V01 ' i92(f V11 ] Grinnell, Audubon Park. 379 



I saw John Woodhouse Audubon almost daily, for as a playmate 

 of his sons I was always in and out of his house, and besides, he 

 was a close friend of my father, and often in the evening came to 

 our house. He was a most kindly man, but sometimes spoke 

 quickly and I was a little afraid of him. If he felt like coming 

 up to our house in the evening he came out of his door and stood 

 before his house, a hundred yards distant from ours, and shouted 

 my father's name, and when answered called out, "If you have 

 nothing to do, I'll come up and play you a game of billiards." 

 A little later he appeared, hatless and without overcoat, often 

 powdered with snow if it was storming, and shod with old-fash- 

 ioned carpet slippers from which he stamped the snow as he opened 

 the front door. 



Often John Audubon painted in the barn, and the boys stood 

 at a little distance and in silence watched him as the subject grew 

 under his brush. He had a beautiful mare, Donna, of which he 

 was very fond, that he painted. 



Often he received natural history specimens from a distance 

 and we boys gathered about him and with breathless interest 

 waited to see what wonderful things he would draw forth from 

 his boxes. I recall especially a great white arctic hare that he 

 held up for us to see, which to my wondering eyes seemed longer 

 than I was tall. With the hare were some dark colored birds, which 

 must have been Spruce Grouse, and some white Ptarmigan — 

 strange creatures from the North. 



The picture of the eagle and the lamb always possessed a fas- 

 cination for me. I greatly admired it and often talked about it 

 to Grandma Audubon, and on one occasion she told me that after 

 her death the picture should be mine. Boylike, I treasured this 

 memory, but the promise was not again referred to. However, 

 on the day that Madam Audubon departed for Louisville, Sep- 

 tember 18, 1873, I received from her a note, perhaps one of the 

 last she ever penned, which said that in case of accident to her on 

 her journey south I should take possession of the eagle and the 

 lamb, and that if she and her granddaughter safely reached their 

 destination the picture would be in her will for me. It now hangs 

 in my house. 



I never again saw Grandma Audubon, for in 1874 she died — 

 full of years. She was a great woman and as good as great. The 



