Volume I Part 14 (2/2)
Friend Sully is most heartily indignant, but with me my motto is: ”_Le temps decouvrira la verite._” It is, however, hard that a poor man like me, who has been so devotedly intent on bringing forth facts of curious force, should be brought before the world as a liar by a man who doubtless knows little of the inhabitants of the forests on the Schuylkill, much less of those elsewhere. It is both unjust and ungenerous, but I forgive him. I shall keep up a good heart, trust to my G.o.d, attend to my work with industry and care, and in time outlive these trifles.
_December 13._ I went this evening to hear the Tyrolese Singers, three brothers and their sister. They were all dressed in the costume of their country, but when they sang I saw no more; I know not how to express my feelings. I was in an instant transported into some wild glen from which arose high mountain crags, which threw back the melodious echoes. The wild, clear, harmonious music so entered into my being that for a time I was not sure that what I heard was a reality.
Imagine the warbling of strong-throated Thrushes, united with the bugle-horn, a flute, and a hautboy, in full unison. I could have listened all night.
_December 14, 1827._ By the advice of our consul, Mr. Maury, I have presented a copy of my work to the President of the United States, and another to the House of Congress through Henry Clay.
_December 16, Sunday._ I went to the service at my favorite church, the one at the Blind Asylum; the anthems were so exquisitely sung that I felt, as all persons ought to do when at church, full of fervent devotion.
_December 18._ It was with great regret that I found my friend Wm.
Roscoe very unwell. This n.o.ble man has had a paralytic attack; his mind is fully sensible of the decay of his body, and he meets this painful trial with patience and almost contentment. This only can be the case with those who in their past life have been upright and virtuous. I finished drawing a little Wren for my good friend Hannah, as well as artificial light would allow.
_December 20._ I have done nothing to-day; I have had that sort of laziness that occasionally feeds upon my senses unawares; it is a kind of const.i.tutional disease with me from time to time, as if to give my body necessary rest, and enable me to recommence with fresh vigor and alacrity whatever undertaking I have in hand. When it has pa.s.sed, however, I always reproach myself that I have lost a day. I went to the theatre with John Chorley to see ”The Hypocrite;” it is stolen from Moliere's famous ”Tartuffe,”--cut and sliced to suit the English market. I finished my evening by reading the Life of Ta.s.so.
_December 24._ The whole town appears to be engaged in purchasing eatables for to-morrow. I saw some people carrying large nosegays of holly ornamented with flowers in imitation of white roses, carnations, and others, cut out of turnips and carrots; but I heard not a single gun fire, no fireworks going on anywhere,--a very different time to what we have in Louisiana. I spent my evening with Dr. Rutter looking at his valuable collection of prints of the men of the Revolution.
Poor Charette,[137] whom I saw shot on the Place de Viarme at Nantes, was peculiarly good, as were General Moreau, Napoleon, when Consul, and many others; and Dr. Rutter knew their lives well.
_December 25._ At midnight I was awakened by Dr. Munroe, who came with a bottle of that smoky Scotch whiskey which I can never like, and who insisted on my taking a gla.s.s with him in honor of the day. Christmas in my country is very different indeed from what I have seen here.
With us it is a general merry-making, a day of joy. Our lads have guns, and fire almost all night, and dance all day and the next night.
Invitations are sent to all friends and acquaintances, and the time pa.s.ses more gayly than I can describe. Here, _families_ only join together, they go to church together, eat a very good dinner together, I dare say; but all is dull--silent--mournful. As to myself, I took a walk and dined with Mr. Munroe and family, and spent a quiet evening with John Chorley. This is my Christmas day for 1827.
_December 28._ Immediately after breakfast the box came containing the fifth number, and three full sets for my new subscribers here. The work pleased me quite.
_December 29._ This morning I walked to ”Lady” Rathbone's with my fifth number. It is quite impossible to approach Green Bank, when the weather is at all fair, without enjoying the song of some birds; for, Lucy, that sweet place is sacred, and all the feathered tribe in perfect safety. A Redwing particularly delighted me to-day; I found something of the note of our famous Mock-bird in his melody.
_January 1, 1828, Manchester._ How many times since daylight reached my eyes, I have wished thee, my Lucy, our sons, and our friends, a year of comfort, of peace and enjoyment, I cannot tell, for the day is to me always one on which to pray for those we love. Now, my Lucy, when I wished thee a happy New Year this morning I emptied my snuff box, locked up the box in my trunk, and will take _no more_. The habit within a few weeks has grown upon me, so farewell to it; it is a useless and not very clean habit, besides being an expensive one.
Snuff! farewell to thee. Thou knowest, Lucy, well that when I will _I will_. I came here straight to friend Sergeant's; I need not say I was welcomed; and Bentley soon came in to spend the evening with us.
_London, January 5, 1828._ At six last evening I was in the coach with three companions; I slept well after we stopped for supper at nine o'clock, but not long enough. I cannot sleep in the morning, and was awake four long hours before day. The moon, that had shone brightly, sunk in the west as day dawned, the frost appeared thickly strewn over the earth, and not a cloud was in sight. I saw a few flocks of Partridges on their roost, which thou knowest well is on the ground, with their heads all turned to east, from which a gentle waft of air was felt; the cattle were lying here and there; a few large flocks of Starlings were all that interested me. The dawn was clear, but before we left Northampton it rained, snowed, and blew as if the elements had gone mad; strange country, to be sure. The three gentlemen in the coach with me suggested cards, and asked me to take a hand; of course I said yes, but only on condition that they did not play for money, a thing I have never done. They agreed very courteously, though expressing their surprise, and we played whist all day, till I was weary. I know little about cards, and never play unless obliged to by circ.u.mstances; I feel no pleasure in the game, and long for other occupation. Twenty-four hours after leaving Manchester, we stopped at the Angel Inn, Islington Road. I missed my snuff all day; whenever my hands went into my pockets in search of my box, and I discovered the strength of habit, thus acting without thought, I blessed myself that my mind was stronger than my body. I am again in London, but not dejected and low of spirits and disheartened as I was when I came in May last; no, indeed! I have now _friends_ in London, and hope to keep them.
_95 Great Russell St., January 6._ I took a famous walk before day, up to Primrose Hill, and was back before anyone in the house was up. I have spent the whole day going over my drawings, and decided on the twenty-five that are to form the numbers for 1828. The new birds I have named as follows: Children,[138] Vigors,[139] Temminck, Cuvier.[140] Havell came and saw the drawings; it gave him an idea of the work to be performed between now and next January.
_January 8._ I have ordered one set of my birds to be colored by Havell _himself_, for Congress, and the numbers already out will soon be _en route_. My frame maker came in, and the poor man took it for granted that I was _an artist_, but, dear me! what a mistake; I can draw, but I shall never paint well. The weather is extremely dull and gloomy; during the morning the light was of a deep yellow cast.
_January 9._ Had a long letter from John Chorley, and after some talk with my good friend J. G. Children, have decided to write nothing more except the biographies of my birds. It takes too much time to write to this one and that one, to a.s.sure them that what I have written is _fact_. When Nature as it is found in my beloved America is better understood, these things will be known generally, and when I have been dead twenty years, more or less, my statements will be accepted everywhere; till then they may wait.[141] I have a violent cough and sore throat that renders me heavy and stupid; twenty-five years ago I would not have paid it the least attention; now I am told that at my age and in this climate (which, G.o.d knows, is indeed a very bad one), I may have trouble if I do not take some remedy. I walked out at four this morning, but the air was thick and I did not enjoy it.
_January 10_. I am going to surprise thee. I had a dentist inspect my teeth, as they ached; he thought it was the effect of my cold, as all are quite perfect and I have never lost one. My throat continuing very sore, I remained in my rooms, and have had Havell, Robert Sully, and Mr. Children for companions.
_January 14._ I feel now much better, after several feverish days, but have not moved from the house; every one of my friends show me much kindness.
_January 17._ A long morning with Havell settling accounts; it is difficult work for a man like me to see that I am neither cheating nor cheated. All is paid for 1827, and I am well ahead in funds. Had I made such regular settlements all my life, I should never have been as poor a man as I have been; but on the other hand I should never have published the ”Birds of America.” America! my country! Oh, to be there!
_January 18._ Spent the morning with Dr. Lambert and Mr. Don,[142] the famous botanist; we talked much of the plants and trees of America and of Mr. Nuttall[143] while opening and arranging a great parcel of dried plants from the Indies. This afternoon I took a cab and with my portfolio went to Mr. Children's. I cannot, he tells me, take my portfolio on my shoulder in London as I would in New York, or even _tenacious_ Philadelphia.
_January 20._ Oh! how dull I feel; how long am I to be confined in this immense jail? In London, amidst all the pleasures, I feel unhappy and dull; the days are heavy, the nights worse. Shall I ever again see and enjoy the vast forests in their calm purity, the beauties of America? I wish myself anywhere but in London. _Why_ do I dislike London? Is it because the constant evidence of the contrast between the rich and the poor is a torment to me, or is it because of its size and crowd? I know not, but I long for sights and sounds of a different nature. Young Green came to ask me to go with him to see Regent's Park, and we went accordingly, I rather an indifferent companion, I fear, till we reached the bridge that crosses the waters there, where I looked in vain for water-fowl. Failing to find any I raised my eyes towards the peaceful new moon, and to my astonishment saw a large flock of Wild Ducks pa.s.sing over me; after a few minutes a second flock pa.s.sed, which I showed my young friend. Two flocks of Wild Ducks, of upwards of twenty each! Wonderful indeed! I thought of the many I have seen when bent on studying their habits, and grew more homesick than ever.
_January 21._ Notwithstanding this constant darkness of mood, my business must be attended to; therefore soon after dawn I joined Havell and for many hours superintended his coloring of the plates for Congress. While I am not a colorist, and Havell is a very superior one, I _know_ the birds; would to G.o.d I was among them. From here I went to find a bookseller named Wright, but I pa.s.sed the place twice because I looked too high for his sign; the same occurs to young hunters, who, when first they tread the woods in search of a Deer, keep looking high, and far in the distance, and so pa.s.s many a one of these cunning animals, that, squatted in a parcel of dry brush-wood, sees his enemy quite well, and suffers him to pa.s.s without bouncing from his couch. The same instinct that leads me through woods struck me in the Haymarket, and now I found Mr. Wright. Our interview over, I made for Piccadilly, the weather as mild as summer, and the crowd innumerable. Piccadilly was filled with carriages of all sorts, men on horseback, and people everywhere; what a bustle!
_January 22._ I was so comfortless last night that I scarcely closed my eyes, and at last dressed and walked off in the dark to Regent's Park, led there because _there_ are some objects in the shape of trees, the gra.s.s is green, and from time to time the sweet notes of a Blackbird strike my ear and revive my poor heart, as it carries my mind to the woods around thee, my Lucy. As daylight came a flock of Starlings swept over my head, and I watched their motions on the green turf where they had alighted, until I thought it time to return to breakfast, and I entered my lodgings quite ready for my usual bowl of bread and milk, which I still keep to for my morning meal; how often have I partaken of it in simple cabins, much more to my taste than all the pomp of London. Drawing all day long.
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