100 AUDUBON 



turned my steps to No. 87 Duke Street, where the polite 

 English gentleman, Mr. Richard Rathbone, 1 resides. My 

 locks blew freely from under my hat in the breeze, and 

 nearly every lady I met looked at them with curiosity. 

 Mr. Rathbone was not in, but was at his counting-house, 

 where I soon found myself. A full dozen of clerks were 

 at their separate desks, work was going on apace, letters 

 were being thrown into an immense bag belonging to a 

 packet that sailed this day for the shores where I hope my 

 Lucy is happy — dearest friend ! My name was taken 

 to the special room of Mr. Rathbone, and in a. moment I 

 was met by one who acted towards me as a brother. He 

 did not give his card to poor Audubon, he gave his hand, 

 and a most cordial invitation to be at his house at two 

 o'clock, which hour found me there. I was ushered into a 

 handsome dining-room, and Mr. Rathbone almost imme- 

 diately entered the same, with a most hearty greeting. 

 I dined with this hospitable man, his charming wife and 

 children. Mrs. Rathbone is not only an amiable woman, 



1 In a charming letter written to me by Mr. Richard R. Rathbone, son of 

 this gentleman, dated Glan y Menai, Anglesey, May 14, 1897, he says: 

 " To us there was a halo of romance about Mr. Audubon, artist, naturalist, 

 quondam backwoodsman, and the author of that splendid work which I used 

 to see on a table constructed to hold the copy belonging to my Uncle 

 William, opening with hinges so as to raise the bird portraits as if on a 

 desk. But still more I remember his amiable character, though tinged with 

 melancholy by past sufferings ; and his beautiful, expressive face, kept alive 

 in my memory by his autograph crayon sketch thereof, in profile, with the 

 words written at foot, ' Audubon at Green Bank. Almost happy, 9th Sep- 

 tember, 1826.' Mr. Audubon painted for my father, as a gift, an Otter (in 

 oils) caught by the fore-foot in a steel trap, and after vainly gnawing at 

 the foot to release himself, throwing up his head, probably with a yell of 

 agony, and displaying his wide-open jaws dripping with blood. This pic- 

 ture hung on our walls for years, until my mother could no longer bear the 

 horror of it, and persuaded my father to part with it. We also had a full- 

 length, life-sized portrait of the American Turkey, striding through the 

 forest. Both pictures went to a public collection in Liverpool. I have also 

 a colored sketch by Mr. Audubon of a Robin Redbreast, shot by him at 

 Green Bank, which I saw him pin with long pins into a bit of board to fix 

 it into position for the instruction of my mother." 



