WILSON, THE ORNITHOLOGIST. 



125 



I do not see, let me add, why we should extend to infinity our 

 massacre of birds, or, at least, of 

 these species which are represented 

 in our museums, or in the museums 

 painted by Wilson, and his disciple 

 Audubon, whose truly royal book, 

 exhibiting both race, and the egg, 

 the nest, the forest, the very land- 

 scape, is a rivalry with nature. 



These gi'eat observers have one 

 speciality which separates them from 

 all others. Their feeling is so deli- 

 cate, so precise, that no generalities 

 coidd satisfy it ; they must always 

 examine the individual. God, 1 

 think, knows nothing of our classifi- 

 cations : he created such and such a 

 creature, and gives but little heed to 

 the imaginary lines with which we 

 isolate the species. In the same 

 manner, Wilson knew nothing of 

 birds in the mass; but such an in- 

 dividual, of such an age, with such 

 plumage, in such circumstances. He 

 knows it, has seen it, has seen it 

 again and again, and he will tell you 

 what it does, what it eats, how it 

 comports itself, and will relate certain 

 adventures, certain anecdotes of its 

 life. " I knew a woodpecker. T 

 have frequently seen a Baltimore." 

 WTien he uses these expressions, you 

 may wholly trust yourself to him ; 

 they mean that he has held close relations with them in a species of 



