Audubon and his Journals Volume I Part 14

_Sunday, October 21._ Although it has been raining and blowing without mercy these two days, I have spent my time most agreeably. The sweet children showed their first attachment to me and scarce left me a moment during their pleasure hours, which were too short for us all.

Mrs. Selby, who was away with her sick brother, returned yesterday.

Confined to the house, reading, music, and painting were our means of enjoyment. Both this morning and this evening Mr. Selby read prayers and a chapter in the Bible to the whole household, the storm being so severe.

_Edinburgh, October 22._ I am again in the beautiful Edinburgh; I reached it this afternoon, cold, uncomfortable and in low spirits.

Early as it was when I left this morning, Mrs. Selby and her lovely daughter came down to bid me good-bye, and whenever I leave those who show me such pure kindness, and especially such friends as these dear Selbys, it is an absolute pain to me. I think that as I grow older my attachment augments for those who are kind to me; perhaps not a day pa.s.ses without I visit in thought those mansions where I have been so hospitably received, the inmates of which I recall with every sense of grat.i.tude; the family Rathbone _always first_, the Selbys next, in London Mr. Children, in Manchester the Greggs and Bentleys and my good friend Sergeant, at Leeds Mr. Atkinson, at Newcastle dear old Bewick, Mr. Adamson, and the Rev. William Turner, and here Mr. Lizars and too many to enumerate; but I must go back to Liverpool to name John Chorley, to whom I feel warmly attached. It rained during my whole journey here, and I saw the German Ocean agitated, foaming and dark in the distance, scarce able to discern the line of the horizon. I send my expense account to you, to give Victor an idea of what the cost of travelling will be when he takes charge of my business here, whilst I am procuring fresh specimens. I intend next year _positively_ to keep a cash account with myself and others,--a thing I have never yet done.

_October 23._ I visited Mr. Lizars first, and found him as usual at work; he received me well, and asked me to dine with him. I was sorry to learn that Lady Ellen Hall and W. H. Williams had withdrawn their subscriptions, therefore I must exert myself the more.

_October 27._ Anxious to appoint an agent at Edinburgh, I sent for Mr.

Daniel Lizars the bookseller, and made him an offer which he has accepted; I urged him not to lose a moment in forwarding the numbers which have been lying too long at his brother's; many small matters have had to be arranged, but now I believe all is settled. W. H.

Lizars saw the plates of No. 3, and admired them much; called his workmen, and observed to them that the London artists beat them completely. He brought his account, and I paid him in full. I think he regrets now that he decided to give my work up; for I was glad to hear him say that should I think well to intrust him with a portion of it, it should be done as well as Havell's, and the plates delivered in London at the same price. If he can fall twenty-seven pounds in the engraving of each number, and do them in superior style to his previous work, how enormous must his profits have been; good lesson this for me in the time to come, though I must remember Havell is more reasonable owing to what has pa.s.sed between us in our business arrangements, and the fact that he owes so much to me.[132] I have made many calls, and been kindly welcomed at every house. The "Courant" and the "Scotchman" have honored me with fine encomiums on my work. The weather has been intolerable, raining and blowing constantly.

_October 31._ Mr. W. H. Lizars has dampened my spirits a good deal by a.s.suring me that I would not find Scotland so ready at paying for my work as England, and positively advised me not to seek for more subscribers either here or at Glasgow. It is true, six of my first subscribers have abandoned the work without even giving me a reason; so my mind has wavered. If I go to Glasgow and can only obtain names that in the course of a few months will be withdrawn, I am only increasing expenses and losing time, and of neither time nor money have I too great a portion; but when I know that Glasgow is a place of wealth, and has many persons of culture, I decide to go.

_November 2._ I called on Professor Wilson this morning who welcomed me heartily, and offered to write something about my work in the journal called "Blackwood"; he made me many questions, and asked me to breakfast to-morrow, and promised me some letters for Glasgow.

_November 3._ My breakfast with the Professor was very agreeable. His fine daughter headed the table, and two sons were with us. The more I look at Wilson, the more I admire his originalities,--a man not equal to Walter Scott, it is true, but in many ways nearly approaching him; as free from the detestable stiffness of ceremonies as I am when I can help myself, no cravat, no waistcoat, but a fine _frill_ of his own profuse beard, his hair flowing uncontrolled, and in his speech dashing at once at the object in view, without circ.u.mlocution; with a countenance beaming with intellect, and eyes that would do justice to the _Bird of Washington_. He gives me comfort, by being comfortable himself. With such a man I can talk for a whole day, and could listen for years.

_Glasgow, November 4._ At eleven I entered the coach for my ride of forty-two miles; three inside pa.s.sengers besides myself made the entire journey without having uttered a single word; we all sat like so many owls of different species, as if afraid of one another, and on the _qui vive_, all as dull as the barren country I travelled this day. A few glimpses of dwarflike yellow pines here and there seemed to wish to break the dreariness of this portion of Scotland, but the attempt was in vain, and I sat watching the crows that flew under the dark sky foretelling winter's approach. I arrived here too late to see any portion of the town, for when the coach stopped at the Black Bull all was so dark that I could only see it was a fine, broad, long street.

_November 8._ I am off to-morrow morning, and perhaps forever will say farewell to Glasgow. I have been here _four_ days and have obtained _one_ subscriber. One subscriber in a city of 150,000 souls, rich, handsome, and with much learning. Think of 1400 pupils in one college!

Glasgow is a fine city; the Clyde here is a small stream crossed by three bridges. The shipping consists of about a hundred brigs and schooners, but I counted eighteen steam vessels, black, ugly things as ever were built. One sees few carriages, but _thousands_ of carts.

_Edinburgh, November 9._ In my old lodgings, after a journey back from the "City of the West" which was agreeable enough, all the pa.s.sengers being men of intellect and social natures.

_November 10._ I left this house this morning an hour and a half before day, and pushed off for the sea-sh.o.r.e, or, as it is called, The Firth. It was calm and rather cold, but I enjoyed it, and reached Professor Jameson's a few minutes before breakfast. I was introduced to the "Lord of Ireland," an extremely intelligent person and an enthusiast in zoological researches; he had been a great traveller, and his conversation was highly interesting. In the afternoon I went to the summit of Arthur's Seat; the day was then beautiful and the extensive view cheered my spirits.

_November 13._ I arrived at Twizel Hall at half-past four in good time for dinner, having travelled nearly eighty miles quite alone in the coach, not the Mail but the Union. Sir William Jardine met me on my arrival. I a.s.sure thee it was a pleasure to spend two days here,--shooting while it was fair, and painting when rainy. In one of our walks I shot five Pheasants, one Hare, one Rabbit, and one Partridge; gladly would I remain here longer, but my work demands me elsewhere.

_York, November 18._ I have been here five hours. The day was so-so, and my companions in the coach of the dormouse order; eighty-two miles and no conversation is to me dreadful. Moreover our coachman, having in sight a coach called the "High-Flyer," felt impelled to keep up with that vehicle, and so lashed the horses that we kept close to it all the while. Each time we changed our animals I saw them quite exhausted, panting for breath, and covered with sweat and the traces of the blows they had received; I a.s.sure thee my heart ached. How such conduct agrees with the ideas of humanity I constantly hear discussed, I leave thee to judge.

_Liverpool, November 22._ I left Manchester at four this morning; it was very dark, and bitterly cold, but my travelling companions were pleasant, so the time pa.s.sed quite quickly. At a small village about half-way here, three felons and a man to guard them mounted the coach, bound to Botany Bay. These poor wretches were chained to each other by the legs, had scarcely a rag on, and those they wore so dirty that no one could have helped feeling deep pity for them, case-hardened in vice as they seemed to be. They had some money, for they drank ale and brandy wherever we stopped. Though cold, the sun rose in full splendor, but the fickleness of the weather in this country is wonderful; before reaching here it snowed, rained, and cleared up again. On arriving I went at once to the Royal Inst.i.tution, and on my way met William Rathbone. I recognized him as far as I could see him, but could easily have pa.s.sed him unnoticed, as, shivering with cold, I was wrapped up in my large cloak. Glad was I to hold him once more by the hand, and to learn that all my friends were well. I have seen Dr.

Traill, John Chorley, and many others who were kind to me when I was here before. All welcomed me warmly.

_November 22._ This day after my arrival I rose before day and walked to Green Bank. When half my walk was over the sun rose, and my pleasure increased every moment that brought me nearer to my generous, kind "Lady" Rathbone and her sweet daughter, Miss Hannah. When I reached the house all was yet silent within, and I rambled over the frozen gra.s.s, watching the birds that are always about the place, enjoying full peace and security. The same Black Thrush (probably) that I have often heard before was perched on a fir-tree announcing the beauty of this winter morning in his melodious voice; the little Robins flitted about, making towards those windows that they knew would soon be opened to them. How I admired every portion of the work of G.o.d. I entered the hot-house and breathed the fragrance of each flower, yet sighed at the sight of some that I recognized as offsprings of my own beloved country. Henry Chorley, who had been spending the night at Green Bank, now espied me from his window, so I went in and soon was greeted by that best of friends, "Lady" Rathbone.

After breakfast Miss Hannah opened the window and her favorite little Robin hopped about the carpet, quite at home. I returned to Liverpool with Mr. B.[133] Rathbone, who, much against my wishes, for I can do better work now, bought my picture of the Hawk pouncing on the Partridges.

_November 26._ Visited Dr. Traill, to consult with him on the best method of procuring subscribers, and we have decided that I am to call on Mr. W. W. Currie, the president of the Athenaeum, to obtain his leave to show my work in the Reading Room, and for me to have notes of invitation printed and sent to each member, for them to come and inspect the work as far as it goes. I called on Mr. Currie and obtained his permission at once, so the matter is _en train_.

_November 30._ I have spent the day at Woodcroft with Richard Rathbone. Mrs. Rathbone wishes me to teach her how to paint in oils.

Now is it not too bad that I cannot do so, for want of talent? My birds in _water-colors_ have plumage and soft colors, but in oils--alas! I walked into town with Richard Rathbone, who rode his horse. I kept by his side all the way, the horse walking. I do not rely as much on my activity as I did twenty years ago, but I still think I could kill any horse in England in twenty days, taking the travel over rough and level grounds. This might be looked upon as a boast by many, but, I am quite satisfied, not by those who have seen me travel at the rate of five miles an hour all day. Once indeed I recollect going from Louisville to Shippingport[134] in fourteen minutes, with as much ease as if I had been on skates.

_December 3._ This morning I made sketches of all the parts of the Platypus[135] for William Gregg, who is to deliver a lecture on this curious animal. To-day and yesterday have been rainy, dismal indeed; very dismal is an English December. I am working very hard, writing constantly. The greater part of this day was spent at the Athenaeum; many visitors, but no subscribers.

_December 4._ Again at the library and had one subscriber. A letter from Charles Bonaparte tells me he has decided not to reside in America, but in Florence; this I much regret. I have been reading the "Travels of the Marquis de Chastelleux" in our country, which contains very valuable and correct facts.

_December 10._ Mr. Atherton, a relation of friend Selby's, took breakfast with me, and then conducted me to see a very beautiful bird (alive) of the Eagle kind, from the Andes.[136] It is quite unknown to me; about the size of the Bird of Washington, much shorter in the wings, larger talons and longer claws, with erected feathers, in the form of a fan, on the head. The bill was dark blue, the crest yellow, upper part of the body dark brown; so was the whole head and neck, as well as the tail and vent, but the belly and breast were white. I soon perceived that it was a young bird; its cry resembled that of almost every Eagle, but was weaker in sound on account of its tender age, not exceeding ten months. Were I to give it a name, it would be the _Imperial Crowned Eagle_. It was fed on raw beef, and occasionally a live fowl by way of a treat to the by-standers, who, it seems, always take much pleasure in cruel acts. The moment I saw this magnificent bird I wished to own it, to send it as a present to the Zoological Gardens. I received a letter from Thomas Sully telling me in the most frank and generous manner that I have been severely handled in one of the Philadelphia newspapers. The editor calls all I said in my papers read before the different societies in Edinburgh "a pack of lies."

Friend Sully is most heartily indignant, but with me my motto is: "_Le temps decouvrira la verite._" It is, however, hard that a poor man like me, who has been so devotedly intent on bringing forth facts of curious force, should be brought before the world as a liar by a man who doubtless knows little of the inhabitants of the forests on the Schuylkill, much less of those elsewhere. It is both unjust and ungenerous, but I forgive him. I shall keep up a good heart, trust to my G.o.d, attend to my work with industry and care, and in time outlive these trifles.

_December 13._ I went this evening to hear the Tyrolese Singers, three brothers and their sister. They were all dressed in the costume of their country, but when they sang I saw no more; I know not how to express my feelings. I was in an instant transported into some wild glen from which arose high mountain crags, which threw back the melodious echoes. The wild, clear, harmonious music so entered into my being that for a time I was not sure that what I heard was a reality.

Imagine the warbling of strong-throated Thrushes, united with the bugle-horn, a flute, and a hautboy, in full unison. I could have listened all night.

_December 14, 1827._ By the advice of our consul, Mr. Maury, I have presented a copy of my work to the President of the United States, and another to the House of Congress through Henry Clay.

_December 16, Sunday._ I went to the service at my favorite church, the one at the Blind Asylum; the anthems were so exquisitely sung that I felt, as all persons ought to do when at church, full of fervent devotion.

_December 18._ It was with great regret that I found my friend Wm.

Roscoe very unwell. This n.o.ble man has had a paralytic attack; his mind is fully sensible of the decay of his body, and he meets this painful trial with patience and almost contentment. This only can be the case with those who in their past life have been upright and virtuous. I finished drawing a little Wren for my good friend Hannah, as well as artificial light would allow.

_December 20._ I have done nothing to-day; I have had that sort of laziness that occasionally feeds upon my senses unawares; it is a kind of const.i.tutional disease with me from time to time, as if to give my body necessary rest, and enable me to recommence with fresh vigor and alacrity whatever undertaking I have in hand. When it has pa.s.sed, however, I always reproach myself that I have lost a day. I went to the theatre with John Chorley to see "The Hypocrite;" it is stolen from Moliere's famous "Tartuffe,"--cut and sliced to suit the English market. I finished my evening by reading the Life of Ta.s.so.

_December 24._ The whole town appears to be engaged in purchasing eatables for to-morrow. I saw some people carrying large nosegays of holly ornamented with flowers in imitation of white roses, carnations, and others, cut out of turnips and carrots; but I heard not a single gun fire, no fireworks going on anywhere,--a very different time to what we have in Louisiana. I spent my evening with Dr. Rutter looking at his valuable collection of prints of the men of the Revolution.

Poor Charette,[137] whom I saw shot on the Place de Viarme at Nantes, was peculiarly good, as were General Moreau, Napoleon, when Consul, and many others; and Dr. Rutter knew their lives well.

_December 25._ At midnight I was awakened by Dr. Munroe, who came with a bottle of that smoky Scotch whiskey which I can never like, and who insisted on my taking a gla.s.s with him in honor of the day. Christmas in my country is very different indeed from what I have seen here.

With us it is a general merry-making, a day of joy. Our lads have guns, and fire almost all night, and dance all day and the next night.

Invitations are sent to all friends and acquaintances, and the time pa.s.ses more gayly than I can describe. Here, _families_ only join together, they go to church together, eat a very good dinner together, I dare say; but all is dull--silent--mournful. As to myself, I took a walk and dined with Mr. Munroe and family, and spent a quiet evening with John Chorley. This is my Christmas day for 1827.

_December 28._ Immediately after breakfast the box came containing the fifth number, and three full sets for my new subscribers here. The work pleased me quite.

_December 29._ This morning I walked to "Lady" Rathbone's with my fifth number. It is quite impossible to approach Green Bank, when the weather is at all fair, without enjoying the song of some birds; for, Lucy, that sweet place is sacred, and all the feathered tribe in perfect safety. A Redwing particularly delighted me to-day; I found something of the note of our famous Mock-bird in his melody.

_January 1, 1828, Manchester._ How many times since daylight reached my eyes, I have wished thee, my Lucy, our sons, and our friends, a year of comfort, of peace and enjoyment, I cannot tell, for the day is to me always one on which to pray for those we love. Now, my Lucy, when I wished thee a happy New Year this morning I emptied my snuff box, locked up the box in my trunk, and will take _no more_. The habit within a few weeks has grown upon me, so farewell to it; it is a useless and not very clean habit, besides being an expensive one.

Snuff! farewell to thee. Thou knowest, Lucy, well that when I will _I will_. I came here straight to friend Sergeant's; I need not say I was welcomed; and Bentley soon came in to spend the evening with us.

_London, January 5, 1828._ At six last evening I was in the coach with three companions; I slept well after we stopped for supper at nine o'clock, but not long enough. I cannot sleep in the morning, and was awake four long hours before day. The moon, that had shone brightly, sunk in the west as day dawned, the frost appeared thickly strewn over the earth, and not a cloud was in sight. I saw a few flocks of Partridges on their roost, which thou knowest well is on the ground, with their heads all turned to east, from which a gentle waft of air was felt; the cattle were lying here and there; a few large flocks of Starlings were all that interested me. The dawn was clear, but before we left Northampton it rained, snowed, and blew as if the elements had gone mad; strange country, to be sure. The three gentlemen in the coach with me suggested cards, and asked me to take a hand; of course I said yes, but only on condition that they did not play for money, a thing I have never done. They agreed very courteously, though expressing their surprise, and we played whist all day, till I was weary. I know little about cards, and never play unless obliged to by circ.u.mstances; I feel no pleasure in the game, and long for other occupation. Twenty-four hours after leaving Manchester, we stopped at the Angel Inn, Islington Road. I missed my snuff all day; whenever my hands went into my pockets in search of my box, and I discovered the strength of habit, thus acting without thought, I blessed myself that my mind was stronger than my body. I am again in London, but not dejected and low of spirits and disheartened as I was when I came in May last; no, indeed! I have now _friends_ in London, and hope to keep them.

_95 Great Russell St., January 6._ I took a famous walk before day, up to Primrose Hill, and was back before anyone in the house was up. I have spent the whole day going over my drawings, and decided on the twenty-five that are to form the numbers for 1828. The new birds I have named as follows: Children,[138] Vigors,[139] Temminck, Cuvier.[140] Havell came and saw the drawings; it gave him an idea of the work to be performed between now and next January.

_January 8._ I have ordered one set of my birds to be colored by Havell _himself_, for Congress, and the numbers already out will soon be _en route_. My frame maker came in, and the poor man took it for granted that I was _an artist_, but, dear me! what a mistake; I can draw, but I shall never paint well. The weather is extremely dull and gloomy; during the morning the light was of a deep yellow cast.

_January 9._ Had a long letter from John Chorley, and after some talk with my good friend J. G. Children, have decided to write nothing more except the biographies of my birds. It takes too much time to write to this one and that one, to a.s.sure them that what I have written is _fact_. When Nature as it is found in my beloved America is better understood, these things will be known generally, and when I have been dead twenty years, more or less, my statements will be accepted everywhere; till then they may wait.[141] I have a violent cough and sore throat that renders me heavy and stupid; twenty-five years ago I would not have paid it the least attention; now I am told that at my age and in this climate (which, G.o.d knows, is indeed a very bad one), I may have trouble if I do not take some remedy. I walked out at four this morning, but the air was thick and I did not enjoy it.

_January 10_. I am going to surprise thee. I had a dentist inspect my teeth, as they ached; he thought it was the effect of my cold, as all are quite perfect and I have never lost one. My throat continuing very sore, I remained in my rooms, and have had Havell, Robert Sully, and Mr. Children for companions.

_January 14._ I feel now much better, after several feverish days, but have not moved from the house; every one of my friends show me much kindness.

_January 17._ A long morning with Havell settling accounts; it is difficult work for a man like me to see that I am neither cheating nor cheated. All is paid for 1827, and I am well ahead in funds. Had I made such regular settlements all my life, I should never have been as poor a man as I have been; but on the other hand I should never have published the "Birds of America." America! my country! Oh, to be there!

_January 18._ Spent the morning with Dr. Lambert and Mr. Don,[142] the famous botanist; we talked much of the plants and trees of America and of Mr. Nuttall[143] while opening and arranging a great parcel of dried plants from the Indies. This afternoon I took a cab and with my portfolio went to Mr. Children's. I cannot, he tells me, take my portfolio on my shoulder in London as I would in New York, or even _tenacious_ Philadelphia.

_January 20._ Oh! how dull I feel; how long am I to be confined in this immense jail? In London, amidst all the pleasures, I feel unhappy and dull; the days are heavy, the nights worse. Shall I ever again see and enjoy the vast forests in their calm purity, the beauties of America? I wish myself anywhere but in London. _Why_ do I dislike London? Is it because the constant evidence of the contrast between the rich and the poor is a torment to me, or is it because of its size and crowd? I know not, but I long for sights and sounds of a different nature. Young Green came to ask me to go with him to see Regent's Park, and we went accordingly, I rather an indifferent companion, I fear, till we reached the bridge that crosses the waters there, where I looked in vain for water-fowl. Failing to find any I raised my eyes towards the peaceful new moon, and to my astonishment saw a large flock of Wild Ducks pa.s.sing over me; after a few minutes a second flock pa.s.sed, which I showed my young friend. Two flocks of Wild Ducks, of upwards of twenty each! Wonderful indeed! I thought of the many I have seen when bent on studying their habits, and grew more homesick than ever.

_January 21._ Notwithstanding this constant darkness of mood, my business must be attended to; therefore soon after dawn I joined Havell and for many hours superintended his coloring of the plates for Congress. While I am not a colorist, and Havell is a very superior one, I _know_ the birds; would to G.o.d I was among them. From here I went to find a bookseller named Wright, but I pa.s.sed the place twice because I looked too high for his sign; the same occurs to young hunters, who, when first they tread the woods in search of a Deer, keep looking high, and far in the distance, and so pa.s.s many a one of these cunning animals, that, squatted in a parcel of dry brush-wood, sees his enemy quite well, and suffers him to pa.s.s without bouncing from his couch. The same instinct that leads me through woods struck me in the Haymarket, and now I found Mr. Wright. Our interview over, I made for Piccadilly, the weather as mild as summer, and the crowd innumerable. Piccadilly was filled with carriages of all sorts, men on horseback, and people everywhere; what a bustle!

_January 22._ I was so comfortless last night that I scarcely closed my eyes, and at last dressed and walked off in the dark to Regent's Park, led there because _there_ are some objects in the shape of trees, the gra.s.s is green, and from time to time the sweet notes of a Blackbird strike my ear and revive my poor heart, as it carries my mind to the woods around thee, my Lucy. As daylight came a flock of Starlings swept over my head, and I watched their motions on the green turf where they had alighted, until I thought it time to return to breakfast, and I entered my lodgings quite ready for my usual bowl of bread and milk, which I still keep to for my morning meal; how often have I partaken of it in simple cabins, much more to my taste than all the pomp of London. Drawing all day long.