WILSON, THE ORNITHOLOGIST. 
125 
I do not see, let me add, why we should extend to infinity our 
massacre of birds, or, at least, of 
these species which are represented 
in our museums, or in the museums 
painted by Wilson, and his disciple 
Audubon, whose truly royal book, 
exhibiting both race, and the egg, 
the nest, the forest, the very land- 
scape, is a rivalry with nature. 
These great observers have one 
speciality which separates them from 
all others. Their feeling is so deli- 
cate, so precise, that no generalities 
could satisfy it; they must always 
examine the individual. yod, I 
think, knows nothing of our classifi- 
cations: he created such and such a 
creature, and gives but little heed to 
the imaginary lines with which we 
isolate the species. In the same 
manner, Wilson knew nothing of 
birds in the mass; but such an in- 
dividual, of such an age, with such 
plumage, in such circumstances. He 
knows it, has seen it, has seen it 
again and again, and he will tell you 
what it does, what it eats, how it 
comports itself, and will relate certain 
adventures, certain anecdotes of its 
life. “I knew a woodpecker. I 
have frequently seen a Baltimore.” 
When he uses these expressions, you 
may wholly trust yourself to him; 
they mean that he has held close relations with them in a species of 
