376 Grinnell, Audubon Park. [july 



one — pointed out the peculiarities of the bill, told me something 

 about the bird's life, and later showed me a picture of it. Then 

 after a little talk she and I went downstairs and out of doors, 

 found the birds still feeding there, and set the captive free. 



Two or three years later Mr. John Audubon performed a like 

 service for a small companion and me. Neither of the two boys 

 was as yet permitted to carry a gun. But, like some other boys, 

 they managed now and then to get hold of guns, borrowed or stolen, 

 and to go shooting. In the large piece of woods north of 158th 

 Street we saw a flock of birds fly up into a tulip tree, and recog- 

 nized them as 'pigeons,' but small ones. It happened to be my 

 turn to use the gun, and after appropriate care in stalking I killed 

 one of the flock. As we had supposed, it was a 'pigeon,' unlike 

 those we knew, yet one whose picture we had seen. We found 

 the plate of the bird — a Ground Dove — and to make sure we were 

 right, took the bird to Mr. John Audubon who was mending 

 fence at the corner of 158th Street and Riker's 12th Avenue, and 

 asked him what it was. He looked at it with interest, and told 

 us that it was a Ground Dove, adding that there were many of 

 them further south, but that he had never seen one here before. 

 This may have been in the autumn of 1S60 or 1861 — not in 1862 

 as I have said earlier. 



iVfter a year or two of attendance at Madam Audubon's school 

 I was sent to a boys' school. For years, however, I took lessons 

 in music and French from a granddaughter of Madam Audubon, 

 daughter of John Woodhouse and granddaughter of Rev. John 

 Bachman, and was always in close association with the family. 



A favorite playground of the boys of Audubon Park was the 

 loft of John Woodhouse's barn, where, piled up against the walls, 

 were rows of wooden boxes full of bird skins, collected by the 

 naturalist and his sons. We had been told not to meddle with 

 these, and usually obeyed the injunction, knowing that if we did 

 any harm, this playground would be closed to us. Here in the 

 barn, too, were piles of the old red muslin bound 'Ornithological 

 Biography.' One of these sets was given my father perhaps 

 sixty years ago, but unfortunately the old red covers have been 

 torn off and something more modern substituted for them. 



One day in winter a great pine tree in front of the Victor Audu- 

 bon house was cut down and while splitting it into lengths for 



