair, and
      loose yellow nankeen dress, and the unfortunate cut of my
      features, attracted much attention, and made me desire to be
      dressed like other people as soon as possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      He now rented a house in New Orleans on Dauphine street, and
      determined to send for his family. Since he had left
      Cincinnati the previous autumn, he had finished sixty-two
      drawings of birds and plants, three quadrupeds, two snakes,
      fifty portraits of all sorts, and had lived by his talents,
      not having had a dollar when he started. "I sent a draft to
      my wife, and began life in New Orleans with forty-two
      dollars, health, and much eagerness to pursue my plan of
      collecting all the birds of America."
    </p>
    <p>
      His family, after strong persuasion, joined him in December,
      1821, and his former life of drawing portraits, giving
      lessons, painting birds, and wandering about the country,
      began again. His earnings proving inadequate to support the
      family, his wife took a position as governess in the family
      of a Mr. Brand.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring, acting upon the judgment of his wife, he
      concluded to leave New Orleans again, and to try his fortunes
      elsewhere. He paid all his bills and took steamer for
      Natchez, paying his passage by drawing a crayon portrait of
      the captain and his wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the trip up the Mississippi, two hundred of his bird
      portraits were sorely damaged by the breaking of a bottle of
      gunpowder in the chest in which they were being conveyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three times in his career he met with disasters to his
      drawings. On the occasion of his leaving Hendersonville to go
      to Philadelphia, he had put two hundred of his original
      drawings in a wooden box and had left them in charge of a
      friend. On his return, several months later, he pathetically
      recounts what befell them: "A pair of Norway rats had taken
      possession of the whole, and reared a young family among
      gnawed bits of paper, which but a month previous, represented
      nearly one thousand inhabitants of the air!"
    </p>
    <p>
      This discovery resulted in insomnia, and a fearful heat in
      the head; for several days he seemed like one stunned, but
      his youth and health stood him in hand, he rallied, and,
      undaunted, again sallied forth to the woods with dog and gun.
      In three years' time his portfolio was again filled.
    </p>
    <p>
      The third catastrophe to some of his drawings was caused by a
      fire in a New York building in which his treasures were kept
      during his sojourn in Europe.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon had an eye for the picturesque in his fellow-men as
      well as for the picturesque in Nature. On the Levee in New
      Orleans, he first met a painter whom he thus describes: "His
      head was covered by a straw hat, the brim of which might cope
      with those worn by the fair sex in 1830; his neck was exposed
      to the weather; the broad frill of a shirt, then fashionable,
      flopped about his breast, whilst an extraordinary collar,
      carefully arranged, fell over the top of his coat. The latter
      was of a light green colour, harmonising well with a pair of
      flowing yellow nankeen trousers, and a pink waistcoat, from
      the bosom of which, amidst a large bunch of the splendid
      flowers of the magnolia, protruded part of a young alligator,
      which seemed more anxious to glide through the muddy waters
      of a swamp than to spend its life swinging to and fro amongst
      folds of the finest lawn. The gentleman held in one hand a
      cage full of richly-plumed nonpareils, whilst in the other he
      sported a silk umbrella, on which I could plainly read
      'Stolen from I,' these words being painted in large white
      characters. He walked as if conscious of his own importance;
      that is, with a good deal of pomposity, singing, 'My love is
      but a lassie yet'; and that with such thorough imitation of
      the Scotch emphasis that had not his physiognomy suggested
      another parentage, I should have believed him to be a genuine
      Scot. A narrower acquaintance proved him to be a Yankee; and
      anxious to make his acquaintance, I desired to see his birds.
      He retorted, 'What the devil did I know about birds?' I
      explained to him that I was a naturalist, whereupon he
      requested me to examine his birds. I did so with much
      interest, and was preparing to leave, when he bade me come to
      his lodgings and see the remainder of his collection. This I
      willingly did, and was struck with amazement at the
      appearance of his studio. Several cages were hung about the
      walls, containing specimens of birds, all of which I examined
      at my leisure. On a large easel before me stood an unfinished
      portrait, other pictures hung about, and in the room were two
      young pupils; and at a glance I discovered that the eccentric
      stranger was, like myself, a naturalist and an artist. The
      artist, as modest as he was odd, showed me how he laid on the
      paint on his pictures, asked after my own pursuits, and
      showed a friendly spirit which enchanted me. With a ramrod
      for a rest, he prosecuted his work vigorously, and afterwards
      asked me to examine a percussion lock on his gun, a novelty
      to me at the time. He snapped some caps, and on my remarking
      that he would frighten his birds, he exclaimed, 'Devil take
      the birds, there are more of them in the market.' He then
      loaded his gun, and wishing to show me that he was a
      marksman, fired at one of the pins on his easel. This he
      smashed to pieces, and afterward put a rifle bullet exactly
      through the hole into which the pin fitted."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon reached Natchez on March 24, 1822, and remained there
      and in the vicinity till the spring of 1823, teaching drawing
      and French to private pupils and in the college at
      Washington, nine miles distant, hunting, and painting the
      birds, and completing his collection. Among other things he
      painted the "Death of Montgomery" from a print. His friends
      persuaded him to raffle the picture off. This he did, and
      taking one number himself, won the picture, while his
      finances were improved by three hundred dollars received for
      the tickets. Early in the autumn his wife again joined him,
      and presently we find her acting as governess in the home of
      a clergyman named Davis.
    </p>
    <p>
      In December, there arrived in Natchez a wandering portrait
      painter named Stein, who gave Audubon his first lessons in
      the use of oil colours, and was instructed by Audubon in turn
      in chalk drawing.
    </p>
    <p>
      There appear to have been no sacrifices that Mrs. Audubon was
      not willing and ready to make to forward the plans of her
      husband. "My best friends," he says at this time, "solemnly
      regarded me as a mad man, and my wife and family alone gave
      me encouragement. My wife determined that my genius should
      prevail, and that my final success as an ornithologist should
      be triumphant."
    </p>
    <p>
      She wanted him to go to Europe, and, to assist toward that
      end, she entered into an engagement with a Mrs. Percy of
      Bayou Sara, to instruct her children, together with her own,
      and a limited number of outside pupils.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon, in the meantime, with his son Victor, and his new
      artist friend, Stein, started off in a wagon, seeking whom
      they might paint, on a journey through the southern states.
      They wandered as far as New Orleans, but Audubon appears to
      have returned to his wife again in May, and to have engaged
      in teaching her pupils music and drawing. But something went
      wrong, there was a misunderstanding with the Percys, and
      Audubon went back to Natchez, revolving various schemes in
      his head, even thinking of again entering upon mercantile
      pursuits in Louisville.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had no genius for accumulating money nor for keeping it
      after he had gotten it. One day when his affairs were at a
      very low ebb, he met a squatter with a tame black wolf which
      took Audubon's fancy. He says that he offered the owner a
      hundred dollar bill for it on the spot, but was refused. He
      probably means to say that he would have offered it had he
      had it. Hundred dollar bills, I fancy, were rarer than tame
      black wolves in that pioneer country in those days.
    </p>
    <p>
      About this time he and his son Victor were taken with yellow
      fever, and Mrs. Audubon was compelled to dismiss her school
      and go to nurse them. They both recovered, and, in October
      (1823), set out for Louisville, making part of the journey on
      foot. The following winter was passed at Shipping Port, near
      Louisville, where Audubon painted birds, landscapes,
      portraits and even signs. In March he left Shipping Port for
      Philadelphia, leaving his son Victor in the counting house of
      a Mr. Berthoud. He reached Philadelphia on April 5, and
      remained there till the following August, studying painting,
      exhibiting his birds, making many new acquaintances, among
      them Charles Lucien Bonaparte, giving lessons in drawing at
      thirty dollars per month, all the time casting wistful eyes
      toward Europe, whither he hoped soon to be able to go with
      his drawings. In July he made a pilgrimage to Mill Grove
      where he had passed so many happy years. The sight of the old
      familiar scenes filled him with the deepest emotions.
    </p>
    <p>
      In August he left Philadelphia for New York, hoping to
      improve his finances, and, may be, publish his drawings in
      that city. At this time he had two hundred sheets, and about
      one thousand birds. While there he again met Vanderlyn and
      examined his pictures, but says that he was not impressed
      with the idea that Vanderlyn was a great painter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The birds that he saw in the museum in New York appeared to
      him to be set up in unnatural and constrained attitudes. With
      Dr. De Kay he visited the Lyceum, and his drawings were
      examined by members of the Institute. Among them he felt
      awkward and uncomfortable. "I feel that I am strange to all
      but the birds of America," he said. As most of the persons to
      whom he had letters of introduction were absent, and as his
      spirits soon grew low, he left on the fifteenth for Albany.
      Here he found his money low also. Abandoning the idea of
      visiting Boston, he took passage on a canal boat for
      Rochester. His fellow-passengers on the boat were doubtful
      whether he was a government officer, commissioner, or spy. At
      that time Rochester had only five thousand inhabitants. After
      a couple of days he went on to Buffalo and, he says, wrote
      under his name at the hotel this sentence: "Who, like Wilson,
      will ramble, but never, like that great man, die under the
      lash of a bookseller."
    </p>
    <p>
      He visited Niagara, and gives a good account of the
      impressions which the cataract made upon him. He did not
      cross the bridge to Goat Island on account of the low state
      of his funds. In Buffalo he obtained a good dinner of bread
      and milk for twelve cents, and went to bed cheering himself
      with thoughts of other great men who had encountered greater
      hardships and had finally achieved fame.
    </p>
    <p>
      He soon left Buffalo, taking a deck passage on a schooner
      bound for Erie, furnishing his own bed and provisions and
      paying a fare of one dollar and a half. From Erie he and a
      fellow-traveller hired a man and cart to take them to
      Meadville, paying their entertainers over night with music
      and portrait drawing. Reaching Meadville, they had only one
      dollar and a half between them, but soon replenished their
      pockets by sketching some of the leading citizens.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's belief in himself helped him wonderfully. He knew
      that he had talents, he insisted on using them. Most of his
      difficulties came from trying to do the things he was not
      fitted to do. He did not hesitate to use his talents in a
      humble way, when nothing else offered&#8212;portraits,
      landscapes, birds and animals he painted, but he would paint
      the cabin walls of the ship to pay his passage, if he was
      short of funds, or execute crayon portraits of a shoemaker
      and his wife, to pay for shoes to enable him to continue his
      journeys. He could sleep on a steamer's deck, with a few
      shavings for a bed, and, wrapped in a blanket, look up at the
      starlit sky, and give thanks to a Providence that he believed
      was ever guarding and guiding him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in September he left for Pittsburg where he spent one
      month scouring the country for birds and continuing his
      drawings. In October, he was on his way down the Ohio in a
      skiff, in company with "a doctor, an artist and an Irishman."
      The weather was rainy, and at Wheeling his companions left
      the boat in disgust. He sold his skiff and continued his
      voyage to Cincinnati in a keel boat. Here he obtained a loan
      of fifteen dollars and took deck passage on a boat to
      Louisville, going thence to Shipping Port to see his son
      Victor. In a few days he was off for Bayou Sara to see his
      wife, and with a plan to open a school there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I arrived at Bayou Sara with rent and wasted clothes, and
      uncut hair, and altogether looking like the Wandering Jew."
    </p>
    <p>
      In his haste to reach his wife and child at Mr. Percy's, a
      mile or more distant through the woods, he got lost in the
      night, and wandered till daylight before he found the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found his wife had prospered in his absence, and was
      earning nearly three thousand dollars a year, with which she
      was quite ready to help him in the publication of his
      drawings. He forthwith resolved to see what he could do to
      increase the amount by his own efforts. Receiving an offer to
      teach dancing, he soon had a class of sixty organised. But
      the material proved so awkward and refractory that the master
      in his first lesson broke his bow and nearly ruined his
      violin in his excitement and impatience. Then he danced to
      his own music till the whole room came down in thunders of
      applause. The dancing lessons brought him two thousand
      dollars; this sum, together with his wife's savings, enabled
      him to foresee a successful issue to his great ornithological
      work.
    </p>
    <p>
      On May, 1826, he embarked at New Orleans on board the ship
      <i>Delos</i> for Liverpool. His journal kept during this
      voyage abounds in interesting incidents and descriptions. He
      landed at Liverpool, July 20, and delivered some of his
      letters of introduction. He soon made the acquaintance of Mr.
      Rathbone, Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Baring, and Lord Stanley. Lord
      Stanley said in looking over his drawings: "This work is
      unique, and deserves the patronage of the Crown." In a letter
      to his wife at this time, Audubon said: "I am cherished by
      the most notable people in and around Liverpool, and have
      obtained letters of introduction to Baron Humboldt, Sir
      Walter Scott, Sir Humphry Davy, Sir Thomas Lawrence, Hannah
      More, Miss Edgeworth, and your distinguished cousin, Robert
      Bakewell." Mark his courtesy to his wife in this gracious
      mention of her relative&#8212;a courtesy which never forsook
      him&#8212; a courtesy which goes far toward retaining any
      woman's affection.
    </p>
    <p>
      His paintings were put on exhibition in the rooms of the
      Royal Institution, an admittance of one shilling being
      charged. From this source he soon realised a hundred pounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      He then went to Edinburgh, carrying letters of introduction
      to many well known literary and scientific men, among them
      Francis Jeffrey and "Christopher North."
    </p>
    <p>
      Professor Jameson, the Scotch naturalist, received him
      coldly, and told him, among other things, that there was no
      chance of his seeing Sir Walter Scott&#8212;he was too busy.
      "<i>Not see Sir Walter Scott</i>?" thought I; "I SHALL, if I
      have to crawl on all fours for a mile." On his way up in the
      stage coach he had passed near Sir Walter's seat, and had
      stood up and craned his neck in vain to get a glimpse of the
      home of a man to whom, he says, he was indebted for so much
      pleasure. He and Scott were in many ways kindred spirits, men
      native to the open air, inevitable sportsmen, copious and
      romantic lovers and observers of all forms and conditions of
      life. Of course he will want to see Scott, and Scott will
      want to see him, if he once scents his real quality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Later, Professor Jameson showed Audubon much kindness and
      helped to introduce him to the public.
    </p>
    <p>
      In January, the opportunity to see Scott came to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>January 22, Monday</i>. I was painting diligently when
      Captain Hall came in, and said: 'Put on your coat, and come
      with me to Sir Walter Scott; he wishes to see you
      <i>now</i>.' In a moment I was ready, for I really believe my
      coat and hat came to me instead of my going to them. My heart
      trembled; I longed for the meeting, yet wished it over. Had
      not his wondrous pen penetrated my soul with the
      consciousness that here was a genius from God's hand? I felt
      overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Sir Walter, the Great
      Unknown. We reached the house, and a powdered waiter was
      asked if Sir Walter were in. We were shown forward at once,
      and entering a very small room Captain Hall said: 'Sir
      Walter, I have brought Mr. Audubon.' Sir Walter came forward,
      pressed my hand warmly, and said he was 'glad to have the
      honour of meeting me.' His long, loose, silvery locks struck
      me; he looked like Franklin at his best. He also reminded me
      of Benjamin West; he had the great benevolence of William
      Roscoe about him and a kindness most prepossessing. I could
      not forbear looking at him, my eyes feasted on his
      countenance. I watched his movements as I would those of a
      celestial being; his long, heavy, white eyebrows struck me
      forcibly. His little room was tidy, though it partook a good
      deal of the character of a laboratory. He was wrapped in a
      quilted morning-gown of light purple silk; he had been at
      work writing on the 'Life of Napoleon.' He writes close
      lines, rather curved as they go from left to right, and puts
      an immense deal on very little paper. After a few minutes had
      elapsed, he begged Captain Hall to ring a bell; a servant
      came and was asked to bid Miss Scott come to see Mr. Audubon.
      Miss Scott came, black haired and black-dressed, not handsome
      but said to be highly accomplished, and she is the daughter
      of Sir Walter Scott. There was much conversation. I talked
      but little, but, believe me, I listened and observed, careful
      if ignorant. I cannot write more now. I have just returned
      from the Royal Society. Knowing that I was a candidate for
      the electorate of the society, I felt very uncomfortable and
      would gladly have been hunting on Tawapatee Bottom."
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be worth while now to see what Scott thought of
      Audubon. Under the same date, Sir Walter writes in his
      journal as follows: "<i>January</i> 22, 1827. A visit from
      Basil Hall, with Mr. Audubon, the ornithologist, who has
      followed the pursuit by many a long wandering in the American
      forests. He is an American by naturalisation, a Frenchman by
      birth; but less of a Frenchman than I have ever seen&#8212;no
      dust or glimmer, or shine about him, but great simplicity of
      manners and behaviour; slight in person and plainly dressed;
      wears long hair, which time has not yet tinged; his
      countenance acute, handsome, and interesting, but still
      simplicity is the predominant characteristic. I wish I had
      gone to see his drawings; but I had heard so much about them
      that I resolved not to see them&#8212;'a crazy way of mine,
      your honour.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Two days later Audubon again saw Scott, and writes in his
      journal as follows: "<i>January 24</i>. My second visit to
      Sir Walter Scott was much more agreeable than my first. My
      portfolio and its contents were matters on which I could
      speak substantially, and I found him so willing to level
      himself with me for awhile that the time spent at his home
      was agreeable and valuable. His daughter improved in looks
      the moment she spoke, having both vivacity and good sense."
    </p>
    <p>
      Scott's impressions of the birds as recorded in his journal,
      was that the drawings were of the first order, but he thought
      that the aim at extreme correctness and accuracy made them
      rather stiff.
    </p>
    <p>
      In February Audubon met Scott again at the opening of the
      Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal Institution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Tuesday, February 13</i>. This was the grand, long
      promised, and much wished-for day of the opening of the
      Exhibition at the rooms of the Royal Institution. At one
      o'clock I went, the doors were just opened, and in a few
      minutes the rooms were crowded. Sir Walter Scott was present;
      he came towards me, shook my hand cordially, and pointing to
      Landseer's picture said: 'Many such scenes, Mr. Audubon, have
      I witnessed in my younger days.' We talked much of all about
      us, and I would gladly have joined him in a glass of wine,
      but my foolish habits prevented me, and after inquiring of
      his daughter's health, I left him, and shortly afterwards the
      rooms; for I had a great appetite, and although there were
      tables loaded with delicacies, and I saw the ladies
      particularly eating freely, I must say to my shame I dared
      not lay my fingers on a single thing. In the evening I went
      to the theatre where I was much amused by 'The Comedy of
      Errors,' and afterwards, 'The Green Room.' I admire Miss
      Neville's singing very much; and her manners also; there is
      none of the actress about her, but much of the lady."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon somewhere says of himself that he was "temperate to
      an intemperate degree"&#8212;the accounts in later years show
      that he became less strict in this respect. He would not
      drink with Sir Walter Scott at this time, but he did with the
      Texan Houston and with President Andrew Jackson, later on.
    </p>
    <p>
      In September we find him exhibiting his pictures in
      Manchester, but without satisfactory results. In the lobby of
      the exchange where his pictures were on exhibition, he
      overheard one man say to another: "Pray, have you seen Mr.
      Audubon's collection of birds? I am told it is well worth a
      shilling; suppose we go now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pah! it is all a hoax; save your shilling for better use. I
      have seen them; the fellow ought to be drummed out of town."
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1827, in Edinburgh, he seems to have issued a prospectus
      for his work, and to have opened books of subscription, and
      now a publisher, Mr. Lizars, offers to bring out the first
      number of "Birds of America," and on November 28, the first
      proof of the first engraving was shown him, and he was
      pleased with it.
    </p>
    <p>
      With a specimen number he proposed to travel about the
      country in quest of subscribers until he had secured three
      hundred. In his journal under date of December 10, he says:
      "My success in Edinburgh borders on the miraculous. My book
      is to be published in numbers containing four [in another
      place he says five] birds in each, the size of life, in a
      style surpassing anything now existing, at two guineas a
      number. The engravings are truly beautiful; some of them have
      been coloured, and are now on exhibition."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's journal, kept during his stay in Edinburgh, is
      copious, graphic, and entertaining. It is a mirror of
      everything he saw and felt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among others he met George Combe, the phrenologist, author of
      the once famous <i>Constitution of Man</i>, and he submitted
      to having his head "looked at." The examiner said: "There
      cannot exist a moment of doubt that this gentleman is a
      painter, colourist, and compositor, and, I would add, an
      amiable though quick tempered man."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon was invited to the annual feast given by the
      Antiquarian Society at the Waterloo Hotel, at which Lord
      Elgin presided. After the health of many others had been
      drunk, Audubon's was proposed by Skene, a Scottish historian.
      "Whilst he was engaged in a handsome panegyric, the
      perspiration poured from me. I thought I should faint." But
      he survived the ordeal and responded in a few appropriate
      words. He was much dined and wined, and obliged to keep late
      hours&#8212;often getting no more than four hours sleep, and
      working hard painting and writing all the next day. He often
      wrote in his journals for his wife to read later, bidding her
      Good-night, or rather Good-morning, at three A.M.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon had the bashfulness and awkwardness of the
      backwoodsman, and doubtless the naivet&eacute; and
      picturesqueness also; these traits and his very great merits
      as a painter of wild life, made him a favourite in Edinburgh
      society. One day he went to read a paper on the Crow to Dr.
      Brewster, and was so nervous and agitated that he had to
      pause for a moment in the midst of it. He left the paper with
      Dr. Brewster and when he got it back again was much shocked:
      "He had greatly improved the style (for I had none), but he
      had destroyed the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      During these days Audubon was very busy writing, painting,
      receiving callers, and dining out. He grew very tired of it
      all at times, and longed for the solitude of his native
      woods. Some days his room was a perfect levee. "It is Mr.
      Audubon here, and Mr. Audubon there; I only hope they will
      not make a conceited fool of Mr. Audubon at last." There
      seems to have been some danger of this, for he says: "I seem
      in a measure to have gone back to my early days of society
      and fine dressing, silk stockings and pumps, and all the
      finery with which I made a popinjay of myself in my youth....
      I wear my hair as long as usual, I believe it does as much
      for me as my paintings."
    </p>
    <p>
      He wrote to Thomas Sully of Philadelphia, promising to send
      him his first number, to be presented to the Philadelphia
      Society&#8212;"an institution which thought me unworthy to be
      a member," he writes.
    </p>
    <p>
      About this time he was a guest for a day or two of Earl
      Morton, at his estate Dalmahoy, near Edinburgh. He had
      expected to see an imposing personage in the great
      Chamberlain to the late queen Charlotte. What was his relief
      and surprise, then, to see a "small, slender man, tottering
      on his feet, weaker than a newly hatched partridge," who
      welcomed him with tears in his eyes. The countess, "a fair,
      fresh-complexioned woman, with dark, flashing eyes," wrote
      her name in his subscription book, and offered to pay the
      price in advance. The next day he gave her a lesson in
      drawing.
    </p>
    <p>
      On his return to Edinburgh he dined with Captain Hall, to
      meet Francis Jeffrey. "Jeffrey is a little man," he writes,
      "with a serious face and dignified air. He looks both shrewd
      and cunning, and talks with so much volubility he is rather
      displeasing.... Mrs. Jeffrey was nervous and very much
      dressed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in January he painted his "Pheasant attacked by a Fox."
      This was his method of proceeding: "I take one [a fox] neatly
      killed, put him up with wires, and when satisfied with the
      truth of the position, I take my palette and work as rapidly
      as possible; the same with my birds. If practicable, I finish
      the bird at one sitting,&#8212;often, it is true, of fourteen
      hours,&#8212;so that I think they are correct, both in detail
      and in composition."
    </p>
    <p>
      In pictures by Landseer and other artists which he saw in the
      galleries of Edinburgh, he saw the skilful painter, "the
      style of men who know how to handle a brush, and carry a good
      effect," but he missed that closeness and fidelity to Nature
      which to him so much outweighed mere technique. Landseer's
      "Death of a Stag" affected him like a farce. It was pretty,
      but not real and true. He did not feel that way about the
      sermon he heard Sydney Smith preach: "It was a sermon to
      <i>me</i>. He made me smile and he made me think deeply. He
      pleased me at times by painting my foibles with due care, and
      again I felt the colour come to my cheeks as he portrayed my
      sins." Later, he met Sydney Smith and his "fair daughter,"
      and heard the latter sing. Afterwards he had a note from the
      famous divine upon which he remarks: "The man should study
      economy; he would destroy more paper in a day than Franklin
      would in a week; but all great men are more or less
      eccentric. Walter Scott writes a diminutive hand, very
      difficult to read, Napoleon a large scrawling one, still more
      difficult, and Sydney Smith goes up hill all the way with
      large strides."
    </p>
    <p>
      Having decided upon visiting London, he yielded to the
      persuasions of his friends and had his hair cut before making
      the trip. He chronicles the event in his journal as a very
      sad one, in which "the will of God was usurped by the wishes
      of man." Shorn of his locks he probably felt humbled like the
      stag when he loses his horns.
    </p>
    <p>
      Quitting Edinburgh on April 5, he visited, in succession,
      Newcastle, Leeds, York, Shrewsbury, and Manchester, in quest
      of subscribers to his great work. A few were obtained at each
      place at two hundred pounds per head. At Newcastle he first
      met Bewick, the famous wood engraver, and conceived a deep
      liking for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      We find him in London on May 21, 1827, and not in a very
      happy frame of mind: "To me London is just like the mouth of
      an immense monster, guarded by millions of sharp-edged teeth,
      from which, if I escape unhurt, it must be called a miracle."
      It only filled him with a strong desire to be in his beloved
      woods again. His friend, Basil Hall, had insisted upon his
      procuring a black suit of clothes. When he put this on to
      attend his first dinner party, he spoke of himself as
      "attired like a mournful raven," and probably more than ever
      wished himself in the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      He early called upon the great portrait painter, Sir Thomas
      Lawrence, who inspected his drawings, pronounced them "very
      clever," and, in a few days, brought him several purchasers
      for some of his animal paintings, thus replenishing his purse
      with nearly one hundred pounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Considering Audubon's shy disposition, and his dread of
      persons in high places, it is curious that he should have
      wanted to call upon the King, and should have applied to the
      American Minister, Mr. Gallatin, to help him to do so. Mr.
      Gallatin laughed and said: "It is impossible, my dear sir,
      the King sees nobody; he has the gout, is peevish, and spends
      his time playing whist at a shilling a rubber. I had to wait
      six weeks before I was presented to him in my position of
      ambassador." But his work was presented to the King who
      called it fine, and His Majesty became a subscriber on the
      usual terms. Other noble persons followed suit, yet Audubon
      was despondent. He had removed the publication of his work
      from Edinburgh to London, from the hands of Mr. Lizars into
      those of Robert Havell. But the enterprise did not prosper,
      his agents did not attend to business, nor to his orders, and
      he soon found himself at bay for means to go forward with the
      work. At this juncture he determined to make a sortie for the
      purpose of collecting his dues and to add to his subscribers.
      He visited Leeds, York, and other towns. Under date of
      October 9, at York, he writes in his journal: "How often I
      thought during these visits of poor Alexander Wilson. Then
      travelling as I am now, to procure subscribers he, as well as
      myself, was received with rude coldness, and sometimes with
      that arrogance which belongs to <i>parvenus."</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      A week or two later we find him again in Edinburgh where he
      breakfasted with Professor Wilson ("Christopher North"), whom
      he greatly enjoyed, a man without stiffness or ceremonies:
      "No cravat, no waistcoat, but a fine frill of his own profuse
      beard, his hair flowing uncontrolled, and his speech dashing
      at once at the object in view, without circumlocution.... He
      gives me comfort by being comfortable himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      In early November he took the coach for Glasgow, he and three
      other passengers making the entire journey without uttering a
      single word: "We sat like so many owls of different species,
      as if afraid of one another." Four days in Glasgow and only
      one subscriber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in January he is back in London arranging with Mr.
      Havell for the numbers to be engraved in 1828. One day on
      looking up to the new moon he saw a large flock of wild ducks
      passing over, then presently another flock passed. The sight
      of these familiar objects made him more homesick than ever.
      He often went to Regent's Park to see the trees, and the
      green grass, and to hear the sweet notes of the black birds
      and starlings.
    </p>
    <p>
      The black birds' note revived his drooping spirits: to his
      wife he writes, "it carries my mind to the woods around thee,
      my Lucy."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now and then a subscriber withdrew his name, which always cut
      him to the quick, but did not dishearten him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>January 28</i>. I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day
      announcing to me the loss of four subscribers; but these
      things do not dampen my spirits half so much as the smoke of
      London. I am as dull as a beetle."
    </p>
    <p>
      In February he learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence who
      prevented the British Museum from subscribing to his work:
      "He considered the drawings so-so, and the engraving and
      colouring bad; when I remember how he praised these same
      drawings <i>in my presence,</i> I wonder&#8212;that is all."
    </p>
    <p>
      The rudest man he met in England was the Earl of Kinnoul: "A
      small man with a face like the caricature of an owl." He sent
      for Audubon to tell him that all his birds were alike, and
      that he considered his work a swindle. "He may really think
      this, his knowledge is probably small; but it is not the
      custom to send for a gentleman to abuse him in one's own
      house." Audubon heard his words, bowed and left him without
      speaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      In March he went to Cambridge and met and was dined by many
      learned men. The University, through its Librarian,
      subscribed for his work. Other subscriptions followed. He was
      introduced to a judge who wore a wig that "might make a
      capital bed for an Osage Indian during the whole of a cold
      winter on the Arkansas River."
    </p>
    <p>
      On his way to Oxford he saw them turn a stag from a cart
      "before probably a hundred hounds and as many huntsmen. A
      curious land, and a curious custom, to catch an animal and
      then set it free merely to catch it again." At Oxford he
      received much attention, but complains that not one of the
      twenty-two colleges subscribed for his work, though two other
      institutions did.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early in April we find him back in London lamenting over his
      sad fate in being compelled to stay in so miserable a place.
      He could neither write nor draw to his satisfaction amid the
      "bustle, filth, and smoke." His mind and heart turned eagerly
      toward America, and to his wife and boys, and he began
      seriously to plan for a year's absence from England. He
      wanted to renew and to improve about fifty of his drawings.
      During this summer of 1828, he was very busy in London,
      painting, writing, and superintending the colouring of his
      plates. Under date of August 9, he writes in his journal: "I
      have been at work from four every morning until dark; I have
      kept up my large correspondence. My publication goes on well
      and regularly, and this very day seventy sets have been
      distributed, yet the number of my subscribers has not
      increased; on the contrary, I have lost some." He made the
      acquaintance of Swainson, and the two men found much
      companionship in each other, and had many long talks about
      birds: "Why, Lucy, thou wouldst think that birds were all
      that we cared for in this world, but thou knowest this is not
      so."
    </p>
    <p>
      Together he and Mr. and Mrs. Swainson planned a trip to
      Paris, which they carried out early in September. It tickled
      Audubon greatly to find that the Frenchman at the office in
      Calais, who had never seen him, had described his complexion
      in his passport as copper red, because he was an American,
      all Americans suggesting aborigines. In Paris they early went
      to call upon Baron Cuvier. They were told that he was too
      busy to be seen: "Being determined to look at the Great Man,
      we waited, knocked again, and with a certain degree of
      firmness, sent in our names. The messenger returned, bowed,
      and led the way up stairs, where in a minute Monsieur le
      Baron, like an excellent good man, came to us. He had heard
      much of my friend Swainson, and greeted him as he deserves to
      be greeted; he was polite and kind to me, though my name had
      never made its way to his ears. I looked at him and here
      follows the result: Age about sixty-five; size corpulent,
      five feet five English measure; head large, face wrinkled and
      brownish; eyes grey, brilliant and sparkling; nose aquiline,
      large and red; mouth large with good lips; teeth few, blunted
      by age, excepting one on the lower jaw, <i>measuring nearly
      three-quarters of an inch square.</i>" The italics are not
      Audubon's. The great naturalist invited his callers to dine
      with him at six on the next Saturday.
    </p>
    <p>
      They next presented their letter to Geoffroy de St. Hilaire,
      with whom they were particularly pleased. Neither had he ever
      heard of Audubon's work. The dinner with Cuvier gave him a
      nearer view of the manners and habits of the great man.
      "There was not the show of opulence at this dinner that is
      seen in the same rank of life in England, no, not by far, but
      it was a good dinner served <i>&agrave; la
      Fran&ccedil;aise.</i>" Neither was it followed by the
      "drinking matches" of wine, so common at English tables.
    </p>
    <p>
      During his stay in Paris Audubon saw much of Cuvier, and was
      very kindly and considerately treated by him. One day he
      accompanied a portrait painter to his house and saw him sit
      for his portrait: "I see the Baron now, quite as plainly as I
      did this morning,&#8212;an old green surtout about him, a
      neckcloth that would have wrapped his whole body if unfolded,
      loosely tied about his chin, and his silver locks looking
      like those of a man who loves to study books better than to
      visit barbers."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon remained in Paris till near the end of October,
      making the acquaintance of men of science and of artists, and
      bringing his work to the attention of those who were likely
      to value it. Baron Cuvier reported favourably upon it to the
      Academy of Sciences, pronouncing it "the most magnificent
      monument which has yet been erected to ornithology." He
      obtained thirteen subscribers in France and spent forty
      pounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      On November 9, he is back in London, and soon busy painting,
      and pressing forward the engraving and colouring of his work.
      The eleventh number was the first for the year 1829.
    </p>
    <p>
      The winter was largely taken up in getting ready for his
      return trip to America. He found a suitable agent to look
      after his interests, collected some money, paid all his
      debts, and on April 1 sailed from Portsmouth in the packet
      ship <i>Columbia</i>. He was sea-sick during the entire
      voyage, and reached New York May 5. He did not hasten to his
      family as would have been quite natural after so long an
      absence, but spent the summer and part of the fall in New
      Jersey and Pennsylvania, prosecuting his studies and drawings
      of birds, making his headquarters in Camden, New Jersey. He
      spent six weeks in the Great Pine Forest, and much time at
      Great Egg Harbor, and has given delightful accounts of these
      trips in his journals. Four hours' sleep out of the
      twenty-four was his allotted allowance.
    </p>
    <p>
      One often marvels at Audubon's apparent indifference to his
      wife and his home, for from the first he was given to
      wandering. Then, too, his carelessness in money matters, and
      his improvident ways, necessitating his wife's toiling to
      support the family, put him in a rather unfavourable light as
      a "good provider," but a perusal of his journal shows that he
      was keenly alive to all the hardships and sacrifices of his
      wife, and from first to last in his journeyings he speaks of
      his longings for home and family. "Cut off from all dearest
      me," he says in one of his youthful journeys, and in his
      latest one he speaks of himself as being as happy as one can
      be who is "three thousand miles from the dearest friend on
      earth." Clearly some impelling force held him to the pursuit
      of this work, hardships or no hardships. Fortunately for him,
      his wife shared his belief in his talents and in their
      ultimate recognition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under date of October 11, 1829, he writes: "I am at work and
      have done much, but I wish I had eight pairs of hands, and
      another body to shoot the specimens; still I am delighted at
      what I have accumulated in drawings this season. Forty-two
      drawings in four months, eleven large, eleven middle size,
      and twenty-two small, comprising ninety-five birds, from
      eagles downwards, with plants, nests, flowers, and sixty
      different kinds of eggs. I live alone, see scarcely anyone
      besides those belonging to the house where I lodge. I rise
      long before day, and work till nightfall, when I take a walk
      and to bed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's capacity for work was extraordinary. His enthusiasm
      and perseverance were equally extraordinary. His purposes and
      ideas fairly possessed him. Never did a man consecrate
      himself more fully to the successful completion of the work
      of his life, than did Audubon to the finishing of his
      "American Ornithology."
    </p>
    <p>
      During this month Audubon left Camden and turned his face
      toward his wife and children, crossing the mountains to
      Pittsburg in the mail coach with his dog and gun, thence down
      the Ohio in a steamboat to Louisville, where he met his son
      Victor, whom he had not seen for five years. After a few days
      here with his two boys, he started for Bayou Sara to see his
      wife. Beaching Mr. Johnson's house in the early morning, he
      went at once to his wife's apartment: "Her door was ajar,
      already she was dressed and sitting by her piano, on which a
      young lady was playing. I pronounced her name gently, she saw
      me, and the next moment I held her in my arms. Her emotion
      was so great I feared I had acted rashly, but tears relieved
      our hearts, once more we were together."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Audubon soon settled up her affairs at Bayou Sara, and
      the two set out early in January, 1830, for Louisville,
      thence to Cincinnati, thence to Wheeling, and so on to
      Washington, where Audubon exhibited his drawings to the House
      of Representatives and received their subscriptions as a
      body. In Washington, he met the President, Andrew Jackson,
      and made the acquaintance of Edward Everett. Thence to
      Baltimore where he obtained three more subscribers, thence to
      New York from which port he sailed in April with his wife on
      the packet ship Pacific, for England, and arrived at
      Liverpool in twenty-five days.
    </p>
    <p>
      This second sojourn in England lasted till the second of
      August, 1831. The time was occupied in pushing the
      publication of his "Birds," canvassing the country for new
      subscribers, painting numerous pictures for sale, writing his
      "Ornithological Biography," living part of the time in
      Edinburgh, and part of the time in London, with two or three
      months passed in France, where there were fourteen
      subscribers. While absent in America, he had been elected a
      fellow of the Royal Society of London, and on May 6 took his
      seat in the great hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      He needed some competent person to assist him in getting his
      manuscript ready for publication and was so fortunate as to
      obtain the services of MacGillivray, the biographer of
      British Birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon had learned that three editions of Wilson's
      "Ornithology" were soon to be published in Edinburgh, and he
      set to work vigorously to get his book out before them.
      Assisted by MacGillivray, he worked hard at his biography of
      the birds, writing all day, and Mrs. Audubon making a copy of
      the work to send to America to secure copyright there.
      Writing to her sons at this time, Mrs. Audubon says: "Nothing
      is heard but the steady movement of the pen; your father is
      up and at work before dawn, and writes without ceasing all
      day."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the first volume was finished, Audubon offered it to two
      publishers, both of whom refused it, so he published it
      himself in March, 1831.
    </p>
    <p>
      In April on his way to London he travelled "on that
      Extraordinary road called the railway, at the rate of
      twenty-four miles an hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      The first volume of his bird pictures was completed this
      summer, and, in bringing it out, forty thousand dollars had
      passed through his hands. It had taken four years to bring
      that volume before the world, during which time no less than
      fifty of his subscribers, representing the sum of fifty-six
      thousand dollars, had abandoned him, so that at the end of
      that time, he had only one hundred and thirty names standing
      on his list.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was no easy thing to secure enough men to pledge
      themselves to $1,000 for a work, the publication of which
      must of necessity extend over eight or ten years.
    </p>
    <p>
      Few enterprises, involving such labour and expense, have ever
      been carried through against such odds.
    </p>
    <p>
      The entire cost of the "Birds" exceeded one hundred thousand
      dollars, yet the author never faltered in this gigantic
      undertaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      On August 2, Audubon and his wife sailed for America, and
      landed in New York on September 4. They at once went to
      Louisville where the wife remained with her sons, while the
      husband went to Florida where the winter of 1831-2 was spent,
      prosecuting his studies of our birds. His adventures and
      experiences in Florida, he has embodied in his Floridian
      Episodes, "The Live Oakers," "Spring Garden," "Deer Hunting,"
      "Sandy Island," "The Wreckers," "The Turtles," "Death of a
      Pirate," and other sketches. Stopping at Charleston, South
      Carolina, on this southern trip, he made the acquaintance of
      the Reverend John Bachman, and a friendship between these two
      men was formed that lasted as long as they both lived.
      Subsequently, Audubon's sons, Victor and John, married Dr.
      Bachman's two eldest daughters.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the summer of 1832, Audubon, accompanied by his wife and
      two sons, made a trip to Maine and New Brunswick, going very
      leisurely by private conveyance through these countries,
      studying the birds, the people, the scenery, and gathering
      new material for his work. His diaries give minute accounts
      of these journeyings. He was impressed by the sobriety of the
      people of Maine; they seem to have had a "Maine law" at that
      early date; "for on asking for brandy, rum, or whiskey, not a
      drop could I obtain." He saw much of the lumbermen and was a
      deeply interested spectator of their ways and doings. Some of
      his best descriptive passages are contained in these diaries.
    </p>
    <p>
      In October he is back in Boston planning a trip to Labrador,
      and intent on adding more material to his "Birds" by another
      year in his home country.
    </p>
    <p>
      That his interests abroad in the meantime might not suffer by
      being entirely in outside hands, he sent his son Victor, now
      a young man of considerable business experience, to England
      to represent him there. The winter of 1832 and 1833 Audubon
      seems to have spent mainly in Boston, drawing and re-drawing
      and there he had his first serious illness.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring of 1833, a schooner was chartered and,
      accompanied by five young men, his youngest son, John
      Woodhouse, among them, Audubon started on his Labrador trip,
      which lasted till the end of summer. It was an expensive and
      arduous trip, but was greatly enjoyed by all hands, and was
      fruitful in new material for his work. Seventy-three bird
      skins were prepared, many drawings made, and many new plants
      collected.
    </p>
    <p>
      The weather in Labrador was for the most part rainy, foggy,
      cold, and windy, and his drawings were made in the cabin of
      his vessel, often under great difficulties. He makes this
      interesting observation upon the Eider duck: "In one nest of
      the Eider ten eggs were found; this is the most we have seen
      as yet in any one nest. The female draws the down from her
      abdomen as far toward her breast as her bill will allow her
      to do, but the feathers are not pulled, and on examination of
      several specimens, I found these well and regularly planted,
      and cleaned from their original down, as a forest of trees is
      cleared of its undergrowth. In this state the female is still
      well clothed, and little or no difference can be seen in the
      plumage, unless examined."
    </p>
    <p>
      He gives this realistic picture of salmon fishermen that his
      party saw in Labrador: "On going to a house on the shore, we
      found it a tolerably good cabin, floored, containing a good
      stove, a chimney, and an oven at the bottom of this, like the
      ovens of the French peasants, three beds, and a table whereon
      the breakfast of the family was served. This consisted of
      coffee in large bowls, good bread, and fried salmon. Three
      Labrador dogs came and sniffed about us, and then returned
      under the table whence they had issued, with no appearance of
      anger. Two men, two women, and a babe formed the group, which
      I addressed in French. They were French-Canadians and had
      been here several years, winter and summer, and are agents
      for the Fur and Fish Co., who give them food, clothes, and
      about $80 per annum. They have a cow and an ox, about an acre
      of potatoes planted in sand, seven feet of snow in winter,
      and two-thirds less salmon than was caught here ten years
      since. Then, three hundred barrels was a fair season; now one
      hundred is the maximum; this is because they will catch the
      fish both ascending and descending the river. During winter
      the men hunt Foxes, Martens, and Sables, and kill some bear
      of the black kind, but neither Deer nor other game is to be
      found without going a great distance in the interior, where
      Reindeer are now and then procured. One species of Grouse,
      and one of Ptarmigan, the latter white at all seasons; the
      former, I suppose to be, the Willow Grouse. The men would
      neither sell nor give us a single salmon, saying, that so
      strict were their orders that, should they sell <i>one,</i>
      the place might be taken from them. If this should prove the
      case everywhere, I shall not purchase many for my friends.
      The furs which they collect are sent off to Quebec at the
      first opening of the waters in spring, and not a skin of any
      sort was here for us to look at."
    </p>
    <p>
      He gives a vivid picture of the face of Nature in Labrador on
      a fine day, under date of July 2: "A beautiful day for
      Labrador. Drew another <i>M. articus.</i> Went on shore, and
      was most pleased with what I saw. The country, so wild and
      grand, is of itself enough to interest any one in its
      wonderful dreariness. Its mossy, grey-clothed rocks, heaped
      and thrown together as if by chance, in the most fantastical
      groups imaginable, huge masses hanging on minor ones as if
      about to roll themselves down from their doubtful-looking
      situations, into the depths of the sea beneath. Bays without
      end, sprinkled with rocky islands of all shapes and sizes,
      where in every fissure a Guillemot, a Cormorant, or some
      other wild bird retreats to secure its egg, and raise its
      young, or save itself from the hunter's pursuit. The peculiar
      cast of the sky, which never seems to be certain, butterflies
      flitting over snowbanks, probing beautiful dwarf flowerets of
      many hues, pushing their tender, stems from the thick bed of
      moss which everywhere covers the granite rocks. Then the
      morasses, wherein you plunge up to your knees, or the walking
      over the stubborn, dwarfish shrubbery, making one think that
      as he goes he treads down the <i>forests</i> of Labrador. The
      unexpected Bunting, or perhaps Sylvia, which, perchance, and
      indeed as if by chance alone, you now and then see flying
      before you, or hear singing from the creeping plants on the
      ground. The beautiful freshwater lakes, on the rugged crests
      of greatly elevated islands, wherein the Red and Black-necked
      Divers swim as proudly as swans do in other latitudes, and
      where the fish appear to have been cast as strayed beings
      from the surplus food of the ocean. All&#8212;all is
      wonderfully grand, wild&#8212; aye, and terrific. And yet how
      beautiful it is now, when one sees the wild bee, moving from
      one flower to another in search of food, which doubtless is
      as sweet to it, as the essence of the magnolia is to those of
      favoured Louisiana. The little Ring Plover rearing its
      delicate and tender young, the Eider Duck swimming
      man-of-war-like amid her floating brood, like the guardship
      of a most valuable convoy; the White-crowned Bunting's
      sonorous note reaching the ear ever and anon; the crowds of
      sea birds in search of places wherein to repose or to
      feed&#8212;how beautiful is all this in this wonderful rocky
      desert at this season, the beginning of July, compared with
      the horrid blasts of winter which here predominate by the
      will of God, when every rock is rendered smooth with snows so
      deep that every step the traveller takes is as if entering
      into his grave; for even should he escape an avalanche, his
      eye dreads to search the horizon, for full well he knows that
      snow&#8212;snow is all that can be seen. I watched the Ring
      Plover for some time; the parents were so intent on saving
      their young that they both lay on the rocks as if shot,
      quivering their wings and dragging their bodies as if quite
      disabled. We left them and their young to the care of the
      Creator. I would not have shot one of the old ones, or taken
      one of the young for any consideration, and I was glad my
      young men were as forbearing. The <i>L. marinus</i> is
      extremely abundant here; they are forever harassing every
      other bird, sucking their eggs, and devouring their young;
      they take here the place of Eagles and Hawks; not an Eagle
      have we seen yet, and only two or three small Hawks, and one
      small Owl; yet what a harvest they would have here, were
      there trees for them to rest upon."
    </p>
    <p>
      On his return from Labrador in September, Audubon spent three
      weeks in New York, after which with his wife, he started upon
      another southern trip, pausing at Philadelphia, Baltimore,
      Washington, and Richmond. In Washington he made some attempts
      to obtain permission to accompany a proposed expedition to
      the Rocky Mountains, under Government patronage. But the cold
      and curt manner in which Cass, then Secretary of War,
      received his application, quite disheartened him. But he
      presently met Washington Irving, whose friendly face and
      cheering words revived his spirits. How one would like a
      picture of that meeting in Washington between Audubon and
      Irving&#8212;two men who in so many ways were kindred
      spirits!
    </p>
    <p>
      Charleston, South Carolina, was reached late in October, and
      at the home of their friend Bachman the Audubons seem to have
      passed the most of the winter of 1833-4: "My time was well
      employed; I hunted for new birds or searched for more
      knowledge of old. I drew, I wrote many long pages. I obtained
      a few new subscribers, and made some collections on account
      of my work."
    </p>
    <p>
      His son Victor wrote desiring the presence of his father in
      England, and on April 16, we find him with his wife and son
      John, again embarked for Liverpool. In due time they are in
      London where they find Victor well, and the business of
      publication going on prosperously. One of the amusing
      incidents of this sojourn, narrated in the diaries, is
      Audubon's and his son's interview with the Baron Rothschild,
      to whom he had a letter of introduction from a distinguished
      American banking house. The Baron was not present when they
      entered his private office, but "soon a corpulent man
      appeared, hitching up his trousers, and a face red with the
      exertion of walking, and without noticing anyone present,
      dropped his fat body into a comfortable chair, as if caring
      for no one else in this wide world but himself. While the
      Baron sat, we stood, with our hats held respectfully in our
      hands. I stepped forward, and with a bow tendered my
      credentials. 'Pray, sir,' said the man of golden consequence,
      'is this a letter of business, or is it a mere letter of
      introduction?' This I could not well answer, for I had not
      read the contents of it, and I was forced to answer rather
      awkwardly, that I could not tell. The banker then opened the
      letter, read it with the manner of one who was looking only
      at the temporal side of things, and after reading it said,
      'This is only a letter of introduction, and I expect from its
      contents that you are the publisher of some book or other and
      need my subscription.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had a man the size of a mountain spoken to me in that
      arrogant style in America, I should have indignantly resented
      it; but where I then was it seemed best to swallow and digest
      it as well as I could. So in reply to the offensive arrogance
      of the banker, I said I should be <i>honoured</i> by his
      subscription to the "Birds of America." 'Sir,' he said, 'I
      never sign my name to any subscription list, but you may send
      in your work and I will pay for a copy of it. Gentlemen, I am
      busy. I wish you good morning.' We were busy men, too, and so
      bowing respectfully, we retired, pretty well satisfied with
      the small slice of his opulence which our labour was likely
      to obtain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A few days afterwards I sent the first volume of my work
      half bound, and all the numbers besides, then published. On
      seeing them we were told that he ordered the bearer to take
      them to his house, which was done directly. Number after
      number was sent and delivered to the Baron, and after eight
      or ten months my son made out his account and sent it by Mr.
      Havell, my engraver, to his banking-house. The Baron looked
      at it with amazement, and cried out, 'What, a hundred pounds
      for birds! Why, sir, I will give you five pounds and not a
      farthing more!' Representations were made to him of the
      magnificence and expense of the work, and how pleased his
      Baroness and wealthy children would be to have a copy; but
      the great financier was unrelenting. The copy of the work was
      actually sent back to Mr. Havell's shop, and as I found that
      instituting legal proceedings against him would cost more
      than it would come to, I kept the work, and afterwards sold
      it to a man with less money but a nobler heart. What a
      distance there is between two such men as the Baron
      Rothschild of London, and the merchant of Savannah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon remained in London during the summer of 1834, and in
      the fall removed to Edinburgh, where he hired a house and
      spent a year and a half at work on his "Ornithological
      Biography," the second and third volumes of which were
      published during that time.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the summer of 1836, he returned to London, where he
      settled his family in Cavendish Square, and in July, with his
      son John, took passage at Portsmouth for New York, desiring
      to explore more thoroughly the southern states for new
      material for his work. On his arrival in New York, Audubon,
      to his deep mortification, found that all his books, papers,
      and valuable and curious things, which he had collected both
      at home and abroad, had been destroyed in the great fire in
      New York, in 1835.
    </p>
    <p>
      In September he spent some time in Boston where he met Brewer
      and Nuttall, and made the acquaintance of Daniel Webster,
      Judge Story, and others.
    </p>
    <p>
      Writing to his son in England, at this time, admonishing him
      to carry on the work, should he himself be taken away
      prematurely, he advises him thus: "Should you deem it wise to
      remove the publication of the work to this country, I advise
      you to settle in Boston; <i>I have faith in the
      Bostonians."</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      In Salem he called upon a wealthy young lady by the name of
      Silsby, who had the eyes of a gazelle, but "when I mentioned
      subscription it seemed to fall on her ears, not as the
      cadence of the wood thrush, or of the mocking bird does on
      mine, but as a shower bath in cold January."
    </p>
    <p>
      From Boston Audubon returned in October to New York, and
      thence went southward through Philadelphia to Washington,
      carrying with him letters from Washington Irving to Benjamin
      F. Butler, then the Attorney General of the United States,
      and to Martin Van Buren who had just been elected to the
      presidency. Butler was then quite a young man: "He read
      Washington Irving's letter, laid it down, and began a long
      talk about his talents, and after a while came round to my
      business, saying that the Government allows so little money
      to the departments, that he did not think it probable that
      their subscription could be obtained without a law to that
      effect from Congress."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this time he also met the President, General Jackson: "He
      was very kind, and as soon as he heard that we intended
      departing to-morrow evening for Charleston, invited us to
      dine with him <i>en famille.</i> At the hour named we went to
      the White House, and were taken into a room, where the
      President soon joined us, I sat close to him; we spoke of
      olden times, and touched slightly on politics, and I found
      him very averse to the Cause of the Texans.... The dinner was
      what might be called plain and substantial in England; I
      dined from a fine young turkey, shot within twenty miles of
      Washington. The General drank no wine, but his health was
      drunk by us more than once; and he ate very moderately; his
      last dish consisting of bread and milk."
    </p>
    <p>
      In November Audubon is again at the house of his friend Dr.
      Bachman, in Charleston, South Carolina. Here he passed the
      winter of 1836-7, making excursions to various points farther
      south, going as far as Florida. It was at this time that he
      seems to have begun, in connection with Dr. Bachman, his
      studies in Natural History which resulted in the publication,
      a few years later, of the "Quadrupeds of North America."
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring he left Charleston and set out to explore the
      Gulf of Mexico, going to Galveston and thence well into
      Texas, where he met General Sam Houston. Here is one of his
      vivid, realistic pen pictures of the famous Texan: "We walked
      towards the President's house, accompanied by the Secretary
      of the Navy, and as soon as we rose above the bank, we saw
      before us a level of far-extending prairie, destitute of
      timber, and rather poor soil. Houses half finished, and most
      of them without roofs, tents, and a liberty pole, with the
      capitol, were all exhibited to our view at once. We
      approached the President's mansion, however, wading through
      water above our ankles. This abode of President Houston is a
      small log house, consisting of two rooms, and a passage
      through, after the southern fashion. The moment we stepped
      over the threshold, on the right hand of the passage we found
      ourselves ushered into what in other countries would be
      called the antechamber; the ground floor, however, was muddy
      and filthy, a large fire was burning, a small table covered
      with paper and writing materials, was in the centre,
      camp-beds, trunks, and different materials, were strewed
      about the room. We were at once presented to several members
      of the cabinet, some of whom bore the stamp of men of
      intellectual ability, simple, though bold, in their general
      appearance. Here we were presented to Mr. Crawford, an agent
      of the British Minister to Mexico, who has come here on some
      secret mission.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The President was engaged in the opposite room on some
      national business, and we could not see him for some time.
      Meanwhile we amused ourselves by walking to the capitol,
      which was yet without a roof, and the floors, benches, and
      tables of both houses of Congress were as well saturated with
      water as our clothes had been in the morning. Being invited
      by one of the great men of the place to enter a booth to take
      a drink of grog with him, we did so; but I was rather
      surprised that he offered his name, instead of the cash to
      the bar-keeper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We first caught sight of President Houston as he walked from
      one of the grog shops, where he had been to prevent the sale
      of ardent spirits. He was on his way to his house, and wore a
      large grey coarse hat; and the bulk of his figure reminded me
      of the appearance of General Hopkins of Virginia, for like
      him he is upwards of six feet high, and strong in proportion.
      But I observed a scowl in the expression of his eyes, that
      was forbidding and disagreeable. We reached his abode before
      him, but he soon came, and we were presented to his
      excellency. He was dressed in a fancy velvet coat, and
      trousers trimmed with broad gold lace; around his neck was
      tied a cravat somewhat in the style of seventy-six. He
      received us kindly, was desirous of retaining us for awhile,
      and offered us every facility within his power. He at once
      removed us from the ante-room to his private chamber, which,
      by the way, was not much cleaner than the former. We were
      severally introduced by him to the different members of his
      cabinet and staff, and at once asked to drink grog with him,
      which we did, wishing success to his new republic. Our talk
      was short: but the impression which was made on my mind at
      the time by himself, his officers, and his place of abode,
      can never be forgotten."
    </p>
    <p>
      Late in the summer of 1837, Audubon, with his son John and
      his new wife&#8212; the daughter of Dr. Bachman, returned to
      England for the last time. He finally settled down again in
      Edinburgh and prepared the fourth volume of his
      "Ornithological Biography." This work seems to have occupied
      him a year. The volume was published in November, 1838. More
      drawings for his "Birds of America" were finished the next
      winter, and also the fifth volume of the "Biography" which
      was published in May, 1839.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the fall of that year the family returned to America and
      settled in New York City, at 86 White street. His great work,
      the "Birds of America," had been practically completed,
      incredible difficulties had been surmounted, and the goal of
      his long years of striving had been reached. About one
      hundred and seventy-five copies of his "Birds" had been
      delivered to subscribers, eighty of the number in this
      country.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a copy of the "Ornithological Biography" given in 1844 by
      Audubon to J. Prescott Hall, the following note, preserved in
      the <i>Magazine of American History</i> (1877) was written by
      Mr. Hall. It is reproduced here in spite of its variance from
      statements now accepted:&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Audubon told me in the year 184- that he did not sell
      more than 40 copies of his great work in England, Ireland,
      Scotland and France, of which Louis Philippe took 10.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The following received their copies but never paid for them:
      George IV., Duchess of Clarence, Marquis of Londonderry,
      Princess of Hesse Homburg.
    </p>
    <p>
      "An Irish lord whose name he would not give, took two copies
      and paid for neither. Rothschild paid for his copy, but with
      great reluctance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He further said that he sold 75 copies in America, 26 in New
      York and 24 in Boston; that the work cost him &pound;27,000
      and that he lost $25,000 by it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He said that Louis Philippe offered to subscribe for 100
      copies if he would publish the work in Paris. This he found
      could not be done, as it would have required 40 years to
      finish it as things were then in Paris. Of this conversation
      I made a memorandum at the time which I read over to Mr.
      Audubon and he pronounced it correct.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br>
      "J. PRESCOTT HALL."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      About the very great merit of this work, there is but one
      opinion among competent judges. It is, indeed, a monument to
      the man's indomitable energy and perseverance, and it is a
      monument to the science of ornithology. The drawings of the
      birds are very spirited and life like, and their biographies
      copious, picturesque, and accurate, and, taken in connection
      with his many journals, they afford glimpses of the life of
      the country during the early part of the century, that are of
      very great interest and value.
    </p>
    <p>
      In writing the biography of the birds he wrote his
      autobiography as well; he wove his doings and adventures into
      his natural history observations. This gives a personal
      flavour to his pages, and is the main source of their charm.
    </p>
    <p>
      His account of the Rosebreasted Grosbeak is a good sample of
      his work in this respect:
    </p>
    <p>
      "One year, in the month of August, I was trudging along the
      shores of the Mohawk river, when night overtook me. Being
      little acquainted with that part of the country, I resolved
      to camp where I was; the evening was calm and beautiful, the
      sky sparkled with stars which were reflected by the smooth
      waters, and the deep shade of the rocks and trees of the
      opposite shore fell on the bosom of the stream, while gently
      from afar came on the ear the muttering sound of the
      cataract. My little fire was soon lighted under a rock, and,
      spreading out my scanty stock of provisions, I reclined on my
      grassy couch. As I looked on the fading features of the
      beautiful landscape, my heart turned towards my distant home,
      where my friends were doubtless wishing me, as I wish them, a
      happy night and peaceful slumbers. Then were heard the
      barkings of the watch dog, and I tapped my faithful companion
      to prevent his answering them. The thoughts of my worldly
      mission then came over my mind, and having thanked the
      Creator of all for his never-failing mercy, I closed my eyes,
      and was passing away into the world of dreaming existence,
      when suddenly there burst on my soul the serenade of the
      Rosebreasted bird, so rich, so mellow, so loud in the
      stillness of the night, that sleep fled from my eyelids.
      Never did I enjoy music more: it thrilled through my heart,
      and surrounded me with an atmosphere of bliss. One might
      easily have imagined that even the Owl, charmed by such
      delightful music, remained reverently silent. Long after the
      sounds ceased did I enjoy them, and when all had again become
      still, I stretched out my wearied limbs, and gave myself up
      to the luxury of repose."
    </p>
    <p>
      Probably most of the seventy-five or eighty copies of "Birds"
      which were taken by subscribers in this country are still
      extant, held by the great libraries, and learned
      institutions. The Lenox Library in New York owns three sets.
      The Astor Library owns one set. I have examined this work
      there; there are four volumes in a set; they are elephant
      folio size&#8212;more than three feet long, and two or more
      feet wide. They are the heaviest books I ever handled. It
      takes two men to carry one volume to the large racks which
      hold them for the purpose of examination. The birds, of which
      there are a thousand and fifty-five specimens in four hundred
      and thirty-five plates, are all life size, even the great
      eagles, and appear to be unfaded. This work, which cost the
      original subscribers one thousand dollars, now brings four
      thousand dollars at private sale.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the edition with reduced figures and with the bird
      biographies, many more were sold, and all considerable public
      libraries in this country possess the work. It consists of
      seven imperial octavo volumes. Five hundred dollars is the
      average price which this work brings. This was a copy of the
      original English publication, with the figures reduced and
      lithographed. In this work, his sons, John and Victor,
      greatly assisted him, the former doing the reducing by the
      aid of the camera-lucida, and the latter attending to the
      printing and publishing. The first volume of this work
      appeared in 1840, and the last in 1844.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon experimented a long time before he hit upon a
      satisfactory method of drawing his birds. Early in his
      studies he merely drew them in outline. Then he practised
      using threads to raise the head, wing or tail of his
      specimen. Under David he had learned to draw the human figure
      from a manikin. It now occurred to him to make a manikin of a
      bird, using cork or wood, or wires for the purpose. But his
      bird manikin only excited the laughter and ridicule of his
      friends. Then he conceived the happy thought of setting up
      the body of the dead bird by the aid of wires, very much as a
      taxidermist mounts them. This plan worked well and enabled
      him to have his birds permanently before him in a
      characteristic attitude: "The bird fixed with wires on
      squares I studied as a lay figure before me, its nature
      previously known to me as far as habits went, and its general
      form having been perfectly observed."
    </p>
    <p>
      His bird pictures reflect his own temperament, not to say his
      nationality; the birds are very demonstrative, even
      theatrical and melodramatic at times. In some cases this is
      all right, in others it is all wrong. Birds differ in this
      respect as much as people do&#8212;some are very quiet and
      sedate, others pose and gesticulate like a Frenchman. It
      would not be easy to exaggerate, for instance, the flashings
      and evolutions of the redstart when it arrives in May, or the
      acting and posing of the catbird, or the gesticulations of
      the yellow breasted chat, or the nervous and emphatic
      character of the large-billed water thrush, or the many
      pretty attitudes of the great Carolina wren; but to give the
      same dramatic character to the demure little song sparrow, or
      to the slow moving cuckoo, or to the pedestrian cowbird, or
      to the quiet Kentucky warbler, as Audubon has done, is to
      convey a wrong impression of these birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilson errs, if at all, in the other direction. His birds, on
      the other hand, reflect his cautious, undemonstrative Scotch
      nature. Few of them are shown in violent action like
      Audubon's cuckoo; their poses for the most part are easy and
      characteristic. His drawings do not show the mastery of the
      subject and the versatility that Audubon's do;&#8212;they
      have not the artistic excellence, but they less frequently do
      violence to the bird's character by exaggerated activity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The colouring in Audubon's birds is also often exaggerated.
      His purple finch is as brilliant as a rose, whereas at its
      best, this bird is a dull carmine.
    </p>
    <p>
      Either the Baltimore oriole has changed its habits of
      nest-building since Audubon's day, or else he was wrong in
      his drawing of the nest of that bird, in making the opening
      on the side near the top. I have never seen an oriole's nest
      that was not open at the top.
    </p>
    <p>
      In his drawings of a group of robins, one misses some of the
      most characteristic poses of that bird, while some of the
      attitudes that are portrayed are not common and familiar
      ones.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in the face of all that he accomplished, and against such
      odds, and taking into consideration also the changes that may
      have crept in through engraver and colourists, it ill becomes
      us to indulge in captious criticisms. Let us rather repeat
      Audubon's own remark on realising how far short his drawings
      came of representing the birds themselves: "After all,
      there's nothing perfect but <i>primitiveness</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding that he could not live in the city, in 1842 Audubon
      removed with his family to "Minnie's Land," on the banks of
      the Hudson, now known as Audubon Park, and included in the
      city limits; this became his final home.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the spring of 1843 he started on his last long journey,
      his trip to the Yellow-stone River, of which we have a minute
      account in his "Missouri River Journals"&#8212;documents that
      lay hidden in the back of an old secretary from 1843 to the
      time when they were found by his grand-daughters in 1896, and
      published by them in 1897.
    </p>
    <p>
      This trip was undertaken mainly in the interests of the
      "Quadrupeds and Biography of American Quadrupeds," and much
      of what he saw and did is woven into those three volumes. The
      trip lasted eight months, and the hardships and exposures
      seriously affected Audubon's health. He returned home in
      October, 1843.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was now sixty-four or five years of age, and the
      infirmities of his years began to steal upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first volume of his "Quadrupeds" was published about two
      years later, and this was practically his last work. The
      second and third volumes were mainly the work of his sons,
      John and Victor.
    </p>
    <p>
      The "Quadrupeds" does not take rank with his "Birds." It was
      not his first love. It was more an after thought to fill up
      his time. Neither the drawing nor the colouring of the
      animals, largely the work of his son John, approaches those
      of the birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely no man ever had better helpers" says his
      grand-daughter, and a study of his life brings us to the same
      conclusion&#8212;his devoted wife, his able and willing sons,
      were his closest helpers, nor do we lose sight of the
      assistance of the scientific and indefatigable MacGillivray,
      and the untiring and congenial co-worker, Dr. Bachman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon's last years were peaceful and happy, and were passed
      at his home on the Hudson, amid his children and
      grandchildren, surrounded by the scenes that he loved.
    </p>
    <p>
      After his eyesight began to fail him, his devoted wife read
      to him, she walked with him, and toward the last she fed him.
      "Bread and milk were his breakfast and supper, and at noon he
      ate a little fish or game, never having eaten animal food if
      he could avoid it."
    </p>
    <p>
      One visiting at the home of our naturalist during his last
      days speaks of the tender way in which he said to his wife:
      "Well, sweetheart, always busy. Come sit thee down a few
      minutes and rest."
    </p>
    <p>
      Parke Godwin visited Audubon in 1846, and gives this account
      of his visit:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The house was simple and unpretentious in its architecture,
      and beautifully embowered amid elms and oaks. Several
      graceful fawns, and a noble elk, were stalking in the shade
      of the trees, apparently unconscious of the presence of a few
      dogs, and not caring for the numerous turkeys, geese, and
      other domestic animals that gabbled and screamed around them.
      Nor did my own approach startle the wild, beautiful
      creatures, that seemed as docile as any of their tame
      companions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Is the master at home?' I asked of a pretty maid servant,
      who answered my tap at the door; and who, after informing me
      that he was, led me into a room on the left side of the broad
      hall. It was not, however, a parlour, or an ordinary
      reception room that I entered, but evidently a room for work.
      In one corner stood a painter's easel, with the half-finished
      sketch of a beaver on the paper; in the other lay the skin of
      an American panther. The antlers of elks hung upon the walls;
      stuffed birds of every description of gay plumage ornamented
      the mantel-piece; and exquisite drawings of field mice,
      orioles, and woodpeckers, were scattered promiscuously in
      other parts of the room, across one end of which a long, rude
      table was stretched to hold artist materials, scraps of
      drawing paper, and immense folio volumes, filled with
      delicious paintings of birds taken in their native haunts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'This,' said I to myself, 'is the studio of the naturalist,'
      but hardly had the thought escaped me when the master himself
      made his appearance. He was a tall thin man, with a
      high-arched and serene forehead, and a bright penetrating
      grey eye; his white locks fell in clusters upon his
      shoulders, but were the only signs of age, for his form was
      erect, and his step as light as that of a deer. The
      expression of his face was sharp, but noble and commanding,
      and there was something in it, partly derived from the
      aquiline nose and partly from the shutting of the mouth,
      which made you think of the imperial eagle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "His greeting as he entered, was at once frank and cordial,
      and showed you the sincere true man. 'How kind it is,' he
      said, with a slight French accent and in a pensive tone, 'to
      come to see me; and how wise, too, to leave that crazy city.'
      He then shook me warmly by the hand. 'Do you know,' he
      continued, 'how I wonder that men can consent to swelter and
      fret their lives away amid those hot bricks and pestilent
      vapours, when the woods and fields are all so near? It would
      kill me soon to be confined in such a prison house; and when
      I am forced to make an occasional visit there, it fills me
      with loathing and sadness. Ah! how often, when I have been
      abroad on the mountains, has my heart risen in grateful
      praise to God that it was not my destiny to waste and pine
      among those noisome congregations of the city.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Another visitor to Audubon during his last days writes: "In
      my interview with the naturalist, there were several things
      that stamped themselves indelibly on my mind. The wonderful
      simplicity of the man was perhaps the most remarkable. His
      enthusiasm for facts made him unconscious of himself. To make
      him happy you had only to give him a new fact in natural
      history, or introduce him to a rare bird. His
      self-forgetfulness was very impressive. I felt that I had
      found a man who asked homage for God and Nature, and not for
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The unconscious greatness of the man seemed only equalled by
      his child-like tenderness. The sweet unity between his wife
      and himself, as they turned over the original drawings of his
      birds, and recalled the circumstances of the drawings, some
      of which had been made when she was with him; her quickness
      of perception, and their mutual enthusiasm regarding these
      works of his heart and hand, and the tenderness with which
      they unconsciously treated each other, all was impressed upon
      my memory. Ever since, I have been convinced that Audubon
      owed more to his wife than the world knew, or ever would
      know. That she was always a reliance, often a help, and ever
      a sympathising sister-soul to her noble husband, was fully
      apparent to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      One notes much of the same fire and vigour in the later
      portraits of Audubon, that are so apparent in those of him in
      his youthful days. What a resolute closing of the mouth in
      his portrait taken of him in his old age&#8212; "the
      magnificent grey-haired man!"
    </p>
    <p>
      In 1847, Audubon's mind began to fail him; like Emerson in
      his old age, he had difficulty in finding the right word.
    </p>
    <p>
      In May, 1848, Dr. Bachman wrote of him: "My poor friend
      Audubon! The outlines of his beautiful face and form are
      there, but his noble mind is all in ruins."
    </p>
    <p>
      His feebleness increased (there was no illness), till at
      sunset, January 27, 1851, in his seventy-sixth year, the
      "American Woodsman," as he was wont to call himself, set out
      on his last long journey to that bourne whence no traveller
      returns.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      As a youth Audubon was an unwilling student of books; as a
      merchant and mill owner in Kentucky he was an unwilling man
      of business, but during his whole career, at all times and in
      all places, he was more than a willing student of
      ornithology&#8212;he was an eager and enthusiastic one. He
      brought to the pursuit of the birds, and to the study of open
      air life generally, the keen delight of the sportsman, united
      to the ardour of the artist moved by beautiful forms.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was not in the first instance a man of science, like
      Cuvier, or Agassiz, or Darwin&#8212;a man seeking exact
      knowledge; but he was an artist and a backwoodsman, seeking
      adventure, seeking the gratification of his tastes, and to
      put on record his love of the birds. He was the artist of the
      birds before he was their historian; the writing of their
      biographies seems to have been only secondary with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had the lively mercurial temperament of the Latin races
      from which he sprang. He speaks of himself as "warm,
      irascible, and at times violent."
    </p>
    <p>
      His perceptive powers, of course, led his reflective. His
      sharpness and quickness of eye surprised even the Indians. He
      says: "My <i>observatory nerves</i> never gave way."
    </p>
    <p>
      His similes and metaphors were largely drawn from the animal
      world. Thus he says, "I am as dull as a beetle," during his
      enforced stay in London. While he was showing his drawings to
      Mr. Rathbone, he says: "I was panting like the winged
      pheasant." At a dinner in some noble house in England he said
      that the men servants "moved as quietly as killdeers." On
      another occasion, when the hostess failed to put him at his
      ease: "There I stood, motionless as a Heron."
    </p>
    <p>
      With all his courage and buoyancy, Audubon was subject to
      fits of depression, probably the result largely of his
      enforced separation from his family. On one occasion in
      Edinburgh he speaks of these attacks, and refers pathetically
      to others he had had: "But that was in beloved America, where
      the ocean did not roll between me and my wife and sons."
    </p>
    <p>
      Never was a more patriotic American. He loved his adopted
      country above all other lands in which he had journeyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never was a more devoted husband, and never did wife more
      richly deserve such devotion than did Mrs. Audubon. He says
      of her: "She felt the pangs of our misfortune perhaps more
      heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her
      brave and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches
      from her beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I
      not always rich?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The waiting time, my brother, is the hardest time of all."
    </p>
    <p>
      While Audubon was waiting for better luck, or for worse, he
      was always listening to the birds and studying
      them&#8212;storing up the knowledge that he turned to such
      good account later: but we can almost hear his neighbours and
      acquaintances calling him an "idle, worthless fellow." Not so
      his wife; she had even more faith in him than he had in
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      His was a lovable nature&#8212;he won affection and devotion
      easily, and he loved to be loved; he appreciated the least
      kindness shown him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was always at ease and welcome in the squatter's cabin or
      in elegantly appointed homes, like that of his friends, the
      Rathbones, though he does complain of an awkwardness and
      shyness sometimes when in high places. This, however, seemed
      to result from the pomp and ceremony found there, and not
      because of the people themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Chivalrous, generous, and courteous to his heart's core,"
      says his granddaughter, "he could not believe others less so,
      till painful experiences taught him; then he was grieved,
      hurt, but never embittered; and, more marvellous yet, with
      his faith in his fellows as strong as ever, again and again
      he subjected himself to the same treatment."
    </p>
    <p>
      On one occasion when his pictures were on exhibition in
      England, some one stole one of his paintings, and a warrant
      was issued against a deaf mute. "Gladly would I have painted
      a bird for the poor fellow," said Audubon, "and I certainly
      did not want him arrested."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was never, even in his most desperate financial straits,
      too poor to help others more poor than himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had a great deal of the old-fashioned piety of our
      fathers, which crops out abundantly in his pages. While he
      was visiting a Mr. Bently in Manchester, and after retiring
      to his room for the night, he was surprised by a knock at his
      door. It appeared that his host in passing thought he heard
      Audubon call to him to ask for something: "I told him I
      prayed aloud every night, as had been my habit from a child
      at my mother's knees in Nantes. He said nothing for a moment,
      then again wished me good night and was gone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Audubon belonged to the early history of the country, to the
      pioneer times, to the South and the West, and was, on the
      whole, one of the most winsome, interesting, and picturesque
      characters that have ever appeared in our annals.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      BIBLIOGRAPHY.
    </h2>
    <p>
      [Footnote: Publisher's Note: This bibliography is that of the
      original 1902 edition. Many books on Audubon have been
      published since then.]
    </p>
    <p>
      The works of Audubon are mentioned in the chronology at the
      beginning of the volume and in the text. Of the writings
      about him the following&#8212;apart from the obvious books of
      reference in American biography&#8212;are the main sources of
      information:&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      I. PROSE WRITINGS OF AMERICA. By Rufus Wilmot Griswold.
      (Philadelphia, 1847: Carey &amp; Hart.)
    </p>
    <p>
      II. BRIEF BIOGRAPHIES. By Samuel Smiles. (Boston, 1861:
      Ticknor &amp; Fields.)
    </p>
    <p>
      III. AUDUBON, THE NATURALIST OF THE NEW WORLD: His ADVENTURES
      AND DISCOVERIES. By Mrs. Horace Roscoe Stebbing St. John.
      (Revised, with additions. Boston, 1864: Crosby &amp; Nichols.
      New York, 1875: The World Publishing House.)
    </p>
    <p>
      IV. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, THE
      NATURALIST. Edited, from materials supplied by his widow, by
      Robert Buchanan. (London, 1868: S. Low, son &amp; Marston.)
    </p>
    <p>
      V. THE LIFE OF JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. Edited by his widow, with
      an Introduction by James Grant Wilson. (New York, 1869:
      Putnams.)
    </p>
    <p>
      VI. FAMOUS MEN OF SCIENCE. By Sarah Knowles Bolton. (Boston,
      1889: T. Y. Crowell &amp; Co.)
    </p>
    <p>
      VII. AUDUBON AND HIS JOURNALS. By Maria R. Audubon. With
      Zoological and Other Notes by Elliott Coues. (New York, 1897:
      Charles Scribner's Sons. Two volumes.) This is by far the
      most interesting and authentic of any of the sources of
      information.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
<BR>
<PRE>
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