70 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



pleasing, and I thoroughly enjoyed all that I 

 saw. 



The summer wore on, and at its close I went 

 to my grandmother's in Brooklyn. Here I stayed 

 some three weeks without definite prospects, and 

 the good-natured raillery, jokes, and questions as 

 to my professional outlook caused me some 

 chagrin, and gave me considerable matter for 

 thought. I had not fitted myself with the idea of 

 becoming a teacher. What I particularly wanted 

 was to be connected with a museum, or oppor- 

 tunity to work as a field-naturalist. Such a plan 

 for making a living doubtless seemed chimerical 

 to practical people. 



One day in New York, happening to walk up 

 North William Street, near where the bridge now 

 terminates, I passed by the shops of several taxi- 

 dermists. Over the door of one of these was 

 the name " John Wallace." For a time I stood 

 arid looked in the window, where the effigies of 

 many poor birds and beasts standing in more or 

 less awkward positions were of interest to me 

 both in a scientific and in a technical way; for 

 before this I had become a taxidermist, for ornitho- 

 logical purposes, of no little skill, and could do 

 with my hands certain work, not only with facility, 

 but with great rapidity and ease. Long since I 

 had learned one of the things that had first 

 puzzled me, — how to make a bird stand up. 



