110 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 



turned over a few of the plates, and had already taken a pen 

 to write my name in his favor, when my partner rather ab- 

 ruptly said to me in French, "My dear Audubon, what 

 induces you to subscribe to this work ? Your drawings aro 

 certainly far better, and again you must know as much of 

 the habits of American birds as this gentleman." Whether 

 Mr. Wilson understood French or not, or if the suddenness 

 with which I paused, disappointed him, I cannot tell ; but I 

 clearly perceived that he was not pleased. Vanity and the 

 encomiums of my friend prevented me from subscribing. Mr. 

 Wilson asked me if I had many drawings of birds. I rose, 

 took down a large portfolio, laid it on the table, and showed 

 him, as I would show you, kind reader, or any other person fond 

 of such subjects, the whole of the contents, with the same 

 patience with which he had shown me his own engravings. 



His surprise appeared great, as he told me he never had 

 the most distant idea that any other individual than himself 

 had been engaged in forming such a collection. He asked 

 me if it was my intention to publish, and when I answered in 

 the negative, his surprise seemed to increase. And, truly, 

 such was not my intention ; for, until long after, when I met 

 the Prince of Musignano in Philadelphia, I had not the least 

 idea of presenting the fruits of my labors to the world. Mr. 

 Wilson now examined my drawings with care, asked if I 

 should have any objections to lending him a few during his 

 stay, to which I replied that I had none : he then bade me 

 good morning, not, however, until I had made an arrange- 

 ment to explore the woods in the vicinity along with him, and 

 had promised to procure for him some birds, of which I had 

 drawings in my collection, but which he had never seen. 



It happened that he lodged in the same house with us, but 

 his retired habits, I thought, exhibited either a strong feeling 

 of discontent, or a decided melancholy. The Scotch airs 

 which he played sweetly on his flute made me melancholy 

 too, and I felt for him. I presented him to my wife and 



