178 AUDUBON THE NATURALIST, 
same moon looked at us—but then, she was wan, 
and somewhat sad—now, elear as a diamond, 
and all the starry heavens wore asmile. ‘Our 
words, they were no mony feck’—but in less 
time than we have taken to write it we two 
were sitting cheek by jowl, and hand in hand, 
by that essential fire—while we showed by our 
looks that we both felt, now they were over, that 
three years are but as one day! The cane coal- 
scuttle, instinct with spirit, beeted the fire of its 
own accord, without word or beck of ours, as if 
placed there by the hands of one of our wakeful 
Lares; in globe of purest crystal the Glenlivet 
shone; unasked, the bright brass kettle began 
to whisper its sweet under-song; and a centenary 
of the fairest oysters, native to our isle, turned 
towards us their languishing eyes, unseen the 
Nereid that had on the instant wafted them from 
the procreant cradle-beds of Prestonpans. Grace 
said, we drew in to supper, and hobnobbing, 
from elegant long-shank, down each natural- 
ist’s gullet graciously descended, with a gurgle, 
the mildest, the meekest, the very Moses of 
ales. F 
“ Audubon, ere half an hour had elapsed, 
found an opportunity of telling us that he had 
never seen us in a higher state of preservation 
—and in a low voice whispered something about 
the ‘eagle renewing his youth.’ We acknowl: 
