224 -^^/^ of Audubon. 



is alwa} s consolatory to man in every difficulty or danger, 

 and the woodsman fervently prayed to his Maker, wished 

 his family a happier night than it was his lot to experi- 

 ence, and with a feverish anxiety waited the return of day. 

 You may imagine the length of that cold, dull, moonless 

 night. With the dawn of day came the usual fogs of those 

 latitudes. The poor man started on his feet, and with a 

 sorrowful heart pursued a course which he thought might 

 lead him to some familiar object, although, indeed, he 

 scarcely knew what he was doing. No longer had he the 

 trace of a track to guide him, and yet, as the sun rose, he 

 calculated the many hours of daylight he had before him, 

 and the farther he went, continued to walk the faster. 

 But vain were all his hopes : that day was spent in fruit- 

 less endeavors to regain the path that led to his home, 

 and when night again approached, the terror that had 

 been gradually spreading over his mind — together with 

 the nervous debility induced by fatigue, anxiety, and hun- 

 ger — rendered him almost frantic. He told me that at 

 this moment he beat his breast, tore his hair, and, had it 

 not been for the piety with which his parents had in early 

 life imbued his mind, and which had become habitual, 

 would have cursed his existence. 



" Famished as he now was, he laid himself on the 

 ground, and fed on the weeds and grass that grew around 

 him. That night was spent in the greatest agony and 

 terror. * I knew my situation,' he said to me. * I was 

 fully aware that, unless Almighty God came to my assist- 

 ance, I must perish in those uninhabited woods. I knew 

 that I had walked more than fifty miles, although I had 

 not met with a brook from which I could quench my 

 thirst, or even allay the burning heat of my parched lips 

 and bloodshot eyes. 



" ' I knew that if I could not meet with some stream I 

 must die, for my axe was my only weapon ; and although 



