Audubon and his Journals, Volume 1 (of 2)

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 glass 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 passes 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 circumstances; 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 assure 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, God 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. Nuttall143 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 passing over me; after a few minutes a second flock passed, 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 God I was among them. From here I went to find a bookseller named Wright, but I passed 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 pass 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 pass 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 grass 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.

January 23. How delighted and pleased I have been this day at the receiving of thy letter of the 1st of November last. My Lucy, thou art so good to me, and thy advices are so substantial, that, rest assured, I will follow them closely.

January 24. To my delight friend Bentley appeared this evening. I was glad I could give him a room while he is in London. He brought news of some fresh subscribers, and a letter from the Rev. D – to ask to be excused from continuing the work. Query: how many amongst my now long list of subscribers will continue the work throughout?

January 25. I usually leave the house two hours before day for a long walk; this morning it was again to Regent's Park; this gives me a long day for my work. After breakfast Bentley and I paid a long visit to Mr. Leadbeater, the great stuffer of birds. He was very cordial, and showed us many beautiful and rare specimens; but they were all stuffed, and I cannot bear them, no matter how well mounted they may be. I received to-day a perpetual ticket of admission to Mr. Cross's exhibition of quadrupeds, live birds, etc., which pleased me very much, for there I can look upon Nature, even if confined in iron cages. Bentley made me a present of a curiosity, – a "double penny" containing a single one, a half-penny within that, a farthing in that, and a silver penny within all. Now, my Lucy, who could have thought to make a thing like that?

January 26. Of course my early walk. After breakfast, Bentley being desirous to see Regent's Park, I accompanied him thither and we walked all round it; I think it is rather more than a mile in diameter. We saw a squadron of horse, and as I am fond of military manœuvres, and as the horses were all handsome, with full tails, well mounted and managed, it was a fine sight, and we both admired it. We then went to Mr. Cross, and I had the honor of riding on a very fine and gentle elephant; I say "honor," because the immense animal was so well trained and so obedient as to be an example to many human beings who are neither. The Duchess of A – came in while I was there, – a large, very fat, red-faced woman, but with a sweet voice, who departed in a coach drawn by four horses with two riders, and two footmen behind; almost as much attendance as when she was a queen on the boards of – theatre, thirty years ago.

January 28. I received a letter from D. Lizars to-day announcing to me the loss of four subscribers; but these things do not damp my spirits half so much as the smoke of London. I am as dull as a beetle.

January 31. I have been in my room most of this day, and very dull in this dark town.

February 1, 1828. Another Journal! It has now twenty-six brothers;144 some are of French manufacture, some from Gilpin's "Mills on the Brandywine," some from other parts of America, but you are positively a Londoner. I bought you yesterday from a man across the street for fourteen shillings; and what I write in you is for my wife, Lucy Audubon, a matchless woman, and for my two Kentucky lads, whom I do fervently long to press to my heart again.

It has rained all day. Bentley and I paid a visit to the great anatomist, Dr. J. Brookes,145 to see his collection of skeletons of divers objects. He received us with extreme kindness. I saw in his yard some few rare birds. He was called away on sudden and important business before we saw his museum, so we are to go on Monday. Mr. Cross, of the Exeter Exchange, had invited Bentley and me to dinner with his quadrupeds and bipeds, and at three o'clock we took a coach, for the rain was too heavy for Bentley, and drove to the Menagerie. Mr. Cross by no means deserves his name, for he is a pleasant man, and we dined with his wife and himself and the keepers of the Beasts (name given by men to quadrupeds). None of the company were very polished, but all behaved with propriety and good humor, and I liked it on many accounts. Mr. Cross conversed very entertainingly. Bentley had two tickets for Drury Lane Theatre. It was "The Critic" again; immediately after, as if in spite of that good lesson, "The Haunted Inn" was performed, and the two gentlemen called Matthews and Litton so annoyed me with their low wit that I often thought that, could Shakespeare or Garrick be raised from their peaceful places of rest, tears of sorrow would have run down their cheeks to see how abused their darling theatre was this night. Bentley was more fortunate than I, he went to sleep. At my rooms I found a little circular piece of ivory with my name, followed by "and friends," and a letter stating it was a perpetual ticket of admission to the Zoölogical Gardens. This was sent at the request of Mr. Brookes.

February 2. Bentley and I went to the Gardens of the Zoölogical Society, which are at the opposite end of Regent's Park from my lodgings. The Gardens are quite in a state of infancy; I have seen more curiosities in a swamp in America in one morning than is collected here since eighteen months; all, however, is well planned, clean, and what specimens they have are fine and in good condition. As we were leaving I heard my name called, and turning saw Mr. Vigors with a companion to whom he introduced me; it was the famous Captain Sabine,146 a tall, thin man, who at once asked me if among the Eagles they had, any were the young of the White-headed Eagle, or as he called the bird, the Falco leucocephalus. Strange that such great men should ask a woodsman questions like that, which I thought could be solved by either of them at a glance. I answered in the affirmative, for I have seen enough of them to know.

February 4. I made a present to Bentley of the first number of my work, and some loose prints for his brothers. Then we went to Mr. Brookes, the surgeon, and saw his immense and wonderful collection of anatomical subjects. The man has spent about the same number of years at this work as I have at my own, and now offers it for sale at £10,000. I then called on Vigors and told him I wished to name my new bird in No. 6 after him, and he expressed himself well pleased. This evening I took my portfolio to Soho Square and entered the rooms of the Linnæan Society, where I found I was the first arrival. I examined the various specimens till others came in. The meeting was called to order, and I was shortly after elected a member; my drawings were examined, and more than one told me it was a sad thing they were so little known in London.

February 7. Havell brought me the sets he owed me for 1827, and I paid him in full. Either through him or Mr. Lizars I have met with a loss of nearly £100, for I am charged for fifty numbers more than can be accounted for by my agents or myself. This seems strange always to me, that people cannot be honest, but I must bring myself to believe many are not, from my own experiences. My evening was spent in Bruton Street, at the Zoölogical Society rooms, where Lord Stanley accompanied me, with Lord Auckland and good old General Hardwicke, and my portfolio was again opened and my work discussed.

February 10. This morning I took one of my drawings from my portfolio and began to copy it, and intend to finish it in better style. It is the White-headed Eagle which I drew on the Mississippi some years ago, feeding on a Wild Goose; now I shall make it breakfast on a Catfish, the drawing of which is also with me, with the marks of the talons of another Eagle, which I disturbed on the banks of that same river, driving him from his prey. I worked from seven this morning till dark.

February 11. Precisely the same as yesterday, neither cross nor dull, therefore, but perfectly happy.

February 12. Still hard at it, and this evening the objects on my paper look more like a bird and a fish than like a windmill, as they have done. Three more days and the drawing will be finished if I have no interruptions.

February 14. No drawing to-day; no, indeed! At nine this morning I was at the house of friend Hays, No. 21 Queen Street, to meet the Secretary of the Colonial Department. Mr. Hays showed me a superb figure of a Hercules in brass, found in France by a peasant while ploughing, and for which £300 has been refused.

February 16. Yesterday I worked at my drawing all day, and began this morning at seven, and worked till half-past four, only ceasing my work to take a glass of milk brought me by my landlady. I have looked carefully at the effect and the finishing. Ah! my Lucy, that I could paint in oils as I can in my own style! How proud I should be, and what handsome pictures I should soon have on hand.

February 24. I heard to-day of the death of Mrs. Gregg of Quarry Bank. I was grieved to know that kind lady, who had showed me much hospitality, should have died; I have hesitated to write to her son-in-law, Mr. Rathbone, fearing to disturb the solemnity of his sorrow. At the Linnæan Society this evening, my friend Selby's work lay on the table by mine, and very unfair comparisons were drawn between the two; I am quite sure that had he had the same opportunities that my curious life has granted me, his work would have been far superior to mine; I supported him to the best of my power. The fact is, I think, that no man yet has done anything in the way of illustrating the birds of England comparable to his great work; then besides, he is an excellent man, devoted to his science, and if he has committed slight errors, it becomes men of science not to dwell upon these to the exclusion of all else. I was to-day elected an original member of the Zoölogical Society. I also learned that it was Sir Thomas Lawrence who prevented the British Museum from subscribing to my work; he considered the drawing so-so, and the engraving and coloring bad; when I remember how he praised these same drawings in my presence, I wonder – that is all.

February 25. A most gloomy day; had I no work what a miserable life I should lead in London. I receive constantly many invitations, but all is so formal, so ceremonious, I care not to go. Thy piano sailed to-day; with a favorable voyage it may reach New Orleans in sixty days. I have read the Grand Turk's proclamation and sighed at the awful thought of a war all over Europe; but there, thou knowest I am no politician. A fine young man, Mr. J. F. Ward, a bird-stuffer to the King, came to me this afternoon to study some of the positions of my birds. I told him I would lend him anything I had.

February 28. To-day I called by appointment on the Earl of Kinnoul, a small man, with a face like the caricature of an owl; he said he had sent for me to tell me all my birds were alike, and he considered my 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. I heard his words, bowed, and without speaking, left the rudest man I have met in this land; but he is only thirty, and let us hope may yet learn how to behave to a perfect stranger under his roof.

February 29. A man entered my room this afternoon, and said: "Sir, I have some prisoners to deliver to you from the town of York." "Prisoners!" I exclaimed, "why, who are they?" The good man produced a very small cage, and I saw two sweet little Wood Larks, full of vivacity, and as shy as prisoners in custody. Their eyes sparkled with fear, their little bodies were agitated, the motions of their breasts showed how their hearts palpitated; their plumage was shabby, but they were Wood Larks, and I saw them with a pleasure bordering on frenzy. Wood Larks! The very word carried me from this land into woods indeed. These sweet birds were sent to me from York, by my friend John Backhouse, an ornithologist of real merit, and with them came a cake of bread made of a peculiar mixture, for their food. I so admired the dear captives that for a while I had a strong desire to open their prison, and suffer them to soar over London towards the woodlands dearest to them; and yet the selfishness belonging to man alone made me long to keep them. Ah! man! what a brute thou art!– so often senseless of those sweetest feelings that ought to ornament our species, if indeed we are the "lords of creation."

Cambridge, March 3. I arrived at this famous University town at half-past four this afternoon, after a tedious ride of eight and a half hours from London, in a heavy coach in which I entered at the White Horse, Fetter Lane, and I am now at the Blue Boar, and blue enough am I. But never mind, I was up truly early, took a good walk in Regent's Park, and was back before any one in the house was up. Sully took breakfast with me, and took charge of my Larks, and saw me off. I thought we never would get rid of London, it took just one hour to get clear of the city. What a place! Yet many persons live there solely because they like it. At last the refreshing country air filled my lungs; I saw with pleasure many tender flowers peeping out of the earth, anxious to welcome the approaching spring. The driver held confidences with every grog shop between London and Cambridge, and his purple face gave powerful evidences that malt liquor is more enticing to him than water. The country is flat, but it was country, and I saw a few lambs gambolling by their timorous dams, a few Rooks digging the new-ploughed ground for worms, a few Finches on the budding hedges. On entering Cambridge I was struck with its cleanliness, the regular shape of the colleges, and the number of students with floating mantles, flat caps, and long tassels of silk, hanging sideways. I had a letter for a lodging house where I expected to stay, but no numbers are affixed to any doors in Cambridge. I do not know if it is so in order to teach the students to better remember things, but I found it very inconvenient; I hunted and searched in vain, and as the students in their gay moods have been in the habit of destroying all the door-bells, I had to knock loudly at any door where I wished to make inquiries, but not finding the good lady to whom my letter was addressed, I am still at the inn.