little anxious to go there, as I have oftentimes desired to be in
sight of St. Paul's Church. I have not been able to write because I
felt great pleasure in letting my good friends the Rathbones know what
I had done since I was here last; so the book has been in the fair
hands of my friend Hannah. "Lady" Rathbone and Miss Hannah are not at
Green Bank, but at Woodcroft, and there we met. While I waited in the
library how different were my thoughts from those I felt on my first
entry into Liverpool. As I thought, I watched the well-shaped Wagtails
peaceably searching for food within a few paces of me. The door
opened, and I met my good, kind friends, the same as ever, full of
friendship, benevolence, and candor. I spent most of the morning with
them, and left my book, as I said, with them. _Thy_ book, I should
have written, for it is solely for thee. I was driven into Liverpool
by Mr. Rd. Rathbone, with his mother and Miss Hannah, and met Mr.
Chorley by appointment, that we might make the respectful visits I
owed. First to Edward Roscoe's, but saw only his charming wife; then
to William Roscoe's. The venerable man had just returned from a walk,
and in an instant our hands were locked. He asked me many questions
about my publication, praised the engraving and the coloring. He has
much changed. Time's violent influence has rendered his cheeks less
rosy, his eye-brows more bushy, forced his fine eyes more deeply in
their sockets, made his frame more bent, his walk weaker; but his
voice had all its purity, his language all its brilliancy. I then went
to the Botanic Gardens, where all was rich and beautiful; the season
allows it. Then to Alexander Gordon's and Mr. Hodgson. Both out, and
no card in my pocket. _Just like me._ I found the intelligent
Swiss[127] in his office, and his "Ah, Audubon! Comment va?" was
all-sufficient. I left him to go to Mr. Rathbone's, where I have spent
every night except the last. As usual I escaped every morning at four
for my walk and to write letters. I have not done much work since
here, but I have enjoyed that which I have long desired, the society
of my dear friends the Rathbones. Whilst writing this, I have often
wished I could take in the whole at one glance, as I do a picture;
this need has frequently made me think that writing a good book must
be much more difficult than to paint a good picture. To my great joy,
Mr. Bentley is going with me to London. With a heavy heart I said
adieu to these dear Rathbones, and will proceed to London lower in
spirits than I was in Edinburgh the first three days.
_Shrewsbury, May 20._ After all sorts of difficulties with the coach,
which left one hour and a half late, we reached Chester at eleven, and
were detained an hour. I therefore took a walk under the piazzas that
go all through the town. Where a street has to be crossed we went
down some steps, crossed the street and re-ascended a few steps again.
Overhead are placed the second stories of every house; the whole was
very new and singular to me. These avenues are clean, but rather low;
my hat touched the top once or twice, and I want an inch and a half of
six feet, English measure. At last we proceeded; passed the village of
Wrexham, and shortly after through another village, much smaller, but
the sweetest, neatest, and pleasantest spot I have seen in all my
travels in this country. It was composed of small, detached cottages
of simple appearance, divided by gardens sufficiently large for each
house, supplied with many kinds of vegetables and fruit trees,
luxuriant with bloom, while round the doors and windows, and
clambering over the roofs, were creeping plants and vines covered with
flowers of different hues. At one spot were small beds of variegated
tulips, the sweet-scented lilies at another, the hedges looked snowy
white, and everywhere, in gentle curves, abundance of honeysuckle.
This village was on a gentle declivity from which, far over the
Mersey, rising grounds were seen, and the ascending smoke of Liverpool
also. I could not learn the name of this little terrestrial paradise,
and must wait for a map to tell me. We dined in a hurry at Eastham,
and after passing through a narrow slip in Wales, and seeing what I
would thus far call the most improved and handsomest part of England,
we are now at Shrewsbury for five hours. Mr. Bentley and I had some
bread and butter and pushed out to see the town, and soon found
ourselves on the bank of the Severn, a pretty little stream about
sixty yards wide. Many men and boys were doing what they called
fishing, but I only saw two sprats in one of the boys' hats during the
whole walk. Some one told us that up the river we should find a place
called the "Quarry" with beautiful trees, and there we proceeded.
About a dozen men, too awkward to be sailors, were rowing a long,
narrow, pleasure boat, while one in the bow gave us fine music with
the bugle. We soon reached the Quarry, and found ourselves under tall,
luxuriant, handsome trees forming broad avenues, following the course
of the river, extremely agreeable. Indeed, being a woodsman, I think
this the finest sight I have seen in England. How the Severn winds
round the town, in the form of a horse-shoe! About the centre of this
horse-shoe, another avenue, still more beautiful, is planted, going
gently up the hill towards the town. I enjoyed this walk more than I
can tell thee, and when I thought of the disappointment I had felt at
five hours delay at Shrewsbury, and the pleasure I now felt, I
repeated for the more than one thousand and first time, "Certainly all
is for the best in this world, except our own sins."
LONDON, _May 21, 1827_. I should begin this page perhaps with a great
exclamation mark, and express much pleasure, but I have not the wish
to do either; 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. I have many times longed to
see London, and now I am here I feel a desire beyond words to be in my
beloved woods. The latter part of the journey I spent closely wrapped
in both coat and cloak, for we left Shrewsbury at ten, and the night
was chilly; my companions were Mr. Bentley and two Italians, one of
whom continually sang, and very well, while the other wished for
daylight. In this way we continued till two of the morning, and it was
then cold. From twelve until four I was so sleepy I could scarcely
hold up my head, and I suffered much for the want of my regular
allowance of sleep which I take between these hours; it is not much,
yet I greatly missed it. We breakfasted at Birmingham at five, where
the worst stuff bearing the name of coffee that I ever tasted was
brought to us. I say _tasted_, for I could do no more. The country
constantly improved in beauty; on we drove through Stratford-on-Avon,
Woodstock, and Oxford. A cleaner and more interesting city I never
saw; three thousand students are here at present. It was ten o'clock
when we entered the turnpike gate that is designated as the line of
demarcation of London, but for many miles I thought the road forming a
town of itself. We followed Oxford Street its whole length, and then
turning about a few times came to the Bull and Mouth tavern where we
stay the night.
_May 23._ Although two full days have been spent in London, not a word
have I written; my heart would not bear me up sufficiently. Monday was
positively a day of gloom to me. After breakfast Mr. Bentley took a
walk with me through the _City_, he leading, and I following as if an
ox to the slaughter. Finally we looked for and found lodgings, at 55
Great Russell Street, to which we at once removed, and again I issued
forth, noting nothing but the great dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. I
delivered several letters and was well received by all at home. With
Mr. Children[128] I went in the evening to the Linnaean Society and
exhibited my first number. All those present pronounced my work
_unrivalled_, and warmly wished me success.
_Sunday, May 28._ Ever since my last date I have been delivering
letters, and attending the meetings of different societies. One
evening was spent at the Royal Society, where, as in all Royal
Societies, I heard a dull, heavy lecture. Yesterday my first call was
on Sir Thos. Lawrence; it was half-past eight, as I was assured later
would not do. I gave my name, and in a moment the servant returned and
led me to him. I was a little surprised to see him dressed as for the
whole day. He rose and shook hands with me the moment I pronounced my
good friend Sully's name. While he read deliberately the two letters I
had brought, I examined his face; it did not exhibit the look of
genius that one is always expecting to meet with in a man of his
superior talents; he looked pale and pensive. He wished much to see my
drawings, and appointed Thursday at eight of the morning, when,
knowing the value of his time, I retired. Several persons came to see
me or my drawings, among others Mr. Gallatin, the American minister. I
went to Covent Garden Theatre with Mr. Bentley in the evening, as he
had an admittance ticket. The theatre opens at six, and orders are not
good after seven. I saw Madame Vestris; she sings middling well, but
not so well in my opinion as Miss Neville in Edinburgh. The four
brothers Hermann I admired very much; their voices sounded like four
flutes.
_May 29._ I have been about indeed like a post-boy, taking letters
everywhere. In the evening I went to the Athenaeum at the corner of
Waterloo Place, expecting to meet Sir Thomas Lawrence and other
gentlemen; but I was assured that about eleven or half-past was the
fashionable time for these gentlemen to assemble; so I returned to my
rooms, being worn out; for I must have walked forty miles on these
hard pavements, from Idol Lane to Grosvenor Square, and across in many
different directions, all equally far apart.
_Tuesday, May 30._ At twelve o'clock I proceeded with some of my
drawings to see Mr. Gallatin, our _Envoy extraordinaire_. He has the
ease and charm of manner of a perfect gentleman, and addressed me in
French. Seated by his side we soon travelled (in conversation) to
America; he detests the English, and spoke in no measured terms of
London as the most disagreeable place in Europe. While we were talking
Mrs. and Miss Gallatin came in, and the topic was changed, and my
drawings were exhibited. The ladies knew every plant, and Mr. Gallatin
nearly every bird. I found at home that new suit of clothes that my
friend Basil Hall insisted upon my procuring. I looked this remarkable
black dress well over, put it on, and thus attired like a mournful
Raven, went to dine at Mr. Children's. On my return I found a note
from Lord Stanley, asking me to put his name down as a subscriber;
this pleased me exceedingly, as I consider Lord Stanley a man
eminently versed in _true_ and _real_ ornithological pursuits. Of
course my spirits are better; how little does alter a man. A trifle
raises him, a little later another casts him down. Mr. Bentley has
come in and tells me three poor fellows were hanged at Newgate this
morning for stealing sheep. My God! how awful are the laws of this
land, to take a human life for the theft of a miserable sheep.
_June 1._ As I was walking, not caring whither, I suddenly met a face
well known to me; I stopped and warmly greeted young Kidd of
Edinburgh. His surprise was as great as mine, for he did not know
where I had been since I left Edinburgh. Together we visited the
exhibition at the British gallery. Ah! what good work is here, but
most of the painters of these beautiful pictures are no longer on this
earth, and who is there to keep up their standing? I was invited to
dine with Sir Robert Inglis,[129] and took a seat in the Clapham coach
to reach his place. The Epsom races are in full activity about sixteen
miles distant, and innumerable coaches, men on horseback, barouches,
foot passengers, filled the road, all classes from the _beau monde_ to
the beggar intent on seeing men run the chance of breaking their necks
on horses going like the wind, as well as losing or gaining pence,
shillings, or guineas by the thousand. Clapham is distant from London
five miles, and Sir Robert invited me to see the grounds while he
dressed, as he came in almost as I did. How different from noisy
London! I opened a door and found myself on a circular lawn so
beautifully ornamented that I was tempted to exclaim, "How beautiful
are Thy works, O God!" I walked through avenues of foreign trees and
shrubs, amongst which were tulip-trees, larches, and cypresses from
America. Many birds were here, some searching for food, while others
gave vent to their happy feelings in harmonious concerts. The house
itself was covered with vines, the front a mass of blooming roses
exuberant with perfume. What a delightful feast I had in this peaceful
spot! At dinner there were several other guests, among them the widow
of Sir Thomas Stanford Raffles, governor of Java, a most superior
woman, and her conversation with Dr. Horsfield was deeply interesting.
The doctor is a great zoologist, and has published a fine work on the
birds of Java. It was a true _family_ dinner, and therefore I enjoyed
it; Sir Robert is at the head of the business of the Carnatic
association of India.
_Friday, June 2._ At half-past seven I reached Sir Thomas Lawrence,
and found him writing letters. He received me kindly, and at once
examined some of my drawings, repeating frequently, "Very clever,
indeed!" From such a man these words mean much. During breakfast,
which was simple enough and _sans ceremonie_, he asked me many
questions about America and about my work. After leaving him I met Mr.
Vigors[130] by appointment, who said everything possible to encourage
me, and told me I would be elected as a foreign member to the
Athenaeum. Young Kidd called to see me, and I asked him to come and
paint in my room; his youth, simplicity, and cleverness have attached
me to him very much.
_June 18._ Is it not strange I should suffer whole weeks to pass
without writing down what happens to me? But I have felt too dull, and
too harassed. On Thursday morning I received a long letter from Mr.
Lizars, informing me that his colorers had struck work, and everything
was at a stand-still; he requested me to try to find some persons here
who would engage in that portion of the business, and he would do his
best to bring all right again. This was quite a shock to my nerves;
but I had an appointment at Lord Spencer's and another with Mr.
Ponton; my thoughts cooled, I concluded to keep my appointments. On my
return I found a note from Mr. Vigors telling me Charles Bonaparte was
in town. I walked as quickly as possible to his lodgings, but he was
absent. I wrote him a note and came back to my lodgings, and very
shortly was told that the Prince of Musignano was below, and in a
moment I held him by the hand. We were pleased to meet each other on
this distant shore. His fine head was not altered, his mustachios, his
bearded chin, his keen eye, all was the same. He wished to see my
drawings, and I, for the first time since I had been in London, had
pleasure in showing them. Charles at once subscribed, and I felt
really proud of this. Other gentlemen came in, but the moment the
whole were gone my thoughts returned to the colorers, and my steps
carried me in search of some; and this for three days I have been
doing. I have been about the suburbs and dirtier parts of London, and
more misery and poverty cannot exist without absolute starvation. By
chance I entered a print shop, and the owner gave me the name of a man
to whom I went, and who has engaged to color more cheaply than it is
done in Edinburgh, and young Kidd has taken a letter from me to Mr.
Lizars telling him to send me twenty-five copies.
_June 19._ I paid a visit to Sir Thomas Lawrence this morning and
after waiting a short time in his gallery he came to me and invited me
into his painting-room. I had a fair opportunity of looking at some of
his unfinished work. The piece before me represented a fat man sitting
in an arm-chair, not only correctly outlined but beautifully sketched
in black chalk, somewhat in the style of Raphael's cartoons. I cannot
well conceive the advantage of all that trouble, as Sir Thomas paints
in opaque color, and not as I do on asphaltum grounds, as I believe
the old masters did, showing a glaze under the colors, instead of
over, which I am convinced can be but of short duration. His colors
were ground, and his enormous palette of white wood well set; a large
table was literally covered with all sorts of brushes, and the room
filled with unfinished pictures, some of which appeared of very old
standing. I now had the pleasure of seeing this great artist at work,
which I had long desired to do. I went five times to see Mr. Havell
the colorer, but he was out of town. I am full of anxiety and greatly
depressed. Oh! how sick I am of London.
_June 21._ I received a letter from Mr. Lizars that was far from
allaying my troubles. I was so struck with the tenure of it that I
cannot help thinking now that he does not wish to continue my work. I
have painted a great deal to-day and called on Charles Bonaparte.
_June 22._ I was particularly invited to dine at the Royal Society
Club with Charles Bonaparte, but great dinners always so frighten me
that I gave over the thought and dined peaceably at home. This evening
Charles B. called with some gentlemen, among whom were Messrs. Vigors,
Children, Featherstonehaugh, and Lord Clifton. My portfolios were
opened before this set of learned men, and they saw many birds they
had not dreamed of. Charles offered to name them for me, and I felt
happy that he should; and with a pencil he actually christened upwards
of fifty, urging me to publish them at once in manuscript at the
Zoological Society. These gentlemen dropped off one by one, leaving
only Charles and Mr. Vigors. Oh that _our_ knowledge could be arranged
into a solid mass. I am sure the best ornithological publication of
the birds of my beloved country might then be published. I cannot tell
you how surprised I was when at Charles's lodgings to hear his
man-servant call him "your Royal Highness." I thought this ridiculous
in the extreme, and I cannot conceive how good Charles can bear it;
though probably he _does_ bear it because he _is_ good Charles. I
have no painting to do to-morrow morning, or going to bed at two would
not do. I was up at three this morning, and finished the third picture
since in London.
_June 28._ I have no longer the wish to write my days. I am quite
wearied of everything in London; my work does not proceed, and I am
dispirited.
_July 2._ I am yet so completely out of spirits that in vain have I
several times opened my book, held the pen, and tried to write. I am
too dull, too mournful. I have finished another picture of Rabbits;
that is all my consolation. I wish I was out of London.
_Leeds, September 30, 1827._ I arrived here this day, just five months
since my first visit to the place, but it is three long months since I
tarnished one of thy cheeks, my dear book. I am quite ashamed of it,
for I have had several incidents well deserving to be related even in
my poor humble style,--a style much resembling my _paintings in oil_.
Now, nevertheless, I will in as quick a manner as possible
recapitulate the principal facts.
_First._ I removed the publication of my work from Edinburgh to
London, from the hands of Mr. Lizars into those of Robert Havell, No.
79 Newman St., because the difficulty of finding colorers made it come
too slowly, and also because I have it done better and cheaper in
London. I have painted much and visited little; I hate as much as ever
large companies. I have removed to Great Russell St., number 95, to a
Mrs. W----'s, an intelligent widow, with eleven children, and but
little cash.
_Second._ The King!! My dear Book! it was presented to him by Sir
Walter Waller, Bart., K.C.H., at the request of my most excellent
friend J. P. Children, of the British Museum. His Majesty was pleased
to call it fine, permitted me to publish it under his particular
patronage, approbation, and protection, became a subscriber on the
usual terms, not as kings generally do, but as a gentleman, and my
friends all spoke as if a mountain of sovereigns had dropped in an
ample purse at once, and for me. The Duchess of Clarence also
subscribed. I attended to my business closely, but my agents neither
attended to it nor to my orders to them; and at last, nearly at bay
for means to carry on so heavy a business, I decided to make a sortie
for the purpose of collecting my dues, and to augment my subscribers,
and for that reason left London this day fortnight past for
Manchester, where I was received by my friends _a bras ouverts_. I
lived and lodged at friend Sergeant's, collected all my money, had an
accession of nine subscribers, found a box of beautiful bird-skins
sent Bentley by my dear boy Johnny,[131] left in good spirits, and
here I am at Leeds. On my journey hither in the coach a young
sportsman going from London to York was my companion; he was about to
join a shooting expedition, and had two dogs with him in a basket on
top of the coach. We spoke of game, fish, and such topics, and
presently he said a work on ornithology was being published in London
by an American (he told me later he took me for a Frenchman) named
Audubon, and spoke of my industry and regretted he had not seen them,
as his sisters had, and spoke in raptures of them, etc. I could not of
course permit this, so told him my name, when he at once shook hands,
and our conversation continued even more easily than before. I am in
the same lodgings as formerly. My landlady was talking with a
meagre-looking child, who told a sad story of want, which my good
landlady confirmed. I never saw greater pleasure than sparkled in that
child's face as I gave her a few pieces of silver for her mother. I
never thought it necessary to be rich to help those poorer than
ourselves; I have considered it a duty to God, and to grow poorer in
so doing is a blessing to me. I told the good landlady to send for one
of the child's brothers, who was out of work, to do my errands for
me. I took a walk and listened with pleasure to the song of the little
Robin.
_October 1._ I called at the Philosophical Hall and at the Public
Library, but I am again told that Leeds, though wealthy, has no taste;
nevertheless I hope to establish an agency here.
_October 3._ I visited the museum of a Mr. Calvert, a man who, like
myself, by dint of industry and perseverance is now the possessor of
the finest collection I have seen in England, with the exception of
the one at Manchester. I received a letter from Mr. Havell only one
day old; wonderful activity this in the post-office department. I have
been reading good Bewick's book on quadrupeds. I have had no success
in Leeds, and to-morrow go to York.
_York, October 5._ Mr. Barclay, my agent here, I soon found had done
almost nothing, had not indeed delivered all the numbers. I urged him
to do better, and went to the Society Hall, where I discovered that
the number which had been forwarded from Edinburgh after I had left
there was miserably poor, scarcely colored at all. I felt quite
ashamed of it, although Mr. Wright thought it good; but I sent it at
once to Havell for proper treatment. Being then too late to pay calls,
I borrowed a volume of Gil Blas, and have been reading.
_October 6._ No luck to-day, my Lucy. I am, one would think, generally
either before or after the proper time. I am told that last week, when
the Duke of Wellington was here, would have been the better moment. I
shall have the same song given me at Newcastle, I dare foretell. I
have again been reading Gil Blas; how replete I always find it of good
lessons.
_October 8._ I walked this morning with Mr. Barclay to the house of
Mr. F----, a mile out of town, to ascertain if he had received the
first number. His house was expressly built for Queen Elizabeth, who,
I was told, had never been in it after all. It resembles an old
church, the whole front being of long, narrow windows. The inside is
composed of large rooms, highly decorated with ancient pictures of the
F---- family. The gardens are also of ancient appearance; there were
many box-trees cut in the shape of hats, men, birds, etc. I was
assured the number had not been received, so I suppose it never was
sent. On our return Mr. Barclay showed me an asylum built by Quakers
for the benefit of lunatics, and so contrived with gardens,
pleasure-grounds, and such other modes of recreation, that in
consequence of these pleasant means of occupying themselves many had
recovered.
_October 9._ How often I thought during these visits of poor Alexander
Wilson. When 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 _parvenus_.
_October 11._ It has been pouring down rain during all last night and
this day, and looks as if it would not cease for some time; it is,
however, not such distressing falls of water as we have in Louisiana;
it carries not every object off with the storm; the banks of the
rivers do not fall in with a crash, with hundreds of acres of forest
along with them; no houses are seen floating on the streams with
cattle, game, and the productions of the husbandman. No, it rains as
if Nature was in a state of despondency, and I am myself very dull; I
have been reading Stanley's Tales.
_October 12._ This morning I walked along the Ouse; the water had
risen several feet and was quite muddy. I had the pleasure of seeing a
little green Kingfisher perched close to me for a few minutes; but the
instant his quick eye espied me, he dashed off with a shrill squeak,
almost touching the water. I must say I longed for a gun to have
stopped him, as I never saw one fresh killed. I saw several men
fishing with a large scoop-net, fixed to a long pole. The fisherman
laid the net gently on the water, and with a good degree of force he
sank it, meantime drawing it along the bottom and grassy banks towards
him. The fish, intent on feeding, attempted to escape, and threw
themselves into the net and were hauled ashore. This was the first
successful way of fishing I have seen in England. Some pikes of eight
or ten pounds were taken, and I saw some eels. I have set my heart on
having two hundred subscribers on my list by the first of May next;
should I succeed I shall feel well satisfied, and able to have thee
and our sons all together. Thou seest that castles are still building
on hopeful foundations only; but he who does not try anything cannot
obtain his ends.