JOHN JAMES AUDUBON 121 
“One year, in the month of August, I 
was trudging along the shores of the 
Mohawk river, when night overtook me. 
Being little acquainted with that part of 
the country, I resolved to camp where I 
was ; the evening was calm and beauti- 
ful, the sky sparkled with stars which 
were reflected by the smooth waters, and 
the deep shade of the rocks and trees of 
the opposite shore fell on the bosom of 
the stream, while gently from afar came 
on the ear the muttering sound of the 
cataract. My little fire was soon lighted 
under a rock, and, spreading out my 
scanty stock of provisions, I reclined on 
my grassy couch. As I looked on the 
fading features of the beautiful land- 
scape, my heart turned towards my dis- 
tant home, where my friends were doubt- 
less wishing me, as I wish them, a happy 
night and peaceful slumbers. Then were 
heard the barkings of the watch dog, and 
I tapped my faithful companion to pre- 
vent his answering them. The thoughts 
