HIS END APPROACHES. 365 



of the young and ardent enthusiast had been imprisoned by th6 

 artist. The picture expressed decidedly less than the living 

 man who stood before me. It had more of youth and beauty 

 and the prophecy of greatness, and less of the calm satis- 

 faction of achievement ; the sense of riches gained, not for 

 himself, but for the world, and less of all that makes a man 

 venerable. 



" I could sympathise with the manhood that looked out of the 

 picture — I could find a certain equality between myself and 

 the man whom Cruikshank had painted. I could have followed 

 him like his dog, and carried his gun and blanket like a younger 

 brother ; but before the man Audubon, who turned over the 

 drawings, and related anecdotes of one and another,- 1 could 

 have knelt in devotion and thankfulness. He had done his 

 work. He was a hero, created and approved by what he had 

 accomplished, and I bowed my spirit before him and asked no 

 endorsement of my hero-worship of Carlyle or the Catholic 

 Church. 



" When I left, I said to him, ' I have seen Audubon, and 1 am 

 very thankful.' 



" ' You have seen a poor old man,' said he, clasping my hand 

 in his— and he was then only sixty years of age. He had 

 measured life by what he had done, and he seemed to himself 

 to be old. 



" It is hard to confine one's self to dates and times when con- 

 templating such a man as Audubon, He belongs to all time. 

 He was born, but he can never die." 



After 1846, his mind entirely failed him ; and for the last 

 few years of his life his eye lost its brightness, and he had 

 to be led to his daily walks by the liand of a servant. This 

 continued until the Monday before his death. On Monday morn- 

 ing he declined to eat his breakfast, and was unable to take his 

 usual morning walk. Mrs. Audubon had him put to bed, and 

 he lay without any apparent suffering, but refusing to receive 

 any nourishment, until five o'clock on Thursday morning, January 

 27th, 1651, ' when,' says the widow, 'a deep pallor overspread his 

 countenance.' The other members of his family were imme- 

 diately sent for to his bedside. Then, though he did not speak, 

 his eyes, which had been so long nearly quenched, rekindled into 



