here after an uneventful journey, the route being now known to me, and
came to my former lodgings, where I was followed almost immediately by
the Marquis of Londonderry, who subscribed at once. Then I called upon
friend Adamson, who before I could speak invited me to dinner every
day that I was disengaged. He advised me to have a notice in the
papers of my being here for a few days, so I went to the _Tyne
Mercury_; saw Mr. Donkin, who invited me to breakfast with him
to-morrow at half-past seven, _quite my hour_.
_October 17._ During the day Mr. Wingate, an excellent practical
ornithologist, came to see me, and we had much conversation which
interested me greatly. Also came the mayor, who invited me to dine
with him publicly to-morrow. I have written to Mr. Selby to ask if he
will be at Alnwick Castle on Friday, as if so I will meet him there,
and try to find some subscribers. Several persons have asked me how I
came to part with Mr. Lizars, and I have felt glad to be able to say
that it was at his desire, and that we continue esteemed friends. I
have been pleased to find since I left London that all my friends cry
against my painting in oil; it proves to me the real taste of good
William Rathbone; and _now I do declare to thee_ that I will not
spoil any more canvas, but will draw in my usual old, untaught way,
which is what God meant me to do.
_October 18._ This morning I paid a visit to old Mr. Bewick. I found
the good gentleman as usual at work, but he looked much better, as the
cotton cap had been discarded for a fur one. He was in good spirits,
and we met like old friends. I could not spend as much time with him
as I wished, but saw sufficient of him and his family to assure me
they were well and happy. I met Mr. Adamson, who went with me to dine
at the Mansion House. We were received in a large room, furnished in
the ancient style, panelled with oak all round, and very sombre. The
company all arrived, we marched in couples to dinner and I was seated
in the centre, the mayor at one end, the high sheriff at the other; we
were seventy-two in number. As my bad luck would have it, I was
toasted by John Clayton, Esq.; he made a speech, and _I_, poor fellow,
was obliged to return the compliment, which I did, as usual, most
awkwardly and covered with perspiration. Miserable stupidity that
never will leave me! I had thousands of questions to answer about the
poor aborigines. It was dark when I left, and at my room was a kind
letter from Mr. Selby, inviting me to meet him at Alnwick to-morrow.
_Twizel House, October 19._ I arrived at Alnwick about eleven this
morning, found the little village quite in a bustle, and Mr. Selby at
the court. How glad I was to see him again I cannot say, but I well
know I feel the pleasure yet, though twelve hours have elapsed. Again
I dined with the gentlemen of the Bar, fourteen in number. A great
ball takes place at Alnwick Castle this night, but Mr. Selby took me
in his carriage and has brought me to his family,--a thousand times
more agreeable to me than the motley crowd at the Castle. I met again
Captain Mitford, most cordial to me always. To my regret many of my
subscribers have not yet received the third number, not even Mr.
Selby. I cannot understand this apparent neglect on the part of Mr.
Lizars.
_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
passes without I visit in thought those mansions where I have been so
hospitably received, the inmates of which I recall with every sense of
gratitude; 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 passed 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
assuring 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 circumlocution; 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 passengers 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 passengers
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-shore, 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 assure 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 assure 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 passed 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 Institution, and on my
way met William Rathbone. I recognized him as far as I could see him,
but could easily have passed 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 grass, 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 God. 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 God, 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 noble 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 constitutional 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 passed,
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 Tasso.
_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.