200 AUDUBON, THE NATURALIST 



by the side of a bayou, in some forest clearing, or as an in- 

 habitant of one of the American cities which have learned to 

 know his value, report saith not. 



We shake hands with the author, tendering him our hearty 

 congratulations on the completion of a task almost as arduous 

 as has ever been proposed to a literary man. . . . 



The confidential simplicity of Mr. Audubon's own prefaces 

 would make yet more personal leave-takings and farewells, on 

 the critic's part, natural and graceful, — but it must suffice to 

 say, that few have quitted England, carrying with them a larger 

 portion of honest regard and sincere good wishes. 



Possibly it was the same writer who gave this strik- 

 ing picture of Audubon in the pages of the same jour- 

 nal, thirty years later: 18 



We can remember when his portfolio excited delight in 

 Edinburgh, London, and Paris, rivalling in smaller circles a 

 new Waverley novel. The man also was not a man to be seen 

 and forgotten, or passed on the pavement without glances of 

 surprise and scrutiny. The tall and somewhat stooping form, 

 the clothes not made by a West-end but by a Far West tailor, 

 the steady, rapid, springing step, the long hair, the aquiline 

 features, and the glowing angry eyes, — the expression of a 

 handsome man conscious of ceasing to be young, and an air and 

 manner which told you that whoever you might be he was John 

 Audubon, will never be forgotten by anyone who knew or saw 

 him. 



We will add to this the musings of an anonymous 

 American writer 19 in the North American Review for 

 the following year (1840) : 



It must have been with mingled and varied feelings that 

 Audubon published his concluding vol ume. He was sure then 



18 See Bibliography, No. 152. 



19 W. B, O. Peabody; see Bibliography, No. 143. 



