116 AUDUBON THE NATURALIST. 
ming “My love is but a lassie yet,” in such 
purely native fashion, that Audubon would 
gladly have pronounced him a true Scot, but 
for his unmistakably American tournure. This 
conviction excited his curiosity still more, til] 
at length he was compelled to gratify it, by 
accosting the stranger with, “ Pray, sir, will you 
allow me to examine the birds you Have in that 
cage?” At this request the owner of them 
stopped, straightened his body, almost closed his 
left eye, spread his legs apart, and, with an irresist- 
ibly comic look, answered, “ Birds, sir, did you 
say birds?” On the question being repeated, he 
continued, “What do you know about birds, sir?” 
“Sir,” replied Audubon, I am a student of na- 
ture, and admire her works, from the crawling 
reptile you have in your bosom to the “human 
form divine.” ‘ Ah!” replied he, “a—a—a nat- 
uralist, I suppose.” He then handed the cage, 
which Audubon inspected, and was about to 
take his departure, when the stranger requested . 
that he would accompany him to his lodgings. 
On arriving there, they entered a long room, 
where the most prominent objects were a num- 
ber of pictures along the walls, a table covered 
with painting apparatus, and a large easel with 
a full length portait yet unfinished upon it, 
Each of the drawings told the touch of a superior 
artist. Audubon felt convinced it could be ne 
