102 AUDUBON 



examined, we returned to Liverpool, and later the Rev. 

 Wm. Goddard, rector of Liverpool, and several ladies 

 called on me, and saw some drawings ; all praised them. 

 Oh ! what can I hope, my Lucy, for thee and for us all? 



July 26. It is very late, and I am tired, but I will not 

 omit writing on that account. The morning was beautiful, 

 but for some reason I was greatly depressed, and it 

 appeared to me as if I could not go on with the work 

 before me. However, I recollected that the venerable Mr. 

 Maury must not be forgotten. I saw him ; Mr. Swift left 

 for Dublin with his crayon portrait ; I called at the post- 

 office for news from America, but in vain. I wrote for 

 some time, and then received a call from Mr. Rathbone 

 with his brother William ; the latter invited me to dine on 

 Friday at his house, which I promised to do, and this 

 evening I dined with Mr. Rd. Rathbone. I went at half- 

 past six, my heart rather failing me, entered the corridor, 

 my hat was taken, and going upstairs I entered Mr. Rath- 

 bone's drawing-room. I have frequently thought it strange 

 that my observatory nerves never give way, no matter how 

 much I am overcome by mauvaise konte, nor did they now. 

 Many pictures embellished the walls, and helped, with Mr. 

 Rathbone's lively mien, to remove the misery of the mo- 

 ment. Mr. Edward Roscoe came in immediately, — tall, 

 with a good eye under a well marked brow. Dinner 

 announced, we descended to the room I had entered on my 

 first acquaintance with this charming home, and I was 

 conducted to the place of honor. Mr. Roscoe sat next, 

 Mr. Barclay of London, and Mr. Melly opposite with Consul 

 Maury ; the dinner was enlivened with mirth and bon mots, 

 and I found in such good company infinite pleasure. 

 After we left the table Mrs. Rathbone joined us in the 

 parlor, and I had now again to show my drawings. Mr. 

 Roscoe, who had been talking to me about them at dinner, 

 would not give me any hopes, and I felt unusually gloomy 

 as one by one I slipped them from their case; but after 



