186 
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. 
able objects, and pursued his rambles, from the 
first faint streaks of day until late in the eve¬ 
ning, wet with dew, and laden with feathered 
captives, he returned to the quiet enjoyment of 
the fireside. 
Yet the passion for birds did not seem to seal 
his heart to the influences of a still more tender 
and exalted passion. He married, and was for¬ 
tunate in marrying a lady who, in vicissitude, has 
animated his courage, and in prosperity appre¬ 
ciated the grounds and measure of his success. 
For many years, the necessities of life drove 
him into commercial enterprises, which involv¬ 
ed him in a series of calamities. His mind was 
so filled with nature, that all his speculations 
proved unprofitable. From observation and 
study, only, could be derived gratification. He 
was compelled to struggle against the wishes 
of all his friends—except of his wife and chil¬ 
dren, to their lasting honor be it said—who 
strove to wean him from pursuits, which, in the 
world’s eye, are so barren and unproductive. 
But their importunities had an effect directly 
contrary to what they intended. Irritated be¬ 
yond endurance, he broke at last through all 
bonds, and gave himself up entirely to his favor¬ 
ite pursuits. He undertook long and tedious 
journeys; he ransacked the woods, the lakes, 
the prairies, and the shores of the Atlantic; he 
spent years away from his family. We think 
we can see him now, setting out early in the 
morning, with no companion but his faithful 
dog and gun; the tin box, containing his pencils 
and colors, slung to his side; now popping down 
the unconscious warbler that makes the air vo¬ 
cal from some neighboring tree; now hastening 
to the broad shelter of a venerable oak, to de¬ 
scribe the form and paint the varigated plumage 
of his victim; now crouching for hours under¬ 
neath some withered trunk, to observe the hab¬ 
its of some shy and timid bird; now climbing 
the jagged side of a rocky precipice, to find the 
nest eggs of the eagle that screams and flutters 
upon the dry top of the storm-blasted beech, still 
higher up; now treading upon the head of the 
serpent that hisses and wreaths among the 
thick leaves of the copse; now starting the bear 
and cougar from their secret lairs in the fast¬ 
nesses; now swimming with lusty sinew, his 
gun and apparatus fastened above his head, the 
troubled waters of a swollen stream; now wan¬ 
dering for days through the illimitable and 
pathless thickets of the cane brake, at night 
sleeping upon the hard ground, or across the 
branches of trees, and by day almost perishing 
with thirst; and now hailing with pleasure, at 
sunset, the distant but cheerful glimmer of the 
lonely log-cabin fire. 
In person, Mr. Audubon was tall, with a fine, 
elastic form, and most striking appearance. His 
face, with its aquiline nose and keen eye, 
sometimes reminded one of the beak of the 
eagle. His action was quick, and his conversa¬ 
tion lively and spirited. Owing to his French 
extraction, he spoke with an accent, in a soft 
and gentle voice, but with great earnestness of 
conviction. He was noted for the simple heart¬ 
edness and kindness of his disposition; his hab¬ 
its were temperate and frugal, and his attach¬ 
ments to the different members of his family 
profound. 
For several years past, Mr. Audubon had lived 
at a beautiful estate called Minniesland, on the 
banks of the Hudson, some eight or ten miles 
from this city, where the beauty of the scenery, 
and the kind hospitality of its distinguished oc¬ 
cupants, made it an agreeable resort for all who 
had the honor of their acquaintance. His health, 
however, for the last two years, had been fail¬ 
ing. His long and arduous labors began to 
wear upon his constitution, and on the 27th of 
January last he died. His funeral was as unosten¬ 
tatious as his life had been. He was buried in 
the family vault of Trinity-Church Cemetery, 
adjoining his own estate. His widow, two sons, 
and numerous grand children are left to mourn 
his loss. 
What a life has that been of which we have 
here given a faint outline! What a character 
is that of which we have made only a rough 
sketch! Is not John James Audubon an ad¬ 
mirable specimen of the hero as a man of 
science ? For sixty years or more, he has fol¬ 
lowed, with more than religious devotion, a 
beautiful and elevated pursuit, enlarging its 
boundaries by his discoveries, and illustrat¬ 
ing its objects by his art. In all climates and 
in all weathers; scorched by burning suns, 
drenched by piercing rains, frozen by the fierc¬ 
est colds ; now diving fearlessly into the densest 
forest, now wandering alone over the most sav¬ 
age regions; in perils, in dificulties, and in 
doubts; with no companion to cheer his \va y, 
far from the smiles and applause of society; 
listening only to the sweet music of birds, or to 
the sweeter music of his own thoughts, he has 
faithfully kept his path. The records of man’s 
life contain few nobler examples of strength of 
purpose and indefatigable energy. Led on 
solely by his pure, lofty, kindling enthusiasm, 
no thirst for wealth, no desire for distinction, no 
restless ambition of eccentric character, could 
