130 LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. 



tion, and Professor Jameson, in lauding Audubon, aimed a side-blow 

 at Waterton. This drew forth from Waterton a demonstration that 

 the letter-press and plates of Audubon proved his ignorance of the 

 animals he claimed to have investigated for years. Swainson and 

 many others had the rashness to provoke a similar exposure. In 

 fact, Waterton flogged two generations of quacks, and it would be 

 well if a second Waterton arose with a new rod and a larger. The 

 castigations he administered were free from personal animosities. 

 Forced into controversy he carried it on with spirit, and when the 

 fight was over his feelings to his foes were those of the soldier after 

 a battle. He was always ready to befriend antagonists. 



Waterton's way of life was primitive. He got up at three, lit his 

 fire, and lay down upon the floor again for half an hour, which he 

 called a half hour of luxury. He had shaved and dressed by four, 

 and from four to five he was upon his knees in the chapel. On his 

 return to his room, he read a chapter in a Spanish life of Saint 

 Francis Xavier, which concluded his early devotions, and he began 

 the secular work of the day with a chapter of Don Quixote in the 

 original. He next wrote letters, or carried on bird-stuffing, till Sii 

 Thomas More's clock struck eight, when, punctual to the moment, 

 the household at Walton sat down to breakfast. His was frugal, and 

 usually consisted of dry toast, watercress, and a cup of weak tea. 

 Breakfast ended, he went out till noon, superintending his farm, 

 mending fences, or clipping hedges. If the weather was cold he 

 would light a fire in the fields. From noon to dinner, which was at 

 half-past one, he would sit indoors and read or think. Dryden, 

 " Chevy Chase," Dyer's " Grongar Hill," " Tristram Shandy," " The 

 Sentimental Journey," Goldsmith, White's "Natural History of 

 Selbourne," and Washington Irving, were his favourite English 

 literature, and what he liked, he read many times over. After 

 dinner he walked in the park, and came in a little before six to tea. 

 He retired early to bed, but if the conversation was interesting he 

 would stay till near ten. He rose at midnight to spend a few 

 minutes in the chapel, and then went back to his wooden bed, and 

 oaken pillow. His austere, calm, invigorating habits seemed to 

 promise that his life, already prolonged, might be lengthened out 

 for several years. In spite of illness and wounds, his general health 



