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   Chapter 2 No.2

Audubon and his Journals, Vol. 2 By Maria R. Audubon Characters: 418565

Updated: 2017-12-06 00:02

I left you abruptly, perhaps uncivilly, reader, at the dawn of day, on Sandy Island, which lies just six miles from the extreme point of South Florida. I did so because I was amazed at the appearance of things around me, which in fact looked so different then from what they seemed at night, that it took some minutes' reflection to account for the change. When we laid ourselves down in the sand to sleep, the waters almost bathed our feet; when we opened our eyes in the morning, they were at an immense distance. Our boat lay on her side, looking not unlike a whale reposing on a mud bank. The birds in myriads were probing their exposed pasture-ground. There great flocks of Ibises fed apart from equally large collections of Godwits, and thousands of Herons gracefully paced along, ever and anon thrusting their javelin bills into the body of some unfortunate fish confined in a small pool of water. Of Fish-Crows, I could not estimate the number, but from the havoc they made among the crabs, I conjecture that these animals must have been scarce by the time of next ebb. Frigate Pelicans chased the Jager, which himself had just robbed a poor Gull of its prize, and all the Gallinules, ran with spread wings from the mud-banks to the thickets of the island, so timorous had they become when they perceived us.

Surrounded as we were by so many objects that allured us, not one could we yet attain, so dangerous would it have been to venture on the mud; and our pilot, having assured us that nothing could be lost by waiting, spoke of our eating, and on this hint told us that he would take us to a part of the island where "our breakfast would be abundant although uncooked." Off we went, some of the sailors carrying baskets, others large tin pans and wooden vessels, such as they use for eating their meals in. Entering a thicket of about an acre in extent, we found on every bush several nests of the Ibis, each containing three large and beautiful eggs, and all hands fell to gathering. The birds gave way to us, and ere long we had a heap of eggs that promised delicious food. Nor did we stand long in expectation, for, kindling a fire, we soon prepared in one way or other enough to satisfy the cravings of our hungry maws. Breakfast ended, the pilot, looking at the gorgeous sunrise, said: "Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for fun; the tide is coming."

Over these enormous mud-flats, a foot or two of water is quite sufficient to drive all the birds ashore, even the tallest Heron or Flamingo, and the tide seems to flow at once over the whole expanse. Each of us, provided with a gun, posted himself behind a bush, and no sooner had the water forced the winged creatures to approach the shore than the work of destruction commenced. When it at length ceased, the collected mass of birds of different kinds looked not unlike a small haycock. Who could not with a little industry have helped himself to a few of their skins? Why, reader, surely no one as fond of these things as I am. Every one assisted in this, and even the sailors themselves tried their hand at the work.

Our pilot, good man, told us he was no hand at such occupations and would go after something else. So taking "Long Tom" and his fishing-tackle, he marched off quietly along the shores. About an hour afterwards we saw him returning, when he looked quite exhausted, and on our inquiring the cause said, "There is a dewfish yonder, and a few balacoudas, but I am not able to bring them, or even to haul them here; please send the sailors after them." The fishes were accordingly brought, and as I had never seen a dewfish, I examined it closely, and took an outline of its form, which some days hence you may perhaps see. It exceeded a hundred pounds in weight, and afforded excellent eating. The balacouda is also a good fish, but at times a dangerous one, for, according to the pilot, on more than one occasion "some of these gentry" had followed him when waist-deep in the water, in pursuit of a more valuable prize, until in self-defence, he had to spear them, fearing that "the gentlemen" might at one dart cut off his legs, or some other nice bit, with which he was unwilling to part.

Having filled our cask from a fine well, long since dug in the sand of Cape Sable, either by Seminole Indians or pirates, no matter which, we left Sandy Isle about full tide, and proceeded homeward, giving a call here and there at different Keys, with the view of procuring rare birds, and also their nests and eggs. We had twenty miles to go, "as the birds fly," but the tortuosity of the channels rendered our course fully a third longer. The sun was descending fast, when a black cloud suddenly obscured the majestic orb. Our sails swelled by a breeze that was scarcely felt by us; and the pilot, requesting us to sit on the weather gunwale, told us that we were "going to get it." One sail was hauled in and secured, and the other was reefed, although the wind had not increased. A low murmuring noise was heard, and across the cloud that now rolled along in tumultuous masses shot vivid flashes of lightning. Our experienced guide steered directly across a flat towards the nearest land. The sailors passed their quids from one cheek to the other, and our pilot having covered himself with his oil jacket, we followed his example. "Blow, sweet breeze," cried he at the tiller, and "we'll reach the land before the blast overtakes us, for, gentlemen, it is a furious cloud yon."

A furious cloud indeed was the one which now, like an eagle on outstretched wings, approached so swiftly that one might have deemed it in haste to destroy us. We were not more than a cable's length from the shore, when, with an imperative voice, the pilot calmly said to us, "Sit quite still, gentlemen, for I should not like to lose you overboard just now; the boat can't upset, my word for that, if you will but sit still-Here we have it!"

Reader, persons who have never witnessed a hurricane, such as not unfrequently desolates the sultry climates of the South, can scarcely form an idea of their terrific grandeur. One would think that, not content with laying waste all on land, it must needs sweep the waters of the shallows quite dry, to quench its thirst. No respite for an instant does it afford to the objects within the reach of its furious current. Like the scythe of the destroying angel, it cuts everything by the roots, as it were, with the careless ease of the experienced mower. Each of its revolving sweeps collects a heap that might be likened to the full-sheaf which the husbandman flings by his side. On it goes with a wildness and fury that are indescribable, and when at last its frightful blasts have ceased, Nature, weeping and disconsolate, is left bereaved of her beauteous offspring. In some instances, even a full century is required before, with all her powerful energies, she can repair her loss. The planter has not only lost his mansion, his crops, and his flocks, but he has to clear his lands anew, covered and entangled as they are with the trunks and branches of trees that are everywhere strewn. The bark, overtaken by the storm, is cast on the lee-shore, and if any are left to witness the fatal results, they are the "wreckers" alone, who, with inward delight, gaze upon the melancholy spectacle.

Our light bark shivered like a leaf the instant the blast reached her sides. We thought she had gone over; but the next instant she was on the shore. And now in contemplation of the sublime and awful storm, I gazed around me. The waters drifted like snow; the tough mangroves hid their tops amid their roots, and the loud roaring of the waves driven among them blended with the howl of the tempest. It was not rain that fell; the masses of water flew in a horizontal direction, and where a part of my body was exposed I felt as if a smart blow had been given me on it. But enough-in half an hour it was over. The pure blue sky once more embellished the heavens, and although it was now quite night, we considered our situation a good one.

The crew and some of the party spent the night in the boat. The pilot, myself, and one of my assistants took to the heart of the mangroves, and having found high land, we made a fire as well as we could, spread a tarpauling, and fixing our insect bars over us, soon forgot in sleep the horrors that had surrounded us.

Next day the "Marion" proceeded on her cruise, and in a few more days, having anchored in another safe harbor, we visited other Keys, of which I will, with your leave, give you a short account.

The deputy-collector of Indian Isle gave me the use of his pilot for a few weeks, and I was the more gratified by this, that besides knowing him to be a good man, and a perfect sailor, I was now convinced that he possessed a great knowledge of the habits of birds, and could without loss of time lead me to their haunts. We were a hundred miles or so farther to the south. Gay May, like a playful babe, gambolled on the bosom of his mother Nature, and everything was replete with life and joy. The pilot had spoken to me of some birds which I was very desirous of obtaining. One morning, therefore, we went in two boats to some distant isle, where they were said to breed. Our difficulties in reaching that Key might to some seem more imaginary than real, were I faithfully to describe them. Suffice it for me to tell you that after hauling our boats and pushing them with our hands, for upwards of nine miles, over the flats, we at last reached the deep channel that usually surrounds each of the mangrove islands. We were much exhausted by the labor and excessive heat, but we were now floating on deep water, and by resting a short while under the shade of some mangroves, we were soon refreshed by the breeze that gently blew from the Gulf. We further repaired our strength by taking some food; and I may as well tell you here that, during all the time I spent in that part of the Floridas, my party restricted themselves to fish and soaked biscuit, while our only and constant beverage was molasses and water. I found that in these warm latitudes, exposed as we constantly were to alternate heat and moisture, ardent spirits and more substantial food would prove dangerous to us. The officers, and those persons who from time to time kindly accompanied us, adopted the same regimen, and not an individual of us had ever to complain of so much as a headache.

But we were under the mangroves; at a great distance on one of the flats, the Heron which I have named Ardea occidentalis[56] was seen moving majestically in great numbers. The tide rose and drove them away, and as they came towards us, to alight and rest for a time on the tallest trees, we shot as many as I wished. I also took under my charge several of their young alive.

At another time we visited the "Mule Keys." There the prospect was in many respects dismal in the extreme. As I followed their shores, I saw bales of cotton floating in all the coves, while spars of every description lay on the beach, and far off on the reefs I could see the last remains of a lost ship, her dismantled hulk. Several schooners were around her; they were wreckers. I turned me from the sight with a heavy heart. Indeed, as I slowly proceeded, I dreaded to meet the floating or cast-ashore bodies of some of the unfortunate crew. Our visit to the Mule Keys was in no way profitable, for besides meeting with but a few birds, in two or three instances I was, whilst swimming in the deep channel of a mangrove isle, much nearer a large shark than I wish ever to be again.

"The service" requiring all the attention, prudence, and activity of Captain Day and his gallant officers, another cruise took place, of which you will find some account in the sequel; and while I rest a little on the deck of the "Lady of the Green Mantle," let me offer my humble thanks to the Being who has allowed me the pleasure of thus relating to you, kind reader, a small part of my adventures.


The Tortugas are a group of islands lying about eighty miles from Key West, and the last of those that seem to defend the peninsula of the Floridas. They consist of five or six extremely low, uninhabitable banks, formed of shelly sand, and are resorted to principally by that class of men called wreckers and turtlers. Between these islands are deep channels, which, although extremely intricate, are well known to those adventurers, as well as to the commanders of the revenue cutters, whose duties call them to that dangerous coast. The great coral reef, or wall, lies about eight miles from these inhospitable isles, in the direction of the Gulf, and on it many an ignorant or careless navigator has suffered shipwreck. The whole ground around them is densely covered with corals, sea-fans, and other productions of the deep, amid which crawl innumerable testaceous animals, while shoals of curious and beautiful fishes fill the limpid waters above them. Turtles of different species resort to these banks, to deposit their eggs in the burning sand, and clouds of sea-fowl arrive every spring for the same purpose. These are followed by persons called "eggers," who, when their cargoes are completed, sail to distant markets, to exchange their ill-gotten ware for a portion of that gold on the acquisition of which all men seem bent.

The "Marion" having occasion to visit the Tortugas, I gladly embraced the opportunity of seeing those celebrated islets. A few hours before sunset the joyful cry of "Land!" announced our approach to them; but as the breeze was fresh, and the pilot was well acquainted with all the windings of the channels, we held on, and dropped anchor before twilight. If you have never seen the sun setting in those latitudes, I would recommend to you to make a voyage for the purpose, for I much doubt if, in any other portion of the world, the departure of the orb of day is accompanied with such gorgeous appearances. Look at the great red disk, increased to triple its ordinary dimensions! Now it has partially sunk beneath the distant line of waters, and with its still remaining half irradiates the whole heavens with a flood of golden light, purpling the far-off clouds that hover over the western horizon. A blaze of refulgent glory streams through the portals of the west, and the masses of vapor assume the semblance of mountains of molten gold. But the sun has now disappeared, and from the east slowly advances the gray curtain which night draws over the world.

The Night-hawk is flapping its noiseless wings in the gentle sea-breeze; the Terns, safely landed, have settled on their nests; the Frigate Pelicans are seen wending their way to distant mangroves; and the Brown Gannet, in search of a resting-place, has perched on the yard of the vessel. Slowly advancing landward, their heads alone above the water, are observed the heavily laden Turtles, anxious to deposit their eggs in the well-known sands. On the surface of the gently rippling stream, I dimly see their broad forms, as they toil along, while at intervals may be heard their hurried breathings, indicative of suspicion and fear. The moon with her silvery light now illumines the scene, and the Turtle, having landed, slowly and laboriously drags her heavy body over the sand, her "flippers" being better adapted for motion in the water than on shore. Up the slope, however, she works her way; and see how industriously she removes the sand beneath her, casting it out on either side. Layer after layer she deposits her eggs, arranging them in the most careful manner, and with her hind paddles brings the sand over them. The business is accomplished, the spot is covered over, and with a joyful heart the Turtle swiftly retires towards the shore, and launches into the deep.

But the Tortugas are not the only breeding places of the Turtles; these animals, on the contrary, frequent many other Keys, as well as various parts of the coast of the mainland. There are four different species, which are known by the names of the Green Turtle, the Hawk-billed Turtle, the Logger-head Turtle, and the Trunk Turtle. The first is considered the best as an article of food, in which capacity it is well known to most epicures. It approaches the shores, and enters the bays, inlets, and rivers, early in the month of April, after having spent the winter in the deep waters. It deposits its eggs in convenient places, at two different times in May, and once again in June. The first deposit is the largest, and the last the least, the total quantity being, at an average, about two hundred and forty. The Hawk-billed Turtle, whose shell is so valuable as an article of commerce, being used for various purposes in the arts, is the next with respect to the quality of its flesh. It resorts to the outer Keys only, where it deposits its eggs in two sets, first in July, and again in August, although it "crawls" the beaches of these Keys much earlier in the season, as if to look for a safe place. The average number of its eggs is about three hundred. The Logger-head visits the Tortugas in April, and lays from that period until late in June three sets of eggs, each set averaging one hundred and seventy. The Trunk Turtle, which is sometimes of an enormous size, and which has a pouch like a Pelican, reaches the shores latest. The shell and flesh are so soft that one may push his finger into them, almost as into a lump of butter. This species is therefore considered as the least valuable, and, indeed, is seldom eaten, unless by the Indians, who, ever alert when the Turtle season commences, first carry off the eggs, and afterwards catch the Turtles themselves. The average number of eggs which it lays in the season, in two sets, may be three hundred and fifty.

The Logger-head and the Trunk Turtles are the least cautious in choosing the places in which to deposit their eggs, whereas the two other species select the wildest and most secluded spots. The Green Turtle resorts either to the shores of the Main, between Cape Sable and Cape Florida, or enters Indian, Halifax, and other large rivers or inlets, from which it makes its retreat as speedily as possible, and betakes itself to the open sea. Great numbers, however, are killed by the turtlers and Indians, as well as by various species of carnivorous animals, as Cougars, Lynxes, Bears, and Wolves. The Hawk-bill, which is still more wary, and is always the most difficult to surprise, keeps to the sea-islands. All the species employ nearly the same method in depositing their eggs in the sand, and as I have several times observed them in the act, I am enabled to present you with a circumstantial account of it.

On first nearing the shores, and mostly on fine, calm, moonlight nights, the Turtle raises her head above the water, being still distant thirty or forty yards from the beach, looks around her, and attentively examines the objects on the shore. Should she observe nothing likely to disturb her intended operations, she emits a loud hissing sound, by which such of her many enemies as are unaccustomed to it are startled, and so are apt to remove to another place, although unseen by her. Should she hear any noise, or perceive indications of danger, she instantly sinks, and goes off to a considerable distance; but should everything be quiet, she advances slowly towards the beach, crawls over it, her head raised to the full stretch of her neck, and when she has reached a place fitted for her purpose, she gazes all round in silence. Finding "all well" she proceeds to form a hole in the sand, which she effects by removing it from under her body with her hind flippers, scooping it out with so much dexterity that the sides seldom if ever fall in. The sand is raised alternately with each flipper, as with a large ladle, until it has accumulated behind her, when, supporting herself with her head and fore part on the ground fronting her body, she, with a spring from each flipper, sends the sand around her, scattering it to the distance of several feet. In this manner the hole is dug to the depth of eighteen inches, or sometimes more than two feet. This labor I have seen performed in the short period of nine minutes. The eggs are then dropped one by one, and disposed in regular layers, to the number of a hundred and fifty, or sometimes nearly two hundred. The whole time spent in this part of the operation may be about twenty minutes. She now scrapes the loose sand back over the eggs, and so levels and smooths the surface that few persons on seeing the spot could imagine anything had been done to it. This accomplished to her mind, she retreats to the water with all possible despatch, leaving the hatching of the eggs to the heat of the sand. When a Turtle, a Logger-head for example, is in the act of dropping her eggs, she will not move, although one should go up to her, or even seat himself on her back, for it seems that at this moment she finds it necessary to proceed at all events, and is unable to intermit her labor. The moment it is finished, however, off she starts; nor would it then be possible for one, unless he were as strong as a Hercules, to turn her over and secure her.

To upset a Turtle on the shore, one is obliged to fall on his knees, and placing his shoulder behind her fore-arm, gradually raise her up by pushing with great force, and then with a jerk throw her over. Sometimes it requires the united strength of several men to accomplish this; and, if the Turtle should be of very great size, as often happens on that coast, even handspikes are employed. Some turtlers are so daring as to swim up to them while lying asleep on the surface of the water, and turn them over in their own element, when, however, a boat must be at hand, to enable them to secure their prize. Few Turtles can bite beyond the reach of their fore-legs, and few, when once turned over, can, without assistance, regain their natural position; but, notwithstanding this, their flippers are generally secured by ropes so as to render their escape impossible.

Persons who search for Turtles' eggs, are provided with a light stiff cane or a gun-rod, with which they go along the shores probing the sand near the tracks of the animals, which, however, cannot always be seen, on account of the winds and heavy rains that often obliterate them. The nests are discovered not only by men, but also by beasts of prey, and the eggs are collected, or destroyed on the spot, in great numbers, as on certain parts of the shores hundreds of Turtles are known to deposit their eggs within the space of a mile. They form a new hole each time they lay, and the second is generally dug near the first, as if the animal were quite unconscious of what had befallen it. It will readily be understood that the numerous eggs seen in a Turtle on cutting it up, could not be all laid the same season. The whole number deposited by an individual in one summer may amount to four hundred, whereas, if the animal is caught on or near her nest, as I have witnessed, the remaining eggs, all small, without shells, and as it were threaded like so many large beads, exceed three thousand. In an instance where I found that number, the Turtle weighed nearly four hundred pounds. The young, soon after being hatched, and when yet scarcely larger than a dollar, scratch their way through their sandy covering, and immediately betake themselves to the water.

The food of the Green Turtle consists chiefly of marine plants, more especially the Grasswrack (Zostera marina) which they cut near the roots to procure the most tender and succulent parts. Their feeding-grounds, as I have elsewhere said, are easily discovered by floating masses of these plants on the flats, or along the shores to which they resort. The Hawk-billed species feeds on sea-weeds, crabs, various kinds of shell-fish and fishes; the Logger-head mostly on the fish of conch-shells of large size, which they are enabled, by means of their powerful beak, to crush to pieces with apparently as much ease as a man cracks a walnut. One which was brought on board the "Marion," and placed near the fluke of one of her anchors, made a deep indentation in that hammered piece of iron, which quite surprised me. The Trunk Turtle feeds on mollusca, fish, crustacea, sea urchins, and various marine plants.

All the species move through the water with surprising speed; but the Green and Hawk-billed, in particular, remind you, by their celerity and the ease of their motions, of the progress of a bird in the air. It is, therefore, no easy matter to strike one with a spear, and yet this is often done by an accomplished turtler.

While at Key West, and other islands on the coast, where I made the observations here presented to you, I chanced to have need to purchase some Turtles, to feed my friends on board "The Lady of the Green Mantle"-not my friends her gallant officers, or the brave tars who formed her crew, for all of them had already been satiated with Turtle soup, but my friends the Herons, of which I had a goodly number alive in coops, intending to carry them to John Bachman of Charleston, and other persons for whom I ever feel a sincere regard. So I went to a "crawl" accompanied by Dr. Benjamin Strobel, to inquire about prices, when, to my surprise, I found that the smaller the Turtles above ten-pounds weight, the dearer they were, and that I could have purchased one of the Logger-head kind that weighed more than seven hundred pounds, for little more money than another of only thirty pounds. While I gazed on the large one, I thought of the soups the contents of its shell would have furnished for a "Lord Mayor's dinner," of the numerous eggs which its swollen body contained, and of the curious carriage which might be made of its shell-a car in which Venus herself might sail over the Caribbean Sea, provided her tender Doves lent their aid in drawing the divinity, and provided no shark or hurricane came to upset it. The turtler assured me that although the "great monster" was, in fact, better meat than any other of a less size, there was no disposing of it, unless, indeed, it had been in his power to have sent it to some very distant market. I would willingly have purchased it, but I knew that if killed, its flesh could not keep much longer than a day, and on that account I bought eight or ten small ones, which "my friends" really relished exceedingly, and which served to support them for a long time.

Turtles, such as I have spoken of, are caught in various ways on the coasts of the Floridas, or in estuaries and rivers. Some turtlers are in the habit of setting great nets across the entrance of streams, so as to answer the purpose either at the flow or at the ebb of the waters. These nets are formed of very large meshes, into which the Turtles partially enter, when, the more they attempt to extricate themselves, the more they get entangled. Others harpoon them in the usual manner; but in my estimation no method is equal to that employed by Mr. Egan, the pilot of Indian Isle.

That extraordinary turtler had an iron instrument which he called a peg, and which at each end had a point not unlike what nail-makers call a brad, it being four-cornered but flattish, and of a shape somewhat resembling the beak of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker, together with a neck and shoulder. Between the two shoulders of this instrument a fine tough-line, fifty or more fathoms in length, was fastened by one end being passed through a hole in the centre of the peg and the line itself was carefully coiled up, and placed in a convenient part of the canoe. One extremity of this peg enters a sheath of iron that loosely attaches it to a long wooden spear, until a Turtle has been pierced through the shell by the other extremity. He of the canoe paddles away as silently as possible whenever he spies a Turtle basking on the water, until he gets within a distance of ten or twelve yards, when he throws the spear so as to hit the animal about the place which an entomologist would choose, were it a large insect, for pinning it to a piece of cork. As soon as the Turtle is struck, the wooden handle separates from the peg, in consequence of the looseness of its attachment. The smart of the wound urges on the animal as if distracted, and it appears that the longer the peg remains in its shell, the more firmly fastened it is, so great a pressure is exercised upon it by the shell of the Turtle, which, being suffered to run like a whale, soon becomes fatigued, and is secured by hauling in the line with great care. In this manner, as the pilot informed me, eight hundred Green Turtles were caught by one man in twelve months.

Each turtler has his crawl, which is a square wooden building or pen formed of logs, which are so far separated as to allow the tide to pass freely through, and stand erect in the mud. The Turtles are placed in this enclosure, fed and kept there until sold. If the animals thus confined have not laid their eggs previous to their seizure, they drop them in the water, so that they are lost. The price of Green Turtles, when I was at Key West, was from four to six cents per pound.

The loves of the Turtles are conducted in the most extraordinary manner; but as the recital of them must prove out of place here, I shall pass them over. There is, however, a circumstance relating to their habits which I cannot omit, although I have it not from my own ocular evidence, but from report. When I was in the Floridas several of the turtlers assured me that any Turtle taken from the depositing ground, and carried on the deck of a vessel several hundred miles, would, if then let loose, certainly be met with at the same spot, either immediately after, or in the following breeding season. Should this prove true, and it certainly may, how much will be enhanced the belief of the student in the uniformity and solidity of Nature's arrangements, when he finds that the Turtle, like a migratory bird, returns to the same locality, with perhaps a delight similar to that experienced by the traveller, who, after visiting distant countries, once more returns to the bosom of his cherished family.


The men who are employed in cutting down the trees, and conveying the logs to the saw-mills or the places for shipping, are, in the State of Maine, called "lumberers." Their labors may be said to be continual. Before winter has commenced, and while the ground is yet uncovered with a great depth of snow, they leave their homes to proceed to the interior of the pine forests, which in that part of the country are truly magnificent, and betake themselves to certain places already well known to them. Their provisions, axes, saws, and other necessary articles, together with provender for their cattle, are conveyed by oxen in heavy sledges. Almost at the commencement of their march, they are obliged to enter the woods, and they have frequently to cut a way for themselves for considerable spaces, as the ground is often covered with the decaying trunks of immense trees, which have fallen either from age, or in consequence of accidental burnings. These trunks, and the undergrowth which lies entangled in their tops render many places almost impassable even to men on foot. Over miry ponds they are sometimes forced to form causeways, this being, under all circumstances, the easiest mode of reaching the opposite side. Then, reader, is the time for witnessing the exertions of their fine large cattle. No rods do their drivers use to pain their flanks; no oaths or imprecations are ever heard to fall from the lips of these most industrious and temperate men, for in them, as in most of the inhabitants of our Eastern States, education and habit have tempered the passions, and reduced the moral constitution to a state of harmony. Nay, the sobriety that exists in many of the villages of Maine, I acknowledge, I have often considered as carried to excess, for on asking for brandy, rum, or whiskey, not a drop could I obtain, and it is probable there was an equal lack of spirituous liquors of every other kind. Now and then I saw some good old wines, but they were always drunk in careful moderation. But to return to the management of the oxen. Why, reader, the lumbermen speak to them as if they were rational beings. Few words seem to suffice, and their whole strength is applied to the labor, as if in gratitude to those who treat them with so much gentleness and humanity.

While present on more than one occasion at what Americans call "ploughing matches," which they have annually in many of the States, I have been highly gratified, and in particular at one, of which I have still a strong recollection, and which took place a few miles from the fair and hospitable city of Boston. There I saw fifty or more ploughs drawn by as many pairs of oxen, which performed their work with so much accuracy and regularity-without the infliction of whip or rod, but merely guided by the verbal mandates of the ploughmen-that I was perfectly astonished.

After surmounting all obstacles, the lumberers with their stock arrive at the spot which they have had in view, and immediately commence building a camp. The trees around soon fall under the blows of their axes, and before many days have elapsed a low habitation is reared and fitted within for the accommodation of their cattle, while their provender is secured on a kind of loft covered with broad shingles or boards. Then their own cabin is put up; rough bedsteads, manufactured on the spot, are fixed in the corners; a chimney composed of a frame of sticks plastered with mud leads away the smoke; the skins of Bears or Deer, with some blankets, form their bedding, and around the walls are hung their changes of homespun clothing, guns, and various necessaries of life. Many prefer spending the night on the sweet-scented hay and corn blades of their cattle, which are laid on the ground. All arranged within, the lumberers set their "dead falls," large "steel traps," and "spring guns," in suitable places round their camps, to procure some of the Bears that ever prowl around such establishments.

Now the heavy clouds of November, driven by the northern blasts, pour down the snow in feathery flakes. The winter has fairly set in, and seldom do the sun's gladdening rays fall on the wood-cutter's hut. In warm flannels his body is enveloped, the skin of a Raccoon covers his head and brows, his Moose-skin leggings reach the girdle that secures them around his waist, while on broad moccasins, or snow-shoes, he stands from the earliest dawn until night, hacking away at majestic pines, that for a century past have embellished the forest. The fall of these valuable trees no longer resounds on the ground; and, as they tumble here and there nothing is heard but the rustling and cracking of their branches, their heavy trunks sinking into the deep snows. Thousands of large pines thus cut down every winter afford room for younger trees, which spring up profusely to supply the wants of man.

Weeks and weeks have elapsed; the earth's pure white covering has become thickly and firmly crusted by the increasing intensity of the cold, the fallen trees have all been sawn into measured logs, and the long repose of the oxen has fitted them for hauling them to the nearest frozen streams. The ice gradually becomes covered with the accumulating mass of timber, and, their task completed, the lumberers wait impatiently for the breaking up of the winter.

At this period they pass the time in hunting the Moose, the Deer, and the Bear, for the benefit of their wives and children; and as these men are most excellent woodsmen great havoc is made among the game. Many skins of Sables, Martens, and Musk-Rats they have procured during the intervals of their labor, or under night. The snows are now giving way, as the rains descend in torrents, and the lumberers collect their utensils, harness their cattle, and prepare for their return. This they accomplish in safety.

From being lumberers they now become millers, and with pleasure each applies the grating file to his saws. Many logs have already reached the dams on the swollen waters of the rushing streams, and the task commences, which is carried on through the summer, of cutting them up into boards.

The great heats of the dog-days have parched the ground; every creek has become a shallow, except here and there where in a deep hole the salmon and the trout have found a retreat; the sharp, slimy angles of multitudes of rocks project, as if to afford resting-places to the Wood-ducks and Herons that breed on the borders of these streams. Thousands of "saw-logs" remain in every pool, beneath and above each rapid or fall. The miller's dam has been emptied of its timber, and he must now resort to some expedient to procure a fresh supply.

It was my good fortune to witness the method employed for the purpose of collecting the logs that had not reached their destination, and I had the more pleasure that it was seen in company with my little family. I wish, for your sake, reader, that I could describe in an adequate manner the scene which I viewed; but, although not so well qualified as I could wish, rely upon it that the desire which I feel to gratify you will induce me to use all my endeavors to give you an idea of it.

It was the month of September. At the upper extremity of Dennysville, which is itself a pretty village, are the saw-mills and ponds of the hospitable Judge Lincoln and other persons. The creek that conveys the logs to these ponds, and which bears the name of the village, is interrupted in its course by many rapids and narrow embanked gorges. One of the latter is situated about half a mile above the mill-dams, and is so rocky and rugged in its bottom and sides as to preclude the possibility of the trees passing along it at low water, while, as I conceived, it would have given no slight labor to an army of woodsmen or millers to move the thousands of large logs that had accumulated in it. They lay piled in confused heaps to a great height along an extent of several hundred yards, and were in some places so close as to have formed a kind of dam. Above the gorge there is a large natural reservoir, in which the head-waters of the creek settle, while only a small portion of them ripples through the gorge below, during the later weeks of summer and in early autumn, when the streams are at their lowest.

At the neck of this basin the lumberers raised a temporary barrier with the refuse of their sawn logs. The boards were planted nearly upright, and supported at their tops by a strong tree extending from side to side of the creek, which might there be about forty feet in breadth. It was prevented from giving way under pressure of the rising waters by having strong abutments of wood laid against its centre, while the ends of these abutments were secured by wedges, which could be knocked off when necessary.

The temporary dam was now finished. Little or no water escaped through the barrier, and that in the creek above it rose in the course of three weeks to its top, which was about ten feet high, forming a sheet that extended upwards fully a mile from the dam. My family was invited early one morning to go and witness the extraordinary effect which would be produced by the breaking down of the barrier, and we all accompanied the lumberers to the place. Two of the men, on reaching it, threw off their jackets, tied handkerchiefs round their heads, and fastened to their bodies a long rope, the end of which was held by three or four others, who stood ready to drag their companions ashore, in case of danger or accident. The two operators, each bearing an axe, walked along the abutments, and at a given signal knocked out the wedges. A second blow from each sent off the abutments themselves, and the men, leaping with extreme dexterity from one cross log to another, sprung to the shore with almost the quickness of thought.

Scarcely had they effected their escape from the frightful peril which threatened them, when the mass of waters burst forth with a horrible uproar. All eyes were bent towards the huge heaps of logs in the gorge below. The tumultuous burst of the waters instantly swept away every object that opposed their progress, and rushed in foaming waves among the timbers that everywhere blocked up the passage. Presently a slow, heavy motion was perceived in the mass of logs; one might have imagined that some mighty monster lay convulsively writhing beneath them, struggling with a fearful energy to extricate himself from the crushing weight. As the waters rose, this movement increased; the mass of timber extended in all directions, appearing to become more and more entangled each moment; the logs bounced against each other, thrusting aside, demersing, or raising into the air those with which they came in contact; it seemed as if they were waging a war of destruction, such as ancient authors describe the efforts of the Titans, the foamings of whose wrath might to the eye of the painter have been represented by the angry curlings of the waters, while the tremulous and rapid motions of the logs, which at times reared themselves almost perpendicularly, might by the poet have been taken for the shakings of the confounded and discomfited giants.

Now the rushing element filled up the gorge to its brim. The logs, once under way, rolled, reared, tossed, and tumbled amid the foam, as they were carried along. Many of the smaller trees broke across, from others great splinters were sent up, and all were in some degree seamed and scarred. Then in tumultuous majesty swept along the mingled wreck, the current being now increased to such a pitch that the logs, as they were dashed against the rocky shores, resounded like the report of distant artillery, or the angry rumblings of the thunder. Onward it rolls, the emblem of wreck and ruin, destruction and chaotic strife. It seemed to me as if I witnessed the rout of a vast army, surprised, overwhelmed, and overthrown. The roar of the cannon, the groans of the dying, and the shouts of the avengers were thundering through my brain, and amid the frightful confusion of the scene, there came over my spirit a melancholy feeling, which had not entirely vanished at the end of many days.

In a few hours almost all the timber that had lain heaped in the rocky gorge, was floating in the great pond of the millers; and as we walked homeward we talked of the Force of the Waters.


The morning after that which we had spent with Sir Archibald Campbell and his delightful family, saw us proceeding along the shores of the St. John River, in the British Province of New Brunswick. As we passed the Government House, our hearts bade its generous inmates adieu; and as we left Fredericton behind, the recollection of the many acts of kindness which we had received from its inhabitants came powerfully on our minds. Slowly advancing over the surface of the translucent stream, we still fancied our ears saluted by the melodies of the unrivalled band of the 43d Regiment. In short, with the remembrance of kindness experienced, the feeling of expectations gratified, the hope of adding to our knowledge, and the possession of health and vigor, we were luxuriating in happiness.

The "Favorite," the bark in which we were, contained not only my whole family, but nearly a score and a half of individuals of all descriptions, so that the crowded state of the cabin soon began to prove rather disagreeable. The boat itself was a mere scow, commanded by a person of rather uncouth aspect and rude manners. Two sorry nags he had fastened to the end of a long tow-line, on the nearer of which rode a negro youth, less than half clad, with a long switch in one hand, and the joined bridles in the other, striving with all his might to urge them on at the rate of something more than two miles an hour. How fortunate it is for one to possess a little of the knowledge of a true traveller! Following the advice of a good and somewhat aged one, we had provided ourselves with a large basket, which was not altogether empty when we reached the end of our aquatic excursion. Here and there the shores of the river were delightful, the space between them and the undulating hills that bounded the prospect being highly cultivated, while now and then the abrupt and rocky banks assumed a most picturesque appearance. Although it was late in September, the mowers were still engaged in cutting the grass, and the gardens of the farmers showed patches of green peas. The apples were still green, and the vegetation in general reminded us that we were in a northern latitude.

Gradually and slowly we proceeded, until in the afternoon we landed to exchange our jaded horses. We saw a house on an eminence, with groups of people assembled round it, but there no dinner could be obtained, because, as the landlord told us, an election was going on. So the basket was had recourse to, and on the greensward we refreshed ourselves with its contents. This done, we returned to the scow, and resumed our stations. As usual in such cases, in every part of the world that I have visited, our second set of horses was worse than the first. However, on we went; to tell you how often the tow-line gave way would not be more amusing to you than it was annoying to us. Once our commander was in consequence plunged into the stream, but after some exertion he succeeded in regaining his gallant bark, when he consoled himself by giving utterance to a volley of blasphemies, which it would as ill become me to repeat, as it would be disagreeable to you to hear. We slept somewhere that night; it does not suit my views of travelling to tell you where.

Before day returned to smile on the "Favorite" we proceeded. Some rapids we came to, when every one, glad to assist her, leaped on shore, and tugged à la cordelle. Some miles farther we passed a curious cataract, formed by the waters of the Pokioke. There Sambo led his steeds up the sides of a high bank, when, lo! the whole party came tumbling down, like so many hogsheads of tobacco rolled from a store-house to the banks of the Ohio. He at the steering oar hoped "the black rascal" had broken his neck, and congratulated himself in the same breath for the safety of the horses, which presently got on their feet. Sambo, however, alert as an Indian chief, leaped on the naked back of one, and showing his teeth, laughed at his master's curses. Shortly after this we found our boat very snugly secured on the top of a rock, midway in the stream, just opposite the mouth of Eel River.

Next day at noon, none injured, but all chop-fallen, we were landed at Woodstock village, yet in its infancy. After dining there we procured a cart, and an excellent driver, and proceeded along an execrable road to Houlton in Maine, glad enough, after all our mishaps, at finding ourselves in our own country. But before I bid farewell to the beautiful river of St. John, I must tell you that its navigation seldom exceeds eight months each year, the passage during the rest being performed on the ice, of which we were told that last season there was an unusual quantity, so much, indeed, as to accumulate, by being jammed at particular spots, to the height of nearly fifty feet above the ordinary level of the river, and that when it broke loose in spring, the crash was awful. All the low grounds along the river were suddenly flooded, and even the elevated plain on which Fredericton stands was covered to the depth of four feet. Fortunately, however, as on the greater streams of the Western and Southern Districts, such an occurrence seldom takes place.

Major Clarke, commander of the United States garrison, received us with remarkable kindness. The next day was spent in a long though fruitless ornithological excursion, for although we were accompanied by officers and men from the garrison, not a bird did any of our party procure that was of any use to us. We remained a few days, however, after which, hiring a cart, two horses, and a driver, we proceeded in the direction of Bangor.

Houlton is a neat village, consisting of some fifty houses. The fort is well situated, and commands a fine view of Mars' Hill, which is about thirteen miles distant. A custom-house has been erected here, the place being on the boundary line of the United States and the British Provinces. The road which was cut by the soldiers of this garrison, from Bangor to Houlton, through the forests, is at this moment a fine turnpike, of great breadth, almost straight in its whole length, and perhaps the best now in the Union. It was incomplete, however, for some miles, so that our travelling over that portion was slow and disagreeable. The rain, which fell in torrents, reduced the newly raised earth to a complete bed of mud, and at one time our horses became so completely mired that, had we not been extricated by two oxen, we must have spent the night near the spot. Jogging along at a very slow pace, we were overtaken by a gay wagoner, who had excellent horses, two of which a little "siller" induced him to join to ours, and we were taken to a tavern, at the "Cross Roads," where we spent the night in comfort. While supper was preparing, I made inquiries respecting birds, quadrupeds, and fishes, and was pleased to hear that many of these animals abounded in the neighborhood. Deer, Bears, Trout, and Grouse were quite plentiful, as was the Great Gray Owl.

When we resumed our journey next morning Nature displayed all her loveliness, and Autumn with her mellow tints, her glowing fruits, and her rich fields of corn, smiled in placid beauty. Many of the fields had not yet been reaped, the fruits of the forests and orchards hung clustering around us, and as we came in view of the Penobscot River, our hearts thrilled with joy. Its broad transparent waters here spread out their unruffled surface, there danced along the rapids, while canoes filled with Indians glided swiftly in every direction, raising before them the timorous waterfowl that had already flocked in from the north. Mountains, which you well know are indispensable in a beautiful landscape, reared their majestic crests in the distance. The Canada Jay leaped gaily from branch to twig; the Kingfisher, as if vexed at being suddenly surprised, rattled loudly as it swiftly flew off; and the Fish Hawk and Eagle spread their broad wings over the waters. All around was beautiful, and we gazed on the scene with delight, as seated on a verdant bank, we refreshed our frames from our replenished stores. A few rare birds were procured here, and the rest of the road being level and firm, we trotted on at a good pace for several hours, the Penobscot keeping company with us.

Now we came to a deep creek, of which the bridge was undergoing repairs, and the people saw our vehicle approach with much surprise. They, however, assisted us with pleasure, by placing a few logs across, along which our horses one after the other were carefully led, and the cart afterwards carried. These good fellows were so averse to our recompensing them for their labor that after some altercation we were obliged absolutely to force what we deemed a suitable reward upon them.

Next day we continued our journey along the Penobscot, the country changing its aspect at every mile, and when we first descried Old Town, that village of saw-mills looked like an island covered with manufactories. The people here are noted for their industry and perseverance, and any one possessing a mill, and attending to his saws, and the floating of the timber into his dams, is sure to obtain a competency in a few years. Speculations in land covered with pine, lying to the north of this place, are carried on to a great extent, and to discover a good tract of such ground many a miller of Old Town undertakes long journeys. Reader, with your leave, I will here introduce one of them.

Good luck brought us into acquaintance with Mr. Gillies, whom we happened to meet in the course of our travels, as he was returning from an exploring tour. About the first of August he formed a party of sixteen persons, each carrying a knapsack and an axe. Their provisions consisted of two hundred and fifty pounds of pilot bread, one hundred and fifty of salt pork, four of tea, two large loaves of sugar, and some salt. They embarked in light canoes twelve miles north of Bangor, and followed the Penobscot as far as Wassataquoik River, a branch leading to the northwest, until they reached the Seboois Lakes, the principal of which lie in a line, with short portages between them. Still proceeding northwest they navigated these lakes, and then turning west, carried their canoes to the great lake Baamchenunsgamook; thence north to Wallaghasquegantook Lake, then along a small stream to the upper Umsaskiss Pond, when they reached the Albagash River which leads into the St. John in about latitude 47°. Many portions of that country had not been visited before even by the Indians, who assured Mr. Gillies of this fact. They continued their travels down the St. John to the Grand Falls, where they met with a portage of half a mile, and having reached Meduxmekeag Creek, a little above Woodstock, the party walked to Houlton, having travelled twelve hundred miles, and described almost an oval over the country by the time they returned to Old Town, on the Penobscot.

While anxiously looking for "lumber-lands," they ascended the eminences around, then climbed the tallest trees, and by means of a good telescope, inspected the pine woods in the distance. And such excellent judges are these persons of the value of the timber which they thus observe, when it is situated at a convenient distance from water, that they never afterwards forget the different spots at all worthy of their attention. They had observed only a few birds and quadrupeds, the latter principally Porcupines. The borders of the lakes and rivers afforded them fruits of various sorts, and abundance of cranberries, while the uplands yielded plenty of wild white onions, and a species of black plum. Some of the party continued their journey in canoes down the St. John, ascended Eel River, and the lake of the same name to Matanemheag River, due southwest of the St. John, and after a few portages fell into the Penobscot.

I had made arrangements to accompany Mr. Gillies on a journey of this kind, when I judged it would be more interesting as well as useful to me to visit the distant country of Labrador.

The road which we followed from Old Town to Bangor was literally covered with Penobscot Indians returning from market. On reaching the latter beautiful town, we found very comfortable lodging in an excellent hotel, and next day we proceeded by the mail to Boston.


In the spring of 1833 the Moose were remarkably abundant in the neighborhood of the Schoodiac Lakes; and, as the snow was so deep in the woods as to render it almost impossible for them to escape, many of them were caught. About the 1st of March, 1833, three of us set off on a hunt, provided with snow-shoes, guns, hatchets, and provisions for a fortnight. On the first day we went fifty miles, in a sledge drawn by one horse, to the nearest lake, where we stopped for the night, in the hut of an Indian named Lewis, of the Passamaquoddy tribe, who had abandoned the wandering life of his race, and turned his attention to farming and lumbering. Here we saw the operation of making snow-shoes, which requires more skill than one might imagine. The men generally make the bows to suit themselves, and the women weave in the threads, which are usually made of the skin of the Caribou Deer.

The next day we went on foot sixty-two miles farther, when a heavy rain-storm coming on, we were detained a whole day. The next morning we put on snow-shoes, and proceeded about thirteen miles, to the head of the Musquash Lake, where we found a camp, which had been erected by some lumberers in the winter; and here we established our headquarters. In the afternoon an Indian had driven a female Moose-deer, and two young ones of the preceding year, within a quarter of a mile of our camp, when he was obliged to shoot the old one. We undertook to procure the young alive, and after much exertion succeeded in getting one of them, and shut it up in the shed made for the oxen; but as the night was falling, we were compelled to leave the other in the woods. The dogs having killed two fine Deer that day, we feasted upon some of their flesh, and upon Moose, which certainly seemed to us the most savory meat we had ever eaten, although a keen appetite is very apt to warp one's judgment in such a case. After supper we laid ourselves down before the huge fire we had built up, and were soon satisfied that we had at last discovered the most comfortable mode of sleeping.

In the morning we started off on the track of a Moose, which had been driven from its haunt, or yard, by the Indians the day before; and although the snow was in general five feet deep, and in some places much deeper, we travelled three miles before we came to the spot where the Moose had rested for the night. He had not left this place more than an hour, when we came to it. So we pushed on faster than before, trusting that ere long we should overtake him. We had proceeded about a mile and a half farther, when he took a sudden turn, which threw us off his track, and when we again found it, we saw that an Indian had taken it up, and gone in pursuit of the harassed animal. In a short time we heard the report of a gun, and immediately running up, we saw the Moose, standing in a thicket, wounded, when we brought him down. The animal finding himself too closely pursued, had turned upon the Indian, who fired, and instantly ran into the bushes to conceal himself. It was three years old, and consequently not nearly grown, although already about six feet and a half in height.

It is difficult to conceive how an animal could have gone at such a rate when the snow was so deep, with a thick crust at top. In one place, he had followed the course of a brook, over which the snow had sunk considerably on account of the higher temperature of the water, and we had an opportunity of seeing evidence of the great power which the species possess in leaping over objects that obstruct his way. There were places in which the snow had drifted to so great a height that you would have imagined it impossible for any animal to leap over it, and yet we found that he had done so at a single bound, without leaving the least trace. As I did not measure these snow-heaps, I cannot positively say how high they were, but I am well persuaded that some of them were ten feet.

We proceeded to skin and dress the Moose, and buried the flesh under the snow, where it will keep for weeks. On opening the animal we were surprised to see the great size of the heart and lungs, compared with the contents of the abdomen. The heart was certainly larger than that of any animal which I had seen. The head bears a great resemblance to that of a horse, but the "muffle" is more than twice as large, and when the animal is irritated or frightened, it projects that part much farther than usual. It is stated in some descriptions of the Moose that he is short-winded and tender-footed, but he certainly is capable of long continued and very great exertion, and his feet, for anything that I have seen to the contrary, are as hard as those of any other quadruped. The young Moose was so exhausted and fretted that it offered no opposition to us as we led it to the camp; but in the middle of the night we were awakened by a great noise in the hovel, and found that as it had in some measure recovered from its terror and state of exhaustion, it began to think of getting home, and was now much enraged at finding itself so securely imprisoned. We were unable to do anything with it, for if we merely approached our hands to the openings of the hut, it would spring at us with the greatest fury, roaring and erecting its mane, in a manner that convinced us of the futility of all attempts to save it alive. We threw to it the skin of a Deer, which it tore to pieces in a moment. This individual was a yearling, and about six feet high. When we went to look for the other, which we had left in the woods, we found that he had "taken his back-track" or retraced his steps, and gone to the "beat," about a mile and a half distant, and which it may be interesting to describe.

At the approach of winter, parties of Moose-deer, from two to fifty in number, begin to lessen their range, and proceed slowly to the south side of some hill, where they feed within still narrower limits, as the snow begins to fall. When it accumulates on the ground, the snow, for a considerable space, is divided into well trodden, irregular paths, in which they keep, and browse upon the bushes at the sides, occasionally striking out a new path, so that, by the spring, many of those made at the beginning of winter are obliterated. A "yard" for half a dozen Moose, would probably contain about twenty acres.

A good hunter, although still a great way off, will not only perceive that there is a yard in the vicinity, but can tell the direction in which it lies, and even be pretty sure of the distance. It is by the marks on the trees that he discovers this circumstance; he finds the young maple, and especially the moose-wood and birch, with the bark gnawed off to the height of five or six feet on one side, and the twigs bitten, with the impression of the teeth left in such a manner, that the position of the animal when browsing on them, may be ascertained. Following the course indicated by these marks, the hunter gradually finds them more distinct and frequent, until at length he arrives at the yard; but there he finds no Moose, for long before he reaches the place, their extremely acute smell and hearing warn them of his approach, when they leave the yard, generally altogether, the strongest leading in one track, or in two or three parties. When pursued they usually separate, except the females, which keep with their young, and go before to break the track for them; nor will they leave them under any circumstances until brought down by their ruthless pursuers. The males, especially the old ones, being quite lean at this season, go off at great speed, and unless the snow is extremely deep, soon outstrip the hunters. They usually go in the direction of the wind, making many short turns to keep the scent, or to avoid some bad passage; and although they may sink to the bottom at every step, they cannot be overtaken in less than three or four days. The females, on the contrary, are remarkably fat, and it is not at all unfrequent to find in one of them a hundred pounds of raw tallow. But let us return to the young buck, which had regained the yard.

We found him still more untractable than the female we had left in the hovel; he had trodden down the snow for a small space around him, which he refused to leave, and would spring with great fury at any one who approached the spot too near; and as turning on snow-shoes is not an easy operation, we were content to let him alone, and try to find one in a better situation for capture, knowing that if we did eventually secure him, he would probably, in the struggle injure himself too much to live. I have good reason to believe that the only practicable mode of taking them uninjured, except when they are very young, is, when they are exhausted and completely defenceless, to bind them securely, and keep them so till they have become pacified, and convinced of the uselessness of any attempt at resistance. If allowed to exert themselves as they please, they almost always kill themselves, as we found by experience.

On the following day we again set out, and coming across the tracks of two young bucks, which had been started by the Indians, we pursued them, and in two or three miles, overtook them. As it was desirable to obtain them as near the camp as possible, we attempted to steer them that way. For a while we succeeded very well in our scheme, but at last one of them, after making many ineffectual attempts to get another way, turned upon his pursuer, who, finding himself not very safe, felt obliged to shoot him. His companion, who was a little more tractable, we drove on a short way, but as he had contrived to take many turnings, he could approach us on his back-track too swiftly, so that we were compelled to shoot him also. We "dressed" them, taking with us the tongues and muffles, which are considered the most delicate parts.

We had not walked more than a quarter of a mile, when we perceived some of the indications before mentioned, which we followed for half a mile, when we came across a yard, and going round it, we found where the Moose had left it, though we afterwards learned that we had missed a fine buck, which the dogs, however, discovered later. We soon overtook a female with a young one, and were not long in sight of them when they stood at bay. It is really wonderful how soon they beat down a hard space in the snow to stand upon, when it is impossible for a dog to touch them, as they stamp so violently with their fore-feet that it is certain death to approach them. This Moose had only one calf with her, though the usual number is two, almost invariably a male and a female. We shot them with a ball through the brain.

The Moose bears a considerable resemblance to the horse in his conformation, and in his disposition a still greater, having much of the sagacity as well as viciousness of that animal. We had an opportunity of observing the wonderful acuteness of its hearing and smelling. As we were standing by one, he suddenly erected his ears, and put himself on the alert, evidently aware of the approach of some person. About ten minutes after, one of our party came up, who must have been at the time at least half a mile off, and the wind was from the Moose towards him.

This species of Deer feeds on the hemlock, cedar, fir, or pine, but will not touch the spruce. It also eats the twigs of the maple, birch, and soft shoots of other trees. In the autumn they may be enticed by imitating their peculiar cry, which is described as truly frightful. The hunter gets up into a tree, or conceals himself in some other secure place, and imitates this cry by means of a piece of birch-bark rolled up to give the proper tone. Presently he hears the Moose come dashing along, and when he gets near enough, takes a good aim, and soon despatches him. It is very unsafe to stand within reach of the animal, for he would certainly endeavor to demolish you.

A full-grown male Moose is said to measure nine feet in height, and with his immense branching antlers presents a truly formidable appearance. Like the Virginia Deer, and the male Caribou, they shed their horns every year about the beginning of December. The first year their horns are not dropped in spring. When irritated the Moose makes a great grinding with his teeth, erects his mane, lays back his ears, and stamps with violence. When disturbed he makes a hideous whining noise, much in the manner of the Camel.

In that wild and secluded part of the country, seldom visited but by the Indians, the common Deer were without number, and it was with great difficulty that we kept the dogs with us, as they were continually meeting with "beats." In its habits that species greatly resembles the Moose. The Caribou has a very broad, flat foot, and can spread it on the snow to the fetlock, so as to be able to run on a crust scarcely hard enough to bear a dog. When the snow is soft, they keep in immense droves around the margins of the large lakes to which they betake themselves when pursued, the crust being much harder there than elsewhere. When it becomes more firm, they strike into the woods. As they possess such facility of running on snow, they do not require to make any yards, and consequently have no fixed place in the winter. The speed of this animal is not well known, but I am inclined to believe it much greater than that of the fleetest horse.

In our camp we saw great numbers of Crossbills, Grosbeaks, and various other small birds. Of the first of these were two species which were very tame, and alighted on our hut with the greatest familiarity. We caught five or six at once, under a snow-shoe. The Pine-Martin and Wild Cat were also very abundant.[57]


When I look back upon the many pleasant hours that I spent with the young gentlemen who composed my party, during our excursions along the coast of sterile and stormy Labrador, I think that a brief account of our employments may prove not altogether uninteresting to my readers.

We had purchased our stores at Boston, with the aid of my generous friend, Dr. Parkman of that city; but unfortunately many things necessary on an expedition like ours were omitted. At Eastport in Maine we therefore laid in these requisites. No traveller, let me say, ought to neglect anything that is calculated to insure the success of his undertaking, or to contribute to his personal comfort, when about to set out on a long and perhaps hazardous voyage. Very few opportunities of replenishing stores of provisions, clothing, or ammunition, occur in such a country as Labrador; and yet, we all placed too much confidence in the zeal and foresight of our purveyors at Eastport. We had abundance of ammunition, excellent bread, meat, and potatoes; but the butter was quite rancid, the oil only fit to grease our guns, the vinegar too liberally diluted with cider, the mustard and pepper deficient in due pungency. All this, however, was not discovered until it was too late to be remedied. Several of the young men were not clothed as hunters should be, and some of the guns were not so good as we could have wished. We were, however, fortunate with respect to our vessel, which was a notable sailer, did not leak, had a good crew, and was directed by a capital seaman.

The hold of the schooner was floored, and an entrance made to it from the cabin, so that in it we had a very good parlor, dining-room, drawing-room, library, etc., all those apartments, however, being comprised in one. An extravagantly elongated deal table ranged along the centre; one of the party had slung his hammock at one end, and in its vicinity slept the cook and a lad who acted as armorer. The cabin was small; but being fitted in the usual manner with side berths, was used for a dormitory. It contained a small table and a stove, the latter of diminutive size, but smoky enough to discomfit a host. We had adopted in a great measure the clothing worn by the American fishermen on that coast, namely, thick blue cloth trousers, a comfortable waistcoat, and a pea-jacket of blanket. Our boots were large, round-toed, strong, and well studded with large nails to prevent sliding on the rocks. Worsted comforters, thick mittens, and round broad-brimmed hats, completed our dress, which was more picturesque than fashionable. As soon as we had an opportunity, the boots were exchanged for Esquimaux mounted moccasins of Seal-skin, impermeable to water, light, easy, and fastening at top about the middle of the thigh to straps, which when buckled over the hips secured them well. To complete our equipment, we had several good boats, one of which was extremely light and adapted for shallow water.

No sooner had we reached the coast and got into harbor, than we agreed to follow certain regulations intended for the general benefit. Every morning the cook was called before three o'clock. At half-past three, breakfast was on the table, and everybody equipped. The guns, ammunition, botanical boxes, and baskets for eggs or minerals were all in readiness. Our breakfast consisted of coffee, bread, and various other materials. At four, all except the cook, and one seaman, went off in different directions, not forgetting to carry with them a store of cooked provisions. Some betook themselves to the islands, others to the deep bays; the latter on landing wandered over the country till noon, when laying themselves down on the rich moss, or sitting on the granite rock, they would rest for an hour, eat their dinner, and talk of their successes or disappointments. I often regret that I did not take sketches of the curious groups formed by my young friends on such occasions, and when, after returning at night, all were engaged in measuring, weighing, comparing, and dissecting the birds we had procured; operations which were carried on with the aid of a number of candles thrust into the necks of bottles. Here one examined the flowers and leaves of a plant, there another explored the recesses of a Diver's gullet, while a third skinned a Gull or a Grouse. Nor was one journal forgotten. Arrangements were made for the morrow, and at twelve we left matters to the management of the cook, and retired to our roosts.

If the wind blew hard, all went on shore, and, excepting on a few remarkably rainy days, we continued our pursuits, much in the same manner during our stay in the country. The physical powers of the young men were considered in making our arrangements. Shattuck and Ingalls went together; the captain and Coolidge were fond of each other, the latter having also been an officer; Lincoln and my son being the strongest and most determined hunters, generally marched by themselves; and I went with one or other of the parties, according to circumstances, although it was by no means my custom to do so regularly, as I had abundance of work on hand in the vessel.

The return of my young companions and the sailors was always looked for with anxiety. On getting on board, they opened their budgets, and laid their contents on the deck, amid much merriment, those who had procured most specimens being laughed at by those who had obtained the rarest, and the former joking the latter in return. A substantial meal always awaited them, and fortunate we were in having a capital cook, although he was a little too fond of the bottle.

Our "Fourth of July" was kept sacred, and every Saturday night the toast of "wives and sweethearts" was the first given, "parents and friends" the last. Never was there a more merry set. Some with the violin and flute accompanied the voices of the rest, and few moments were spent in idleness. Before a month had elapsed, the spoils of many a fine bird hung around the hold; shrubs and flowers were in the press, and I had several drawings finished, some of which you have seen, and of which I hope you will ere long see the remainder. Large jars were filling apace with the bodies of rare birds, fishes, quadrupeds and reptiles, as well as molluscous animals. We had several pets too, Gulls, Cormorants, Guillemots, Puffins, Hawks, and a Raven. In some of the harbors, curious fishes were hooked in our sight, so clear was the water.

We found that camping out at night was extremely uncomfortable, on account of the annoyance caused by flies and mosquitoes, which attacked the hunters in swarms at all times, but more especially when they lay down, unless they enveloped themselves in thick smoke, which is not much more pleasant. Once when camping the weather became very bad, and the party was twenty miles distant from Whapatigan as night threw her mantle over the earth. The rain fell in torrents, the northeast wind blew furiously, and the air was extremely cold. The oars of the boats were fixed so as to support some blankets, and a small fire was with difficulty kindled, on the embers of which a scanty meal was cooked. How different from a camp on the shores of the Mississippi, where wood is abundant, and the air generally not lacking heat, where mosquitoes, although plentiful enough, are not accompanied by Caribou flies, and where the barkings of a joyful Squirrel, or the notes of the Barred Owl, that grave buffoon of our western woods, never fail to gladden the camper as he cuts to the right and left such branches and canes as most easily supply materials for forming a lodging for the night. On the coast of Labrador there are no such things; granite and green moss are spread around, silence like that of the grave envelops all, and when night has closed the dreary scene from your sight, the Wolves, attracted by the scent of the remains of your scanty repast, gather around you. Cowards as they are they dare not venture on a charge; but their howlings effectually banish sleep. You must almost roast your feet to keep them warm, while your head and shoulders are chilled by the blast. When morning comes, she smiles not on you with rosy cheeks, but appears muffled in a gray mantle of cold mist, which shows you that there is no prospect of a fine day. The object of the expedition, which was to procure some Owls that had been observed there by day, was entirely frustrated. At early dawn the party rose stiffened and dispirited, and glad were they to betake themselves to their boats, and return to their floating home.

Before we left Labrador, several of my young friends began to feel the want of suitable clothing. The sailor's ever-tailoring system, was, believe me, fairly put to the test. Patches of various colors ornamented knees and elbows; our boots were worn out; our greasy garments and battered hats were in harmony with our tanned and weather-beaten faces; and, had you met with us, you might have taken us for a squad of wretched vagrants; but we were joyous in the expectation of a speedy return, and exulted at the thoughts of our success.

As the chill blast that precedes the winter's tempest thickened the fogs on the hills and ruffled the dark waters, each successive day saw us more anxious to leave the dreary wilderness of grim rocks and desolate moss-clad valleys. Unfavorable winds prevented us for a while from spreading our white sails; but at last one fair morning smiled on the wintry world, the "Ripley" was towed from the harbor, her tackle trimmed, and as we bounded over the billows, we turned our eyes towards the wilds of Labrador, and heartily bade them farewell forever!


The distinctive appellation of "eggers" is given to certain persons who follow, principally or exclusively, the avocation of procuring the eggs of wild birds, with the view of disposing of them at some distant port. Their great object is to plunder every nest, wherever they can find it, no matter where, and at whatever risk. They are the pest of the feathered tribes, and their brutal propensity to destroy the poor creatures after they have robbed them, is abundantly gratified whenever an opportunity presents itself.

Much had been said to me respecting these destructive pirates before I visited the coast of Labrador, but I could not entirely credit all their cruelties until I had actually witnessed their proceedings, which were such as to inspire no small degree of horror. But you shall judge for yourself.

See yon shallop, shyly sailing along; she sneaks like a thief wishing, as it were, to shun the very light of heaven. Under the lee of every rocky isle some one at the tiller steers her course. Were his trade an honest one, he would not think of hiding his back behind the terrific rocks that seem to have been placed there as a resort to the myriads of birds that annually visit this desolate region of the earth, for the purpose of rearing their young at a distance from all disturbers of their peace. How unlike the open, the bold, the honest mariner, whose face needs no mask, who scorns to skulk under any circumstances. The vessel herself is a shabby thing; her sails are patched with stolen pieces of better canvas, the owners of which have probably been stranded on some inhospitable coast, and have been plundered, perhaps murdered, by the wretches before us. Look at her again! Her sides are neither painted, nor even pitched; no, they are daubed over, plastered and patched with strips of Seal-skins laid along the seams. Her deck has never been washed or sanded; her hold-for no cabin has she-though at present empty, sends forth an odor pestilential as that of a charnel house. The crew, eight in number, lie sleeping at the foot of their tottering mast, regardless of the repairs needed in every part of her rigging. But see! she scuds along, and as I suspect her crew to be bent on the commission of some evil deed, let us follow her to the first harbor.

AUDUBON, 1850.


There rides the filthy thing! The afternoon is half over. Her crew have thrown their boat overboard, they enter and seat themselves, each with a rusty gun. One of them sculls the skiff towards an island for a century past the breeding-place of myriads of Guillemots, which are now to be laid under contribution. At the approach of the vile thieves, clouds of birds rise from the rock and fill the air around, wheeling and screaming over their enemies. Yet thousands remain in an erect posture, each covering its single egg, the hope of both parents. The reports of several muskets loaded with heavy shot are now heard, while several dead and wounded birds fall heavily on the rock, or into the water. Instantly all the sitting birds rise and fly off affrighted to their companions above, and hover in dismay over their assassins, who walk forward exultingly, and with their shouts mingling oaths and execrations. Look at them! See how they crush the chick within its shell, how they trample on every egg in their way with their huge and clumsy boots. Onward they go, and when they leave the isle, not an egg that they can find is left entire. The dead birds they collect and carry to their boat. Now they have regained their filthy shallop; they strip the birds by a single jerk, of their feathery apparel while the flesh is yet warm, and throw them on some coals, where in a short time they are broiled. The rum is produced when the Guillemots are fit for eating, and after stuffing themselves with this oily fare, and enjoying the pleasure of beastly intoxication, over they tumble on the deck of their crazed craft, where they pass the short hours of night in turbid slumber.

The sun now rises above the snow-clad summit of the eastern mount. "Sweet is the breath of morn," even in this desolate land. The gay Bunting erects his white crest, and gives utterance to the joy he feels in the presence of his brooding mate. The Willow Grouse on the rock crows his challenge aloud. Each floweret chilled by the night air expands its pure petals. The gentle breeze shakes from the blades of grass the heavy dew-drops. On the Guillemot isle the birds have again settled, and now renew their loves. Startled by the light of day, one of the eggers springs to his feet and rouses his companions, who stare around them for a while, endeavoring to collect their senses. Mark them, as with clumsy fingers they clear their drowsy eyes! Slowly they rise on their feet. See how the filthy lubbers stretch out their arms, and yawn; you shrink back, for verily "that throat might frighten a shark."

But the master soon recollecting that so many eggs are worth a dollar or a crown, casts his eye towards the rock, marks the day in his memory and gives orders to depart. The light breeze enables them to reach another harbor a few miles distant, one which, like the last, lies concealed from the ocean by some other rocky isle. Arrived there, they re-act the scene of yesterday, crushing every egg they can find. For a week each night is passed in drunkenness and brawls, until, having reached the last breeding-place on the coast, they return, touch at every isle in succession, shoot as many birds as they need, collect the fresh eggs, and lay in a cargo. At every step each ruffian picks up an egg so beautiful that any man with a feeling heart would pause to consider the motive which could induce him to carry it off. But nothing of this sort occurs to the egger, who gathers and gathers until he has swept the rock bare. The dollars alone chink in his sordid mind, and he assiduously plies the trade which no man would ply who had the talents and industry to procure subsistence by honorable means.

With a bark nearly half filled with fresh eggs they proceed to the principal rock, that on which they first landed. But what is their surprise when they find others there helping themselves as industriously as they can! In boiling rage they charge their guns and ply their oars. Landing on the rock they run up to the eggers, who, like themselves, are desperadoes. The first question is a discharge of musketry, the answer another. Now, man to man, they fight like tigers. One is carried to his boat with a fractured skull, another limps with a shot in his leg, and a third feels how many of his teeth have been driven through the hole in his cheek. At last, however, the quarrel is settled; the booty is to be equally divided; and now see them all drinking together. Oaths and curses and filthy jokes are all that you hear; but see, stuffed with food, and reeling with drink, down they drop one by one; groans and execrations from the wounded mingle with the snoring of the heavy sleepers. There let the brutes lie.

Again it is dawn, but no one stirs. The sun is high; one by one they open their heavy eyes, stretch their limbs, yawn, and raise themselves from the deck. But see, here comes a goodly company. A hundred honest fishermen, who for months past have fed on salt meat, have felt a desire to procure some eggs. Gallantly their boats advance, impelled by the regular pull of their long oars. Each buoyant bark displays the flag of its nation. No weapons do they bring, nor anything that can be used as such save their oars and their fists. Cleanly clad in Sunday attire, they arrive at the desired spot, and at once prepare to ascend the rock. The eggers, now numbering a dozen, all armed with guns and bludgeons, bid defiance to the fishermen. A few angry words pass between the parties. One of the eggers, still under the influence of drink, pulls his trigger, and an unfortunate sailor is seen to reel in agony. Three loud cheers fill the air. All at once rush on the malefactors; a horrid fight ensues, the result of which is that every egger is left on the rock beaten and bruised. Too frequently the fishermen man their boats, row to the shallops, and break every egg in the hold.

The eggers of Labrador not only rob the birds in this cruel manner, but also the fishermen, whenever they can find an opportunity; and the quarrels they excite are numberless. While we were on the coast, none of our party ever ventured on any of the islands which these wretches call their own, without being well provided with means of defence. On one occasion, when I was present, we found two eggers at their work of destruction. I spoke to them respecting my visit, and offered them premiums for rare birds and some of their eggs; but although they made fair promises, not one of the gang ever came near the "Ripley."

These people gather all the eider-down they can find; yet so inconsiderate are they, that they kill every bird which comes in their way. The eggs of Gulls, Guillemots, and Ducks are searched for with care; and the Puffins and some other birds they massacre in vast numbers for the sake of their feathers. So constant and persevering are their depredations that these species, which, according to the accounts of the few settlers I saw in the country, were exceedingly abundant twenty years ago, have abandoned their ancient breeding places, and removed much farther north in search of peaceful security. Scarcely, in fact, could I procure a young Guillemot before the eggers left the coast, nor was it until late in July that I succeeded, after the birds had laid three or four eggs each, instead of one, and when, nature having been exhausted, and the season nearly spent, thousands of these birds left the country without having accomplished the purpose for which they had visited it. This war of extermination cannot last many years more. The eggers themselves will be the first to repent the entire disappearance of the myriads of birds that made the coast of Labrador their summer residence, and unless they follow the persecuted tribes to the northward, they must renounce their trade.


Go where you will, if a shilling can there be procured, you may expect to meet with individuals in search of it.

In the course of last summer, I met with several persons, as well as families, whom I could not compare to anything else than what in America we understand by the appellation of "squatters." The methods they employed to accumulate property form the subject of the observations which I now lay before you.

Our schooner lay at anchor in a beautiful basin on the coast of Labrador, surrounded by uncouth granitic rocks, partially covered with stunted vegetation. While searching for birds and other objects I chanced one morning to direct my eye towards the pinnacle of a small island, separated from the mainland by a very narrow channel, and presently commenced inspecting it with my telescope. There I saw a man on his knees with clasped hands, and face inclined heavenwards. Before him was a small monument of unhewn stones, supporting a wooden cross. In a word, reader, the person whom I thus unexpectedly discovered was engaged in prayer. Such an incident in that desolate land was affecting, for there one seldom finds traces of human beings; and the aid of the Almighty, although necessary everywhere, seems there peculiarly required to enable them to procure the means of subsistence. My curiosity having been raised, I betook myself to my boat, landed on the rock, and scrambled to the place, where I found the man still on his knees. When his devotions were concluded, he bowed to me, and addressed me in very indifferent French. I asked him why he had chosen so dreary a spot for his prayers. "Because," answered he, "the sea lies before me, and from it I receive my spring and summer sustenance. When winter approaches, I pray fronting the mountains on the main, as at that period the Caribous come towards the shore, and I kill them, feed on their flesh, and form my bedding of their skins." I thought the answer reasonable, and as I longed to know more of him, followed him to his hut. It was low, and very small, formed of stones plastered with mud to a considerable thickness. The roof was composed of a sort of thatching made of weeds and moss. A large Dutch stove filled nearly one half the place; a small port-hole then stuffed with old rags, served at times instead of a window; the bed was a pile of Deerskins; a bowl, a jug, and an iron pot were placed on a rude shelf; three old and rusty muskets, their locks fastened by thongs, stood in a corner; and his buckshot, powder, and flints, were tied up in bags of skin. Eight Esquimaux dogs yelled and leaped about us. The strong smell that emanated from them, together with the smoke and filth of the apartment, rendered my stay in it extremely disagreeable.

Being a native of France, the good man showed much politeness, and invited me to take some refreshment, when, without waiting for my assent, he took up his bowl, and went off I knew not whither. No sooner had he and his strange dogs disappeared than I went out also, to breathe the pure air, and gaze on the wild and majestic scenery around. I was struck with the extraordinary luxuriance of the plants and grasses that had sprung up on the scanty soil in the little valley which the squatter had chosen for his home. Their stalks and broad blades reached my waist. June had come, and the flies, mosquitoes, and other insects filled the air, and were as troublesome to me as if I had been in a Florida swamp.

The squatter returned, but he was chop-fallen; nay, I thought his visage had assumed a cadaverous hue. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he told me that his barrel of rum had been stolen by the "eggers" or some fishermen. He said that he had been in the habit of hiding it in the bushes, to prevent its being carried away by those merciless thieves, who must have watched him in some of his frequent walks to the spot. "Now," said he, "I can expect none till next spring, and God knows what will become of me in the winter."

Pierre Jean Baptiste Michaux had resided in that part of the world for upwards of ten years. He had run away from the fishing-smack that had brought him from his fair native land, and expected to become rich some day by the sale of the furs, Seal-skins, eider-down, and other articles, which he collected yearly, and sold to the traders who regularly visited his dreary abode. He was of moderate stature, firmly framed, and as active as a Wild Cat. He told me that excepting the loss of his rum, he had never experienced any other cause of sorrow, and that he felt as "happy as a lord."

Before parting with this fortunate mortal, I inquired how his dogs managed to find sufficient food. "Why, sir, during spring and summer they ramble along the shores, where they meet with abundance of dead fish, and in winter they eat the flesh of the Seals which I kill late in autumn, when these animals return from the north. As to myself, everything eatable is good, and when hard pushed, I relish the fare of my dogs, I assure you, as much as they do themselves."

Proceeding along the rugged indentations of the bay with my companions, I reached the settlement of another person, who, like the first, had come to Labrador with the view of making his fortune. We found him after many difficulties; but as our boats turned a long point jutting out into the bay, we were pleased to see several small schooners at anchor, and one lying near a sort of wharf. Several neat-looking houses enlivened the view, and on landing, we were kindly greeted with a polite welcome from a man who proved to be the owner of the establishment. For the rude simplicity of him of the rum-cask, we found here the manners and dress of a man of the world. A handsome fur cap covered his dark brow, his clothes were similar to our own, and his demeanor was that of a gentleman. On my giving my name to him, he shook me heartily by the hand, and on introducing each of my companions to him, he extended the like courtesy to them also. Then, to my astonishment, he addressed me as follows: "My dear sir, I have been expecting you these three weeks, having read in the papers your intention to visit Labrador; and some fishermen told me of your arrival at Little Natasquam. Gentlemen, walk in."

Having followed him to his neat and comfortable mansion, he introduced us to his wife and children. Of the latter there were six, all robust and rosy. The lady, although a native of the country, was of French extraction, handsome, and sufficiently accomplished to make an excellent companion to a gentleman. A smart girl brought us a luncheon, consisting of bread, cheese, and good port wine, to which, having rowed fourteen or fifteen miles that morning, we helped ourselves in a manner that seemed satisfactory to all parties. Our host gave us newspapers from different parts of the world, and showed us his small, but choice collection of books. He inquired after the health of the amiable Captain Bayfield of the Royal Navy, and the officers under him, and hoped they would give him a call.

Having refreshed ourselves, we walked out with him, when he pointed to a very small garden, where a few vegetables sprouted out, anxious to see the sun. Gazing on the desolate country around, I asked him how he had thus secluded himself from the world. For it he had no relish, and although he had received a liberal education, and had mixed with society, he never intended to return to it. "The country around," said he, "is all my own, much farther than you can see. No fees, no lawyers, no taxes are here. I do pretty much as I choose. My means are ample through my own industry. These vessels come here for Seal-skins, Seal-oil, and salmon, and give me in return all the necessaries, and indeed comforts, of the life I love to follow; and what else could the world afford me?" I spoke of the education of his children. "My wife and I teach them all that is useful for them to know, and is not that enough? My girls will marry their countrymen, my sons the daughters of my neighbors, and I hope all of them will live and die in the country!" I said no more, but by way of compensation for the trouble I had given him, purchased from his eldest child a beautiful Fox's skin.

Few birds, he said, came round him in summer, but in winter thousands of Ptarmigans were killed, as well as great numbers of Gulls. He had a great dislike to all fishermen and eggers, and I really believe was always glad to see the departure even of the hardy navigators who annually visited him for the sake of his salmon, Seal-skins, and oil. He had more than forty Esquimaux dogs; and as I was caressing one of them he said, "Tell my brother-in-law at Bras d'Or, that we are all well here, and that, after visiting my wife's father, I will give him a call."

Now, reader, his wife's father resided at the distance of seventy miles down the coast, and, like himself, was a recluse. He of Bras d'Or, was at double that distance; but, when the snows of winter have thickly covered the country, the whole family, in sledges drawn by dogs, travel with ease, and pay their visits, or leave their cards. This good gentleman had already resided there more than twenty years. Should he ever read this article, I desire him to believe that I shall always be grateful to him and his wife for their hospitable welcome.

When our schooner, the "Ripley," arrived at Bras d'Or, I paid a visit to Mr. --, the brother-in-law, who lived in a house imported from Quebec, which fronted the strait of Belle Isle, and overlooked a small island, over which the eye reached the coast of Newfoundland, whenever it was the wind's pleasure to drive away the fogs that usually lay over both coasts. The gentleman and his wife, we were told, were both out on a walk, but would return in a very short time, which they in fact did, when we followed them into the house, which was yet unfinished. The usual immense Dutch stove formed a principal feature of the interior. The lady had once visited the metropolis of Canada, and seemed desirous of acting the part of a blue-stocking. Understanding that I knew something of the fine arts, she pointed to several of the vile prints hung on the bare walls, which she said were elegant Italian pictures, and continued her encomiums upon them, assuring me that she had purchased them from an Italian, who had come there with a trunk full of them. She had paid a shilling sterling for each, frame included. I could give no answer to the good lady on this subject, but I felt glad to find that she possessed a feeling heart, for one of her children had caught a Siskin, and was tormenting the poor bird, when she rose from her seat, took the little fluttering thing from the boy, kissed it, and gently launched it into the air. This made me quite forget the tattle about the fine arts.

Some excellent milk was poured out for us in clean glasses. It was a pleasing sight, for not a cow had we yet seen in the country. The lady turned the conversation on music, and asked me if I played on any instrument. I answered that I did, but very indifferently. Her forte, she said, was music, of which she was indeed immoderately fond. Her instrument had been sent to Europe to be repaired, but would return that season, when the whole of her children would again perform many beautiful airs; for in fact anybody could use it with ease, as when she or the children felt fatigued, the servant played on it for them. Rather surprised at the extraordinary powers of this family of musicians, I asked what sort of an instrument it was, when she described it as follows: "Gentlemen, my instrument is large, longer than broad, and stands on four legs, like a table. At one end is a crooked handle, by turning which round, either fast or slow, I do assure you we make most excellent music." The lips of my young friends and companions instantly curled, but a glance from me as instantly recomposed their features. Telling the fair one that it must be a hand-organ she used, she laughingly said, "Ah, that is it; it is a hand-organ, but I had forgot the name, and for the life of me could not recollect it."

The husband had gone out to work, and was in the harbor calking an old schooner. He dined with me on board the "Ripley," and proved to be also an excellent fellow. Like his brother-in-law, he had seen much of the world, having sailed nearly round it; and, although no scholar like him, too, he was disgusted with it. He held his land on the same footing as his neighbors, caught Seals without number, lived comfortably and happily, visited his father-in-law and the scholar, by the aid of his dogs, of which he kept a great pack, bartered or sold his commodities, as his relations did, and cared about nothing else in the world. Whenever the weather was fair, he walked with his dame over the moss-covered rocks of the neighborhood; and during winter killed Ptarmigans and Caribous, while his eldest son attended to the traps, and skinned the animals caught in them. He had the only horse that was to be found in that part of the country, as well as several cows; but, above all, he was kind to every one, and every one spoke well of him. The only disagreeable thing about his plantation or settlement, was a heap of fifteen hundred carcasses of skinned Seals, which, at the time when we visited the place, in the month of August, notwithstanding the coolness of the atmosphere, sent forth a stench that, according to the ideas of some naturalists, might have sufficed to attract all the Vultures in the United States.

During our stay at Bras d'Or, the kind-hearted and good Mrs. -- daily sent us fresh milk and butter, for which we were denied the pleasure of making any return.


Although I had seen, as I thought, abundance of fish along the coasts of the Floridas, the numbers which I found in Labrador quite astonished me. Should your surprise while reading the following statements be as great as mine was while observing the facts related, you will conclude, as I have often done, that Nature's means of providing small animals for the use of larger ones, and vice versa, are as ample as is the grandeur of that world which she has so curiously constructed.

The coast of Labrador is visited by European as well as American fishermen, all of whom are, I believe, entitled to claim portions of fishing-ground assigned to each nation by mutual understanding. For the present, however, I shall confine my observations to those of our own country, who, after all, are probably the most numerous. The citizens of Boston, and many others of our eastern seaports, are those who chiefly engage in this department of our commerce. Eastport in Maine sends out every year a goodly fleet of schooners and "pickaxes" to Labrador, to procure Cod, Mackerel, Halibut, and sometimes Herring, the latter being caught in the intermediate space. The vessels from that port, and others in Maine and Massachusetts, sail as soon as the warmth of spring has freed the gulf of ice, that is, from the beginning of May to that of June.

A vessel of one hundred tons or so is provided with a crew of twelve men, who are equally expert as sailors and fishers, and for every couple of these hardy tars, a Hampton boat is provided, which is lashed on the deck, or hung in stays. Their provision is simple, but of good quality, and it is very seldom that any spirits are allowed, beef, pork and biscuit with water being all they take with them. The men are supplied with warm clothing, waterproof oiled jackets and trousers, large boots, broad-brimmed hats with a round crown, and stout mittens, with a few shirts. The owner or captain furnishes them with lines, hooks, and nets, and also provides the bait best adapted to insure success. The hold of the vessel is filled with casks, of various dimensions, some containing salt, and others for the oil that may be procured.

The bait generally used at the beginning of the season consists of mussels salted for the purpose; but as soon as the capelings reach the coast they are substituted to save expense, and in many instances the flesh of Gannets and other sea-fowl is employed. The wages of fishermen vary from sixteen to thirty dollars per month, according to the qualifications of the individual.

The labor of these men is excessively hard, for, unless on Sunday, their allowance of rest in the twenty-four hours seldom exceeds three. The cook is the only person who fares better in this respect, but he must also assist in curing the fish. He has breakfast, consisting of coffee, bread, and meat, ready for the captain and the whole crew, by three o'clock every morning, excepting Sunday. Each person carries with him his dinner ready cooked, which is commonly eaten on the fishing-grounds.

Thus, at three in the morning, the crew are prepared for their day's labor, and ready to betake themselves to their boats, each of which has two oars and lugsails. They all depart at once, and either by rowing or sailing, reach the banks to which the fishes are known to resort. The little squadron drop their anchors at short distances from each other, in a depth of from ten to twenty feet, and the business is immediately commenced. Each man has two lines, and each stands in one end of the boat, the middle of which is boarded off, to hold the fish. The baited lines have been dropped into the water, one on each side of the boat; their leads have reached the bottom, a fish has taken the hook, and after giving the line a slight jerk, the fisherman hauls up his prize with a continued pull, throws the fish athwart a small round bar of iron placed near his back, which forces open the mouth, while the weight of the body, however small the fish may be, tears out the hook. The bait is still good, and over the side the line again goes, to catch another fish, while that on the left is now drawn up, and the same course pursued. In this manner, a fisher busily plying at each end, the operation is continued until the boat is so laden that her gunwale is brought within a few inches of the surface, when they return to the vessel in harbor, seldom distant more than eight miles from the banks.

During the greater part of the day the fishermen have kept up a constant conversation, of which the topics are the pleasure of finding a good supply of cod, their domestic affairs, the political prospects of the nation, and other matters similarly connected. Now the repartee of one elicits a laugh from the other; this passes from man to man, and the whole flotilla enjoy the joke. The men of one boat strive to outdo those of the others in hauling up the greatest quantity of fish in a given time, and this forms another source of merriment. The boats are generally filled about the same time, and all return together.

Arrived at the vessel, each man employs a pole armed with a bent iron, resembling the prong of a hay-fork, with which he pierces the fish, and throws it with a jerk on deck, counting the number thus discharged with a loud voice. Each cargo is thus safely deposited, and the boats instantly return to the fishing-ground, when, after anchoring, the men eat their dinner, and begin anew. There, good reader, with your leave, I will let them pursue their avocations for a while, as I am anxious that you should witness what is doing on board the vessel.

The captain, four men, and the cook have, in the course of the morning, erected long tables fore and aft the main hatchway; they have taken to the shore most of the salt barrels, and have placed in a row their large empty casks, to receive the livers. The hold of the vessel is quite clear, except a corner where is a large heap of salt. And now the men, having dined precisely at twelve, are ready with their large knives. One begins with breaking off the head of the fish, a slight pull of the hand and a gash with the knife, effecting this in a moment. He slits up its belly, with one hand pushes it aside to his neighbor, then throws overboard the head, and begins to doctor another. The next man tears out the entrails, separates the liver, which he throws into a cask, and casts the rest overboard. A third person dexterously passes his knife beneath the vertebr? of the fish, separates them from the flesh, heaves the latter through the hatchway, and the former into the water.

Now, if you will peep into the hold, you will see the last stage of the process, the salting and packing. Six experienced men generally manage to head, clean, bone, salt, and pack all the fish caught in the morning by the return of the boats with fresh cargoes, when all hands set to work, and clear the deck of the fish. Thus their labors continue till midnight, when they wash their faces and hands, put on clean clothes, hang their fishing apparel on the shrouds, and, betaking themselves to the forecastle, are soon in a sound sleep.

At three the next morning, comes the captain from his berth, rubbing his eyes, and in a loud voice calling, "All hands, ho!" Stiffened in limb, and but half awake, the crew quickly appear on the deck. Their fingers and hands are so cramped and swollen by pulling the lines that it is difficult for them to straighten even a thumb; but this matters little at present, for the cook, who had a good nap yesterday, has risen an hour before them, and prepared their coffee and eatables. Breakfast despatched, they exchange their clean clothes for the fishing apparel, and leap into their boats, which had been washed the previous night, and again the flotilla bounds to the fishing-grounds.

As there may not be less than one hundred schooners or pickaxes in the harbor, three hundred boats resort to the banks each day, and, as each boat may procure two thousand Cods per diem, when Saturday night comes about six hundred thousand fishes have been brought to the harbor. This having caused some scarcity on the fishing-grounds, and Sunday being somewhat of an idle day, the captain collects the salt ashore, and sets sail for some other convenient harbor, which he expects to reach long before sunset. If the weather be favorable, the men get a good deal of rest during the voyage, and on Monday things go on as before.

I must not omit to tell you, reader, that, while proceeding from one harbor to another, the vessel has passed near a rock which is the breeding-place of myriads of Puffins. She has laid to for an hour or so, while part of the crew have landed, and collected a store of eggs, excellent as a substitute for cream, and not less so when hard boiled as food for the fishing-grounds. I may as well inform you also how these adventurous fellows distinguish the fresh eggs from the others. They fill up some large tubs with water, throw in a quantity of eggs, and allow them to remain a minute or so, when those which come to the surface are tossed overboard, and even those that manifest any upward tendency share the same treatment. All that remain at bottom, you may depend upon it, good reader, are perfectly sound, and not less palatable than any that you have ever eaten, or that your best guinea fowl has just dropped in your barn-yard. But let us return to the Codfish.

The fish already procured and salted is taken ashore at the new harbor by part of the crew, whom the captain has marked as the worst hands at fishing. There, on the bare rocks, or on elevated scaffolds of considerable extent, the salted Cod are laid side by side to dry in the sun. They are turned several times a day, and in the intervals the men bear a hand on board at clearing and stowing away the daily produce of the fishing-banks. Towards evening they return to the drying-grounds, and put up the fish in piles resembling so many hay-stacks, disposing those towards the top in such a manner that the rain cannot injure them, and placing a heavy stone on the summit to prevent their being thrown down should it blow hard during the night. You see, reader, that the life of a Labrador fisherman is not one of idleness.

The capelings have approached the shores, and in myriads enter every basin and stream, to deposit their spawn, for now July is arrived. The Cods follow them as the bloodhound follows his prey, and their compact masses literally line the shores. The fishermen now adopt another method; they have brought with them long and deep seines, one end of which is by means of a line fastened to the shore, while the other is, in the usual manner, drawn out in a broad sweep, to inclose as great a space as possible, and hauled on shore by means of a capstan. Some of the men, in boats, support the corked part of the net, and beat the water to frighten the fishes within towards the land, while others, armed with poles, enter the water, hook the fishes, and fling them on the beach, the net being gradually drawn closer as the number of fish diminishes. What do you think, reader, as to the number of Cod secured in this manner in a single haul? Thirty, or thirty thousand? You may form some notion of the matter when I tell you that the young gentlemen of my party, while going along the shores, caught Codfish alive with their hands, and trout of many pounds' weight with a piece of twine and a mackerel-hook hung to their gun-rods; and that, if two of them walked knee-deep along the rocks, holding a handkerchief by the corners, they swept it full of capelings. Should you not trust me in this, I refer you to the fishermen themselves, or recommend you to go to Labrador, where you will give credit to the testimony of your eyes.

The seining of the Codfish, I believe, is not quite lawful, for a great proportion of the codlings which are dragged ashore at last are so small as to be considered useless; and, instead of being returned to the water, as they ought to be, are left on the shore, where they are ultimately eaten by Bears, Wolves, and Ravens. The fish taken along the coast, or on fishing stations only a few miles off, are of small dimensions; and I believe I am correct in saying that few of them weigh more than two pounds when perfectly cured, or exceed six when taken out of the water. The fish are liable to several diseases, and at times are annoyed by parasitic animals, which in a short time render them lean and unfit for use.

Some individuals, from laziness or other causes, fish with naked hooks, and thus frequently wound the Cod, without securing them; in consequence of which the shoals are driven away, to the detriment of the other fishers. Some carry their cargoes to other parts before drying them, while others dispose of them to agents from distant shores. Some have only a pickaxe of fifty tons, while others are owners of seven or eight vessels of equal or larger burden; but whatever be their means, should the season prove favorable, they are generally well repaid for their labor. I have known instances of men who, on their first voyage, ranked as "boys," and in ten years after were in independent circumstances, although they still continue to resort to the fishing; for, said they to me, "How could we be content to spend our time in idleness at home?" I know a person of this class who has carried on the trade for many years, and who has quite a little fleet of schooners, one of which, the largest and most beautifully built, has a cabin as neat and comfortable as any that I have ever seen in a vessel of the same size. This vessel took fish on board only when perfectly cured, or acted as pilot to the rest, and now and then would return home with an ample supply of halibut, or a cargo of prime mackerel. On another occasion, I will offer some remarks on the improvements which I think might be made in the Cod-fisheries of the coast of Labrador.


On our return from the singularly wild and interesting country of Labrador, the "Ripley" sailed close along the northern coast of Newfoundland. The weather was mild and clear, and, while my young companions amused themselves on the deck with the music of various instruments, I gazed on the romantic scenery spread along the bold and often magnificent shores. Portions of the wilds appeared covered with a luxuriance of vegetable growth, far surpassing that of the regions which we had just left, and in some of the valleys I thought I saw trees of moderate size. The number of habitations increased apace, and many small vessels and boats danced on the waves of the coves which we passed. Here a precipitous shore looked like the section of a great mountain, of which the lost half had sunk into the depths of the sea, and the dashing of the waters along its base was such as to alarm the most daring seaman. The huge masses of broken rock impressed my mind with awe and reverence, as I thought of the power that still gave support to the gigantic fragments which everywhere hung, as if by magic, over the sea, awaiting, as it were, the proper moment to fall upon and crush the impious crew of some piratical vessel. There, again, gently swelling hills reared their heads towards the sky, as if desirous of existing within the influence of its azure purity; and I thought the bleatings of Reindeer came on my ear. Dark clouds of Curlews were seen winging their way towards the south, and thousands of Larks and Warblers were flitting through the air. The sight of these birds excited in me a wish that I also had wings to fly back to my country and friends.

Early one morning our vessel doubled the northern cape of the Bay of St. George, and, as the wind was light, the sight of that magnificent expanse of water, which extends inward to the length of eighteen leagues, with a breadth of thirteen, gladdened the hearts of all on board. A long range of bold shores bordered it on one side, throwing a deep shadow over the water, which added greatly to the beauty of the scene. On the other side, the mild beams of the autumnal sun glittered on the water, and whitened the sails of the little barks that were sailing to and fro, like so many silvery Gulls. The welcome sight of cattle feeding in cultivated meadows, and of people at their avocations, consoled us for the labors which we had undergone, and the privations which we had suffered; and, as the "Ripley" steered her course into a snug harbor that suddenly opened to our view, the number of vessels that were anchored there, and a pretty village that presented itself increased our delight.

Although the sun was fast approaching the western horizon when our anchor was dropped, no sooner were the sails furled than we all went ashore. There appeared a kind of curious bustle among the people, as if they were anxious to know who we were; for our appearance, and that of our warlike looking schooner showed that we were not fishermen. As we bore our usual arms and hunting accoutrements, which were half Indian and half civilized, the individuals we met on shore manifested considerable suspicion, which our captain observing, he instantly made a signal, when the star-spangled banner glided to the mast-head, and saluted the flags of France and Britain in kindly greeting. We were welcomed and supplied with abundance of fresh provisions. Glad at once more standing on something like soil, we passed through the village, and walked round it, but as night was falling were quickly obliged to return to our floating home, where, after a hearty supper, we serenaded with repeated glees the peaceful inhabitants of the village.

At early dawn I was on deck admiring the scene of industry that presented itself. The harbor was already covered with fishing-boats employed in procuring mackerel, some of which we appropriated to ourselves. Signs of cultivation were observed on the slopes of the hills, the trees seemed of goodly size, a river made its way between two ranges of steep rocks, and here and there a group of Micmac Indians were searching along the shores for lobsters, crabs, and eels, all of which we found abundant and delicious. A canoe laden with Reindeer meat came alongside, paddled by a pair of athletic Indians, who exchanged their cargo for some of our stores. You would have been amused to see the manner in which these men, and their families on shore cooked the lobsters; they threw them alive into a great wood fire, and as soon as they were broiled devoured them, while yet so hot that none of us could have touched them. When properly cooled, I tasted these roasted lobsters, and found them infinitely better flavored than boiled ones. The country was represented as abounding in game. The temperature was higher by twenty degrees than that of Labrador, and yet I was told that the ice in the bay seldom broke up before the middle of May, and that few vessels attempted to go to Labrador before the 10th of June, when the cod-fishery at once commences.

One afternoon we were visited by a deputation from the inhabitants of the village, inviting our whole party to a ball which was to take place that night, and requesting us to take with us our musical instruments. We unanimously accepted the invitation, which had been made from friendly feelings; and finding that the deputies had a relish for "old Jamaica" we helped them pretty freely to some, which soon showed that it had lost nothing of its energies by having visited Labrador. At ten o'clock, the appointed hour, we landed, and were lighted to the dancing-hall by paper lanterns, one of us carrying a flute, another a violin, and I with a flageolet stuck into my waistcoat pocket.

The hall proved nothing else than the ground-floor of a fisherman's house. We were presented to his wife, who, like her neighbors, was an adept in the piscatory art. She courtesied, not à la Taglioni, it is true, but with a modest assurance, which to me was quite as pleasing as the airiness with which the admired performer just mentioned might have paid her respects. The good woman was rather unprepared, and quite en negligée, as was the apartment, but full of activity, and anxious to arrange things in becoming style. In one hand she held a bunch of candles, in the other a lighted torch, and distributing the former at proper intervals along the walls, she applied the latter to them in succession. This done, she emptied the contents of a large tin vessel into a number of glasses, which were placed on a tea-tray on the only table in the room. The chimney, black and capacious, was embellished with coffee-pots, milk-jugs, cups and saucers, knives and forks, and all the paraphernalia necessary on so important an occasion. A set of primitive wooden stools and benches was placed around, for the reception of the belles of the village, some of whom now dropped in, flourishing in all the rosy fatness produced by an invigorating northern climate, and in decoration vying with the noblest Indian queen of the West. Their stays seemed ready to burst open, and their shoes were equally pressed. Around their necks, brilliant beads mingled with ebony tresses, and their naked arms might have inspired apprehension had they not been constantly employed in arranging flowing ribbons, gaudy flowers, and muslin flounces.

Now arrived one of the beaux, just returned from the fishing, who, knowing all, and being equally known, leaped without ceremony on the loose boards that formed a kind of loft overhead, where he soon exchanged his dripping apparel for a dress suited to the occasion, when he dropped upon the floor, and strutting up and down, bowed and scraped to the ladies, with as much ease, if not elegance, as a Bond Street highly scented exquisite. Others came in by degrees, ready dressed, and music was called for. My son, by way of overture, played "Hail Columbia, happy land," then went on with "La Marseillaise," and ended with "God save the King." Being merely a spectator, I ensconced myself in a corner, by the side of an old European gentleman, whom I found an agreeable and well informed companion, to admire the decorum of the motley assemblage.

The dancers stood in array, little time having been spent in choosing partners, and a Canadian accompanying my son on his Cremona, mirth and joy soon abounded. Dancing is certainly one of the most healthful and innocent amusements; I have loved it a vast deal more than watching for the nibble of a trout, and I have sometimes thought the enjoyment of it softened my nature as much as the pale, pure light of the moon softens and beautifies a winter night. A maiden lady who sat at my side, and who was the only daughter of my talkative companion, relished my remarks on the subject so much that the next set saw her gracing the floor with her tutored feet.

At each pause of the musicians refreshments were handed round by the hostess and her son, and I was not a little surprised to see all the ladies, maids and matrons, swallow, like their sweethearts and husbands, a full glass of pure rum, with evident pleasure. I should perhaps have recollected that, in cold climates, a glass of ardent spirits is not productive of the same effects as in burning latitudes, and that refinement had not yet induced these healthy and robust dames to affect a delicacy foreign to their nature.

It was now late, and knowing how much I had to accomplish next day, I left the party and proceeded to the shore. My men were sound asleep in the boat, but in a few moments I was on board the "Ripley." My young friends arrived towards daylight, but many of the fishermen's sons and daughters kept up the dance, to the music of the Canadian, until after our breakfast was over.


It was in the month of May that I sailed in the United States revenue cutter, the "Swiftsure," engaged in a cruise in the Bay of Fundy. Our sails were quickly unfurled and spread out to the breeze. The vessel seemed to fly over the surface of the liquid element, as the sun rose in full splendor, while the clouds that floated here and there formed, with their glowing hues, a rich contrast with the pure azure of the heavens above us. We approached apace the island of Grand Menan, of which the stupendous cliffs gradually emerged from the deep with the majestic boldness of her noblest native chief. Soon our bark passed beneath its craggy head, covered with trees, which, on account of the height, seemed scarcely larger than shrubs. The prudent Raven spread her pinions, launched from the cliff, and flew away before us; the Golden Eagle, soaring aloft, moved majestically along in wide circles; the Guillemots sat on their eggs upon the shelving precipices, or plunging into the water, dived, and rose again at a great distance; the broad-breasted Eider Duck covered her eggs among the grassy tufts; on a naked rock the Seal lazily basked, its sleek sides glistening in the sunshine; while shoals of porpoises were swiftly gliding through the waters around us, showing by their gambols that, although doomed to the deep, their life was not devoid of pleasure. Far away stood the bold shores of Nova Scotia, gradually fading in the distance, of which the gray tints beautifully relieved the wing-like sails of many a fishing bark.

Cape after cape, forming eddies and counter currents far too terrific to be described by a landsman, we passed in succession, until we reached a deep cove, near the shores of White Head Island, which is divided from Grand Menan by a narrow strait, where we anchored secure from every blast that could blow. In a short time we found ourselves under the roof of Captain Frankland, the sole owner of the isle, of which the surface contains about fifteen hundred acres. He received us all with politeness and gave us permission to seek out its treasures, which we immediately set about doing, for I was anxious to study the habits of certain Gulls that breed there in great numbers. As Captain Coolidge, our worthy commander, had assured me, we found them on their nests on almost every tree of a wood that covered several acres. What a treat, reader, was it to find birds of this kind lodged on fir-trees, and sitting comfortably on their eggs! Their loud cackling notes led us to their place of resort, and ere long we had satisfactorily observed their habits, and collected as many of themselves and their eggs as we considered sufficient. In our walks we noticed a Rat, the only quadruped found on the island, and observed abundance of gooseberries, currants, raspberries, strawberries, and huckleberries. Seating ourselves on the summit of the rocks, in view of the vast Atlantic, we spread out our stores, and refreshed ourselves with our simple fare.

Now we followed the objects of our pursuit through the tangled woods, now carefully picked our steps over the spongy grounds. The air was filled with the melodious concerts of birds, and all Nature seemed to smile in quiet enjoyment. We wandered about until the setting sun warned us to depart, when, returning to the house of the proprietor, we sat down to an excellent repast, and amused ourselves with relating anecdotes and forming arrangements for the morrow. Our captain complimented us on our success, when we reached the "Swiftsure," and in due time we betook ourselves to our hammocks.

The next morning, a strange sail appearing in the distance, preparations were instantly made to pay her commander a visit. The signal staff of White Head Island displayed the British flag, while Captain Frankland and his men stood on the shore, and as we gave our sails to the wind, three hearty cheers filled the air, and were instantly responded to by us. The vessel was soon approached, but all was found right with her, and squaring our yards, onward we sped, cheerily bounding over the gay billows, until our captain sent us ashore at Eastport.

At another time my party was received on board the revenue cutter's tender, the "Fancy,"-a charming name for so beautiful a craft. We set sail towards evening. The cackling of the "old wives" that covered the bay filled me with delight, and thousands of Gulls and Cormorants seemed as if anxious to pilot us into Head Harbor Bay, where we anchored for the night. Leaping on the rugged shore, we made our way to the lighthouse, where we found Mr. Snelling, a good and honest Englishman from Devonshire. His family consisted of three wild-looking lasses, beautiful, like the most finished productions of nature. In his lighthouse snugly ensconced, he spent his days in peaceful forgetfulness of the world, subsisting principally on the fish of the bay.

When day broke, how delightful it was to see fair Nature open her graceful eyelids, and present herself arrayed in all that was richest and purest before her Creator. Ah, reader, how indelibly are such moments engraved on my soul! With what ardor have I at such times gazed around me, full of the desire of being enabled to comprehend all that I saw! How often have I longed to converse with the feathered inhabitants of the forest, all of which seemed then intent on offering up their thanks to the object of my own adoration! But the wish could not be gratified, although I now feel satisfied that I have enjoyed as much of the wonders and beauties of nature as it was proper for me to enjoy. The delightful trills of the Winter Wren rolled through the underwood, the Red Squirrel smacked time with his chops, the loud notes of the Robin sounded clearly from the tops of the trees, the rosy Grosbeak nipped the tender blossoms of the maples, and high overhead the Loons passed in pairs, rapidly wending their way towards far distant shores. Would that I could have followed in their wake! The hour of our departure had come; and, as we sailed up the bay, our pilot, who had been fishing for cod, was taken on board. A few of his fish were roasted on a plank before the embers, and formed the principal part of our breakfast. The breeze was light, and it was not until afternoon that we arrived at Point Lepreaux Harbor, where every one, making choice of his course, went in search of curiosities and provender.

Now, reader, the little harbor in which, if you wish it, we shall suppose we still are, is renowned for a circumstance which I feel much inclined to endeavor to explain to you. Several species of Ducks, that in myriads cover the waters of the Bay of Fundy, are at times destroyed in this particular spot in a very singular manner. When July has come, all the water birds that are no longer capable of reproducing, remain like so many forlorn bachelors and old maids, to renew their plumage along the shores. At the period when these poor birds are unfit for flight, troops of Indians make their appearance in light bark canoes, paddled by their squaws and papooses. They form their flotilla into an extended curve, and drive before them the birds, not in silence, but with simultaneous horrific yells, at the same time beating the surface of the water with long poles and paddles. Terrified by the noise, the birds swim a long way before them, endeavoring to escape with all their might. The tide is high, every cove is filled, and into the one where we now are, thousands of Ducks are seen entering. The Indians have ceased to shout, and the canoes advance side by side. Time passes on, the tide swiftly recedes as it rose, and there are the birds left on the beach. See with what pleasure each wild inhabitant of the forest seizes his stick, the squaws and younglings following with similar weapons! Look at them rushing on their prey, falling on the disabled birds, and smashing them with their cudgels, until all are destroyed! In this manner upwards of five hundred wild fowls have often been procured in a few hours.

Three pleasant days were spent at Point Lepreaux, when the "Fancy" spread her wings to the breeze. In one harbor we fished for shells with a capital dredge, and in another searched along the shore for eggs. The Passamaquoddy chief is seen gliding swiftly over the deep in his fragile bark. He has observed a porpoise breathing. Watch him, for now he is close upon the unsuspecting dolphin. He rises erect, aims his musket; smoke rises curling from the pan, and rushes from the iron tube, when soon after the report comes on the ear. Meantime the porpoise has suddenly turned back downwards,-it is dead. The body weighs a hundred pounds or more, but this to the tough-fibred son of the woods is nothing; he reaches it with his muscular arms, and at a single jerk, while with his legs he dexterously steadies the canoe, he throws it lengthwise at his feet. Amidst the highest waves of the Bay of Fundy, these feats are performed by the Indians during the whole of the season when the porpoises resort thither.

You have often, no doubt, heard of the extraordinary tides of this bay; so had I, but, like others, I was loath to believe the reports were strictly true. So I went to the pretty town of Windsor in Nova Scotia, to judge for myself. But let us leave the "Fancy" for a while, and imagine ourselves at Windsor. Late one day in August my companions and I were seated on the grassy and elevated bank of the river, about eighty feet or so above its bed, which was almost dry, and extended for nine miles below like a sandy wilderness. Many vessels lay on the high banks taking in their lading of gypsum. We thought the appearance very singular, but we were too late to watch the tide that evening. Next morning we resumed our station, and soon perceived the water flowing towards us, and rising with a rapidity of which we had previously seen no example. We planted along the steep declivity of the bank a number of sticks, each three feet long, the base of one being placed on a level with the top of that below it, and when about half flow the tide reached their tops, one after another, rising three feet in ten minutes, or eighteen in the hour; and, at high water the surface was sixty-five feet above the bed of the river! On looking for the vessels which we had seen the preceding evening, we were told most of them were gone with the night tide.

But now we are again on board the "Fancy;" Mr. Claredge stands near the pilot, who sits next to the man at the helm. On we move swiftly for the breeze has freshened; many islands we pass in succession; the wind increases to a gale; with reefed sails we dash along, and now rapidly pass a heavily laden sloop gallantly running across our course with undiminished sail; when suddenly we see her upset. Staves and spars are floating around, and presently we observe three men scrambling up her sides, and seating themselves on the keel, where they make signals of distress to us. By this time we have run to a great distance; but Claredge, cool and prudent, as every seaman ought to be, has already issued his orders to the helmsman and crew, and now near the wind we gradually approach the sufferers. A line is thrown to them, and the next moment we are alongside the vessel. A fisher's boat, too, has noticed the disaster; and, with long strokes of her oars, advances, now rising on the curling wave, and now sinking out of sight. By our mutual efforts the men are brought on board, and the sloop is slowly towed into a safe harbor. An hour later my party was safely landed at Eastport, where, on looking over the waters, and observing the dense masses of vapor that veiled the shores, we congratulated ourselves at having escaped from the Bay of Fundy.


Many of our larger streams, such as the Mississippi, the Ohio, the Illinois, the Arkansas, and the Red River, exhibit at certain seasons the most extensive overflowings of their waters, to which the name of floods is more appropriate than the term freshets, usually applied to the sudden risings of smaller streams. If we consider the vast extent of country through which an inland navigation is afforded by the never-failing supply of water furnished by these wonderful rivers, we cannot suppose them exceeded in magnitude by any other in the known world. It will easily be imagined what a wonderful spectacle must present itself to the eye of the traveller who for the first time views the enormous mass of waters, collected from the vast central regions of our continent, booming along, turbid and swollen to overflowing, in the broad channels of the Mississippi and Ohio, the latter of which has a course of more than a thousand miles, and the former of several thousands.

To give you some idea of a Booming Flood of these gigantic streams, it is necessary to state the causes which give rise to it. These are, the sudden melting of the snows on the mountains, and heavy rains continued for several weeks. When it happens that, during a severe winter, the Alleghany Mountains have been covered with snow to the depth of several feet, and the accumulated mass has remained unmelted for a length of time, the materials of a flood are thus prepared. It now and then happens that the winter is hurried off by a sudden increase of temperature, when the accumulated snows melt away simultaneously over the whole country, and the southeasterly wind, which then usually blows, brings along with it a continued fall of heavy rain, which, mingling with the dissolving snow, deluges the alluvial portions of the western country, filling up the rivulets, ravines, creeks, and small rivers. These delivering their waters to the great streams, cause the latter not merely to rise to a surprising height, but to overflow their banks, wherever the land is low. On such occasions the Ohio itself presents a splendid, and at the same time, an appalling spectacle; but when its waters mingle with those of the Mississippi, then, kind reader, is the time to view an American flood in all its astonishing magnificence.

At the foot of the Falls of the Ohio, the water has been known to rise upwards of sixty feet above its lowest level. The river, at this point, has already run a course of nearly seven hundred miles from its origin at Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania, during which it has received the waters of its numberless tributaries, and overflowing all the bottom lands or valleys, has swept along the fences and dwellings which have been unable to resist its violence. I could relate hundreds of incidents which might prove to you the dreadful effects of such an inundation, and which have been witnessed by thousands besides myself. I have known, for example, of a cow swimming through a window, elevated at least seven feet from the ground, and sixty-two feet above low-water mark. The house was then surrounded by water from the Ohio, which runs in front of it, while the neighboring country was overflowed; yet, the family did not remove from it, but remained in its upper portion, having previously taken off the sashes of the lower windows, and opened the doors. But let us return to the Mississippi.

There the overflow is astonishing, for no sooner has the water reached the upper part of the banks than it rushes out and overspreads the whole of the neighboring swamps, presenting an ocean overgrown with stupendous forest-trees. So sudden is the calamity that every individual, whether man or beast, has to exert his utmost ingenuity to enable him to escape from the dreaded element. The Indian quickly removes to the hills of the interior, the cattle and game swim to the different strips of land that remain uncovered in the midst of the flood, or attempt to force their way through the waters until they perish from fatigue. Along the banks of the river, the inhabitants have rafts ready made, on which they remove themselves, their cattle, and their provisions, and which they then fasten with ropes or grape-vines to the larger trees, while they contemplate the melancholy spectacle presented by the current, as it carries off their houses and wood-yards piece by piece. Some who have nothing to lose, and are usually known by the name of squatters, take this opportunity of traversing the woods in canoes, for the purpose of procuring game, and particularly the skins of animals, such as the Deer and Bear, which may be converted into money. They resort to the low ridges surrounded by the waters, and destroy thousands of Deer, merely for their skins, leaving the flesh to putrefy.

The river itself, rolling its swollen waters along, presents a spectacle of the most imposing nature. Although no large vessel, unless propelled by steam, can now make its way against the current, it is seen covered by boats, laden with produce, which, running out from all the smaller streams, float silently towards the city of New Orleans, their owners meanwhile not very well assured of finding a landing-place even there. The water is covered with yellow foam and pumice, the latter having floated from the Rocky Mountains of the Northwest. The eddies are larger and more powerful than ever. Here and there tracts of forest are observed undermined, the trees gradually giving way, and falling into the stream. Cattle, horses, Bears, and Deer are seen at times attempting to swim across the impetuous mass of foaming and boiling water; whilst here and there a Vulture or an Eagle is observed perched on a bloated carcass, tearing it up in pieces, as regardless of the flood as on former occasions it would have been of the numerous sawyers and planters with which the surface of the river is covered when the water is low. Even the steamer is frequently distressed. The numberless trees and logs that float along break its paddles, and retard its progress. Besides, it is on such occasions difficult to procure fuel to maintain its fires; and it is only at very distant intervals that a wood-yard can be found which the water has not carried off.

Following the river in your canoe, you reach those parts of the shores that are protected against the overflowings of the waters, and are called levees. There you find the whole population of the district at work repairing and augmenting those artificial barriers, which are several feet above the level of the fields. Every person appears to dread the opening of a crevasse, by which the waters may rush into his fields. In spite of all exertions, however, the crevasse opens, the water bursts impetuously over the plantations, and lays waste the crops which so lately were blooming in all the luxuriance of spring. It opens up a new channel, which, for aught I know to the contrary, may carry its waters even to the Mexican Gulf.

I have floated on the Mississippi and Ohio when thus swollen, and have in different places visited the submersed lands of the interior, propelling a light canoe by the aid of a paddle. In this manner I have traversed immense portions of the country overflowed by the waters of these rivers, and particularly when floating over the Mississippi bottom-lands I have been struck with awe at the sight. Little or no current is met with, unless when the canoe passes over the bed of a bayou. All is silent and melancholy, unless when the mournful bleating of the hemmed-in Deer reaches your ear, or the dismal scream of an Eagle or a Raven is heard, as the foul bird rises, disturbed by your approach, from the carcass on which it was allaying its craving appetite. Bears, Cougars, Lynxes, and all other quadrupeds that can ascend the trees are observed crouched among their top branches. Hungry in the midst of abundance, although they see floating around them the animals on which they usually prey, they dare not venture to swim to them. Fatigued by the exertions which they have made to reach the dry land, they will there stand the hunter's fire, as if to die by a ball were better than to perish amid the waste of waters. On occasions like this, all these animals are shot by hundreds.

Opposite the city of Natchez, which stands on a bluff bank of considerable elevation, the extent of inundated land is immense, the greater portion of the tract lying between the Mississippi and the Red River, which is more than thirty miles in breadth, being under water. The mail-bag has often been carried through the immersed forests, in a canoe, for even a greater distance, in order to be forwarded to Natchitochez.

But now, kind reader, observe this great flood gradually subsiding, and again see the mighty changes which it has effected. The waters have now been carried into the distant ocean. The earth is everywhere covered by a deep deposit of muddy loam, which in drying splits into deep and narrow chasms, presenting a reticulated appearance, and from which, as the weather becomes warmer, disagreeable, and at times noxious, exhalations arise, and fill the lower stratum of the atmosphere as with a dense fog. The banks of the river have almost everywhere been broken down in a greater or less degree. Large streams are now found to exist, where none were formerly to be seen, having forced their way in direct lines from the upper parts of the bends. These are by the navigator called short-cuts. Some of them have proved large enough to produce a change in the navigation of the Mississippi. If I mistake not, one of these, known by the name of the Grand Cut-off, and only a few miles in length, has diverted the river from its natural course, and has shortened it by fifty miles. The upper parts of the islands present a bulwark consisting of an enormous mass of floated trees of all kinds, which have lodged there. Large sand-banks have been completely removed by the impetuous whirls of the waters, and have been deposited in other places. Some appear quite new to the eye of the navigator, who has to mark their situation and bearings in his log-book. The trees on the margins of the banks have in many parts given way. They are seen bending over the stream, like the grounded arms of an overwhelmed army of giants. Everywhere are heard the lamentations of the farmer and planter, whilst their servants and themselves are busily employed in repairing the damages occasioned by the floods. At one crevasse an old ship or two, dismantled for the purpose, are sunk, to obstruct the passage opened by the still rushing waters, while new earth is brought to fill up the chasms. The squatter is seen shouldering his rifle, and making his way through the morass, in search of his lost stock, to drive the survivors home, and save the skins of the drowned. New fences have everywhere to be formed; even new houses must be erected, to save which from a like disaster, the settler places them on an elevated platform supported by pillars made by the trunks of trees. The land must be ploughed anew, and if the season is not too far advanced, a crop of corn and potatoes may yet be raised. But the rich prospects of the planter are blasted. The traveller is impeded in his journey, the creeks and smaller streams having broken up their banks in a degree proportionate to their size. A bank of sand, which seems firm and secure, suddenly gives way beneath the traveller's horse, and the next moment the animal has sunk in the quicksand, either to the chest in front, or over the crupper behind, leaving its master in a situation not to be envied.

Unlike the mountain torrents and small rivers of other parts of the world, the Mississippi rises but slowly during these floods, continuing for several weeks to increase at the rate of about an inch a day. When at its height, it undergoes little fluctuation for some days, and after this, subsides as slowly as it rose. The usual duration of a flood is from four to six weeks, although, on some occasions, it is protracted to two months.

Every one knows how largely the idea of floods and cataclysms enters into the speculations of the geologist. If the streamlets of the European continent afford illustrations of the formation of strata, how much more must the Mississippi, with its ever-shifting sand-banks, its crumbling shores, its enormous masses of drift timber, the source of future beds of coal, its extensive and varied alluvial deposits, and its mighty mass of waters rolling sullenly along, like the flood of eternity.


Although every European traveller who has glided down the Mississippi, at the rate of ten miles an hour, has told his tale of the squatters, yet none has given any other account of them, than that they are "a sallow, sickly looking sort of miserable beings," living in swamps, and subsisting on pig-nuts, Indian-corn, and Bear's-flesh. It is obvious, however, that none but a person acquainted with their history, manners, and condition, can give any real information respecting them.

The individuals who become squatters, choose that sort of life of their own free will. They mostly remove from other parts of the United States, after finding that land has become too high in price, and they are persons who, having a family of strong and hardy children, are anxious to enable them to provide for themselves. They have heard from good authorities that the country extending along the great streams of the West, is of all parts of the Union, the richest in its soil, the growth of its timber, and the abundance of its game; that, besides, the Mississippi is the great road to and from all the markets in the world; and that every vessel borne by its waters affords to settlers some chance of selling their commodities, or of exchanging them for others. To these recommendations is added another, of even greater weight with persons of the above denomination, namely, the prospect of being able to settle on land, and perhaps to hold it for a number of years, without purchase, rent or tax of any kind. How many thousands of individuals in all parts of the globe would gladly try their fortune with such prospects, I leave to you, reader, to determine.

As I am not disposed too highly to color the picture which I am about to submit to your inspection, instead of pitching on individuals who have removed from our eastern boundaries, and of whom certainly there are a good number, I shall introduce to you the members of a family from Virginia, first giving you an idea of their condition in that country, previous to their migration to the west. The land which they and their ancestors have possessed for a hundred years, having been constantly forced to produce crops of one kind or another, is now completely worn out. It exhibits only a superficial layer of red clay, cut up by deep ravines, through which much of the soil has been conveyed to some more fortunate neighbor, residing in a yet rich and beautiful valley. Their strenuous efforts to render it productive have failed. They dispose of everything too cumbrous or expensive for them to remove, retaining only a few horses, a servant or two, and such implements of husbandry and other articles as may be necessary on their journey, or useful when they arrive at the spot of their choice.

I think I see them at this moment harnessing their horses, and attaching them to their wagons, which are already filled with bedding, provisions, and the younger children, while on their outside are fastened spinning-wheels and looms, and a bucket filled with tar and tallow swings between the hind wheels. Several axes are secured to the bolster, and the feeding-trough of the horses contains pots, kettles, and pans. The servant, now become a driver, rides the near saddled horse, the wife is mounted on another, the worthy husband shoulders his gun, and his sons, clad in plain substantial homespun, drive the cattle ahead, and lead the procession, followed by the hounds and other dogs. Their day's journey is short, and not agreeable; the cattle, stubborn or wild, frequently leave the road for the woods, giving the travellers much trouble; the harness of the horses here and there gives way, and needs immediate repair; a basket, which has accidentally dropped, must be gone after, for nothing that they have can be spared; the roads are bad, and now and then all hands are called to push on the wagon, or prevent it from upsetting. Yet by sunset they have proceeded perhaps twenty miles. Rather fatigued, all assemble round the fire, which has been lighted, supper is prepared, and a camp being erected, there they pass the night.

Days and weeks, nay months, of unremitting toil, pass before they gain the end of their journey. They have crossed both the Carolinas, Georgia, and Alabama. They have been travelling from the beginning of May to that of September, and with heavy hearts they traverse the State of Mississippi. But now, arrived on the banks of the broad stream, they gaze in amazement on the dark deep woods around them. Boats of various kinds they see gliding downwards with the current, while others slowly ascend against it. A few inquiries are made at the nearest dwelling, and assisted by the inhabitants with their boats, and canoes, they at once cross the Mississippi, and select their place of habitation.

The exhalations arising from the swamps and morasses around them have a powerful effect on these new settlers, but all are intent on preparing for the winter. A small patch of ground is cleared by the axe and the fire, a temporary cabin is erected, to each of the cattle is attached a jingling bell before it is let loose into the neighboring cane-brake, and the horses remain about the house, where they find sufficient food at that season. The first trading-boat that stops at their landing, enables them to provide themselves with some flour, fish-hooks, and ammunition, as well as other commodities. The looms are mounted, the spinning-wheels soon furnish some yarn, and in a few weeks the family throw off their ragged clothes, and array themselves in suits adapted to the climate. The father and sons meanwhile have sown turnips and other vegetables; and from some Kentucky flatboat, a supply of live poultry has been procured.

October tinges the leaves of the forest, the morning dews are heavy, the days hot, the nights chill, and the unacclimated family in a few days are attacked with ague. The lingering disease almost prostrates their whole faculties, and one seeing them at such a period might well call them sallow and sickly. Fortunately the unhealthy season soon passes over, and the hoar-frosts make their appearance. Gradually each individual recovers strength. The largest ash-trees are felled; their trunks are cut, split, and corded in front of the building; a large fire is lighted at night on the edge of the water, and soon a steamer calls to purchase the wood, and thus add to their comforts during the winter.

The first fruit of their industry imparts new courage to them; their exertions multiply, and when spring returns, the place has a cheerful look. Venison, Bear's-flesh, Wild Turkeys, Ducks and Geese, with now and then some fish, have served to keep up their strength, and now their enlarged field is planted with corn, potatoes, and pumpkins. Their stock of cattle, too, has augmented; the steamer, which now stops there as if by preference, buys a calf or a pig, together with the whole of their wood. Their store of provisions is renewed, and brighter rays of hope enliven their spirits.

Who is he of the settlers on the Mississippi that cannot realize some profit? Truly none who is industrious. When the autumnal months return, all are better prepared to encounter the ague which then prevails. Substantial food, suitable clothing, and abundant firing, repel its attacks; and before another twelvemonth has elapsed the family is naturalized. The sons have by this time discovered a swamp covered with excellent timber, and as they have seen many great rafts of saw logs, bound for the mills of New Orleans, floating past their dwelling, they resolve to try the success of a little enterprise. Their industry and prudence have already enhanced their credit. A few cross-saws are purchased, and some broad-wheeled "carry-logs" are made by themselves. Log after log, is hauled to the bank of the river, and in a short time their first raft is made on the shore, and loaded with cord-wood. When the next freshet sets it afloat, it is secured by long grape-vines or cables, until the proper time being arrived, the husband and sons embark on it, and float down the mighty stream.

After encountering many difficulties, they arrive in safety at New Orleans, where they dispose of their stock, the money obtained for which may be said to be all profit, supply themselves with such articles as may add to their convenience or comfort, and with light hearts procure a passage on the upper deck of a steamer, at a very cheap rate, on account of the benefit of their labor in taking in wood or otherwise.

And now the vessel approaches their home. See the joyous mother and daughters as they stand on the bank! A store of vegetables lies around them, a large tub of fresh milk is at their feet, and in their hands are plates, filled with rolls of butter. As the steamer stops, three broad straw hats are waved from the upper deck, and soon husband and wife, brothers and sisters, are in each other's embrace. The boat carries off the provisions for which value has been left, and as the captain issues his orders for putting on the steam, the happy family enter their humble dwelling. The husband gives his bag of dollars to the wife, while the sons present some token of affection to the sisters. Surely, at such a moment, the squatters are richly repaid for all their labors.

Every successive year has increased their savings. They now possess a large stock of horses, cows, and hogs, with abundance of provisions, and domestic comfort of every kind. The daughters have been married to the sons of neighboring squatters, and have gained sisters to themselves by the marriage of their brothers. The government secures to the family the lands on which, twenty years before, they settled in poverty and sickness. Larger buildings are erected on piles, secure from the inundations; where a single cabin once stood, a neat village is now to be seen; warehouses, stores, and workshops increase the importance of the place. The squatters live respected, and in due time die regretted by all who knew them.

Thus are the vast frontiers of our country peopled, and thus does cultivation, year after year, extend over the western wilds. Time will no doubt be, when the great valley of the Mississippi, still covered with primeval forests interspersed with swamps, will smile with corn-fields and orchards, while crowded cities will rise at intervals along its banks, and enlightened nations will rejoice in the bounties of Providence.


I have so frequently spoken of the Mississippi that an account of the progress of navigation on that extraordinary stream may be interesting even to the student of nature. I shall commence with the year 1808, at which time a great portion of the western country, and the banks of the Mississippi River, from above the city of Natchez particularly, were little more than a waste, or to use words better suited to my feelings, remained in their natural state. To ascend the great stream against a powerful current, rendered still stronger wherever islands occurred, together with the thousands of sand-banks, as liable to changes and shiftings as the alluvial shores themselves, which at every deep curve or bend were seen giving way, as if crushed down by the weight of the great forests that everywhere reached to the very edge of the water, and falling and sinking in the muddy stream by acres at a time, was an adventure of no small difficulty and risk, and which was rendered more so by the innumerable logs, called sawyers and planters, that everywhere raised their heads above the water, as if bidding defiance to all intruders. Few white inhabitants had yet marched towards its shores, and these few were of a class little able to assist the navigator. Here and there a solitary encampment of native Indians might be seen, but its inmates were as likely to prove foes as friends, having from their birth been made keenly sensible of the encroachments of the white men upon their lands.

Such was then the nature of the Mississippi and its shores. That river was navigated, principally in the direction of the current, in small canoes, pirogues, keel-boats, some flatboats, and a few barges. The canoes and pirogues, being generally laden with furs from the different heads of streams that feed the great river, were of little worth after reaching the market of New Orleans, and seldom reascended, the owners making their way home through the woods, amidst innumerable difficulties. The flatboats were demolished and used as fire-wood. The keel-boats and barges were employed in conveying produce of different kinds besides furs, such as lead, flour, pork, and other articles. These returned laden with sugar, coffee, and dry goods suited for the markets of St. Geneviève and St. Louis on the upper Mississippi, or branched off and ascended the Ohio to the foot of the Falls near Louisville in Kentucky. But, reader, follow their movements, and judge for yourself of the fatigues, troubles, and risks of the men employed in that navigation. A keel-boat was generally manned by ten hands, principally Canadian French, and a patroon or master. These boats seldom carried more than from twenty to thirty tons. The barges frequently had forty or fifty men, with a patroon, and carried fifty or sixty tons. Both these kinds of vessels were provided with a mast, a square sail, and coils of cordage known by the name of cordelles. Each boat or barge carried its own provisions. We shall suppose one of these boats under way, and, having passed Natchez, entering upon what were the difficulties of their ascent. Wherever a point projected, so as to render the course or bend below it of some magnitude, there was an eddy, the returning current of which was sometimes as strong as that of the middle of the great stream. The bargemen therefore rowed up pretty close under the bank, and had merely to keep watch in the bow, lest the boat should run against a planter or sawyer. But the boat has reached the point, and there the current is to all appearance of double strength, and right against it. The men, who have all rested a few minutes, are ordered to take their stations, and lay hold of their oars, for the river must be crossed, it being seldom possible to double such a point, and proceed along the same shore. The boat is crossing, its head slanting to the current, which is, however, too strong for the rowers, and when the other side of the river has been reached, it has drifted perhaps a quarter of a mile. The men are by this time exhausted, and, as we shall suppose it to be twelve o'clock, fasten the boat to the shore or to a tree. A small glass of whiskey is given to each, when they cook and eat their dinner, and after repairing their fatigue by an hour's repose, recommence their labors. The boat is again seen slowly advancing against the stream. It has reached the lower end of a large sand-bar, along the edge of which it is propelled by means of long poles, if the bottom be hard. Two men called bowsmen remain at the prow, to assist, in concert with the steersman, in managing the boat, and keeping its head right against the current. The rest place themselves on the land side of the footway of the vessel, put one end of their poles on the ground, the other against their shoulders, and push with all their might. As each of the men reaches the stern, he crosses to the other side, runs along it, and comes again to the landward side of the bow, when he recommences operations. The barge in the meantime is ascending at a rate not exceeding one mile in the hour.

The bar is at length passed, and as the shore in sight is straight on both sides of the river, and the current uniformly strong, the poles are laid aside, and the men being equally divided, those on the river side take to their oars, whilst those on the land side lay hold of the branches of willows, or other trees, and thus slowly propel the boat. Here and there however, the trunk of a fallen tree, partly lying on the bank, and partly projecting beyond it, impedes their progress, and requires to be doubled. This is performed by striking it with the iron points of the poles and gaff-hooks. The sun is now quite low, and the barge is again secured in the best harbor within reach. The navigators cook their supper, and betake themselves to their blankets or Bear skins to rest, or perhaps light a large fire on the shore, under the smoke of which they repose, in order to avoid the persecutions of the myriads of mosquitoes which are found along the river during the whole summer. Perhaps, from dawn to sunset, the boat may have advanced fifteen miles. If so, it has done well. The next day, the wind proves favorable, the sail is set, the boat takes all advantages, and meeting with no accident, has ascended thirty miles, perhaps double that distance. The next day comes with a very different aspect. The wind is right ahead, the shores are without trees of any kind, and the canes on the bank are so thick and stout that not even the cordelles can be used. This occasions a halt. The time is not altogether lost, as most of the men, being provided with rifles, betake themselves to the woods, and search for the Deer, the Bears, or the Turkeys that are generally abundant there. Three days may pass before the wind changes, and the advantages gained on the previous fine day are forgotten. Again the boat proceeds, but in passing over a shallow place, runs on a log, swings with the current, but hangs fast, with her lee side almost under water. Now for the poles! All hands are on deck, bustling and pushing. At length, towards sunset, the boat is once more afloat, and is again taken to the shore, where the wearied crew pass another night.

I shall not continue this account of difficulties, it having already become painful in the extreme. I could tell you of the crew abandoning the boat and cargo, and of numberless accidents and perils; but be it enough to say that advancing in this tardy manner, the boat that left New Orleans on the first of March often did not reach the Falls of the Ohio until the month of July,-nay, sometimes not until October; and after all this immense trouble, it brought only a few bags of coffee, and at most one hundred hogsheads of sugar. Such was the state of things in 1808. The number of barges at that period did not amount to more than twenty-five or thirty, and the largest probably did not exceed one hundred tons burden. To make the best of this fatiguing navigation, I may conclude by saying that a barge which came up in three months had done wonders, for, I believe, few voyages were performed in that time.

If I am not mistaken, the first steamboat that went down out of the Ohio to New Orleans was named the "Orleans," and, if I remember right, was commanded by Captain Ogden. This voyage, I believe, was performed in the spring of 1810. It was, as you may suppose, looked upon as the ne plus ultra of enterprise. Soon after, another vessel came from Pittsburgh, and before many years elapsed, to see a vessel so propelled had become a common occurrence. In 1826, after a lapse of time that proved sufficient to double the population of the United States of America, the navigation of the Mississippi had so improved, both in respect to facility and quickness, that I know no better way of giving you an idea of it than by presenting you with an extract from a letter written by my eldest son, which was taken from the books of N. Berthoud, Esq., with whom he at that time resided.

"You ask me in your last letter for a list of the arrivals and departures here. I give you an abstract from our list of 1826, showing the number of boats which plied each year, their tonnage, the trips they performed, and the quantity of goods landed here from New Orleans and intermediate places:-

Boats. Tons. Trips. Tons.

1823, from Jan. 1, to Dec. 31, 42 7860 98 19,453

1824, " " " Nov. 25, 36 6393 118 20,291

1825, " " " Aug. 15, 42 7484 140 24,102

1826, " " " Dec. 31, 51 9386 182 28,914

The amount for the present year will be much greater than any of the above. The number of flatboats and keel-boats is beyond calculation. The number of steamboats above the Falls I cannot say much about, except that one or two arrive at and leave Louisville every day. Their passage from Cincinnati is commonly fourteen or sixteen hours. The "Tecumseh," a boat which runs between this place and New Orleans, which is of 210 tons, arrived here on the 10th inst. in nine days, seven hours, from port to port; and the "Philadelphia," of 300 tons, made the passage in nine days, nine and a half hours, the computed distance being 1650 miles. These are the quickest trips made. There are now in operation on the waters west of the Alleghany Mountains 140 or 150 boats. We had last spring (1826) a very high freshet, which came four and a half feet deep in the counting-room. The rise was 57 feet 3 inches perpendicular."

All the steamboats of which this is an account did not perform voyages to New Orleans only, but to all points on the Mississippi, and other rivers which fall into it. I am certain that since the above date the number has increased, but to what extent I cannot at present say.

When steamboats first plied between Shippingport and New Orleans, the cabin passage was a hundred dollars, and a hundred and fifty dollars on the upward voyage. In 1829, I went down to Natchez from Shippingport for twenty-five dollars, and ascended from New Orleans on board the "Philadelphia," in the beginning of January, 1830, for sixty dollars, having taken two state-rooms for my wife and myself. On that voyage we met with a trifling accident, which protracted it to fourteen days, the computed distance being, as mentioned above, 1650 miles, although the real distance is probably less. I do not remember to have spent a day without meeting with a steamboat, and some days we met several. I might here be tempted to give you a description of one of these steamers of the western waters, but the picture having been often drawn by abler hands, I shall desist.


It may not be amiss, kind reader, before I attempt to give you some idea of the pleasures experienced by the sportsmen of Kentucky, to introduce the subject with a slight description of that State.

Kentucky was formerly attached to Virginia, but in those days the Indians looked upon that portion of the western wilds as their own, and abandoned the district only when forced to do so, moving with disconsolate hearts farther into the recesses of the unexplored forests. Doubtless the richness of its soil, and the beauty of its borders, situated as they are along one of the most beautiful rivers in the world, contributed as much to attract the Old Virginians as the desire, so generally experienced in America, of spreading over the uncultivated tracts, and bringing into cultivation lands that have for unknown ages teemed with the wild luxuriance of untamed nature. The conquest of Kentucky was not performed without many difficulties. The warfare that long existed between the intruders and the Redskins was sanguinary and protracted; but the former at length made good their footing, and the latter drew off their shattered bands, dismayed by the mental superiority and indomitable courage of the white men.

This region was probably discovered by a daring hunter, the renowned Daniel Boone. The richness of its soil, its magnificent forests, its numberless navigable streams, its salt springs and licks, its saltpetre caves, its coal strata, and the vast herds of Buffaloes and Deer that browsed on its hills and amidst its charming valleys, afforded ample inducements to the new settler, who pushed forward with a spirit far above that of the most undaunted tribes which for ages had been the sole possessors of the soil.

The Virginians thronged towards the Ohio. An axe, a couple of horses, and a heavy rifle, with store of ammunition, were all that were considered necessary for the equipments of the man, who, with his family, removed to the new State, assured that, in that land of exuberant fertility, he could not fail to provide amply for all his wants. To have witnessed the industry and perseverance of these emigrants must at once have proved the vigor of their minds. Regardless of the fatigue attending every movement which they made, they pushed through an unexplored region of dark and tangled forests, guiding themselves by the sun alone, and reposing at night on the bare ground. Numberless streams they had to cross on rafts, with their wives and children, their cattle and their luggage, often drifting to considerable distances before they could effect a landing on the opposite shores. Their cattle would often stray amid the rice pasturage of these shores, and occasion a delay of several days. To these troubles add the constantly impending danger of being murdered, while asleep in their encampments, by the prowling and ruthless Indians; while they had before them a distance of hundreds of miles to be traversed, before they could reach certain places of rendezvous called Stations. To encounter difficulties like these must have required energies of no ordinary kind; and the reward which these veteran settlers enjoy was doubtless well merited.


Some removed from the Atlantic shores to those of the Ohio in more comfort and security. They had their wagons, their negroes, and their families. Their way was cut through the woods by their own axemen, the day before their advance, and when night overtook them, the hunters attached to the party came to the place pitched upon for encamping, loaded with the dainties of which the forest yielded an abundant supply, the blazing light of a huge fire guiding their steps as they approached, and the sounds of merriment that saluted their ears assuring them that all was well. The flesh of the Buffalo, the Bear, and the Deer soon hung, in large and delicious steaks, in front of the embers; the cakes already prepared were deposited in their proper places, and under the rich drippings of the juicy roasts were quickly baked. The wagons contained the bedding, and whilst the horses which had drawn them were turned loose to feed on the luxuriant undergrowth of the woods-some perhaps hoppled, but the greater number merely with a light bell hung to their neck, to guide their owners in the morning to the spot where they might have rambled-the party were enjoying themselves after the fatigues of the day.

In anticipation all is pleasure; and these migrating bands feasted in joyous sociality, unapprehensive of any greater difficulties than those to be encountered in forcing their way through the pathless woods to the land of abundance; and although it took months to accomplish the journey, and a skirmish now and then took place between them and the Indians, who sometimes crept unperceived into their very camp, still did the Virginians cheerfully proceed towards the western horizon, until the various groups all reached the Ohio, when, struck with the beauty of that magnificent stream, they at once commenced the task of clearing land, for the purpose of establishing a permanent residence.

Others, perhaps encumbered with too much luggage, preferred descending the stream. They prepared arks pierced with port-holes, and glided on the gentle current, more annoyed, however, than those who marched by land by the attacks of the Indians who watched their motions. Many travellers have described these boats, formerly called arks, but now named flatboats. But have they told you, kind reader, that in those times a boat thirty or forty feet in length, by ten or twelve in breadth, was considered a stupendous fabric; that this boat contained men, women and children, huddled together, with horses, cattle, hogs and poultry for their companions, while the remaining portion was crammed with vegetables and packages of seeds? The roof or deck of the boat was not unlike a farm-yard, being covered with hay, ploughs, carts, wagons, and various agricultural implements, together with numerous others, among which the spinning-wheels of the matrons were conspicuous. Even the sides of the floating-mass were loaded with the wheels of the different vehicles, which themselves lay on the roof. Have they told you that these boats contained the little all of each family of venturous emigrants, who, fearful of being discovered by the Indians under night moved in darkness, groping their way from one part to another of these floating habitations, denying themselves the comfort of fire or light, lest the foe that watched them from the shore should rush upon them and destroy them? Have they told you that this boat was used, after the tedious voyage was ended, as the first dwelling of these new settlers? No, kind reader, such things have not been related to you before. The travellers who have visited our country have had other objects in view.

I shall not describe the many massacres which took place among the different parties of white and red men, as the former moved down the Ohio; because I have never been very fond of battles, and indeed have always wished that the world were more peaceably inclined than it is; and shall merely add that, in one way or other, Kentucky was wrested from the original owners of the soil. Let us, therefore, turn our attention to the sports still enjoyed in that now happy portion of the United States.

We have individuals in Kentucky, kind reader, that even there are considered wonderful adepts in the management of the rifle. To drive a nail is a common feat, not more thought of by the Kentuckians than to cut off a Wild Turkey's head, at a distance of a hundred yards. Others will bark off Squirrels one after another, until satisfied with the number procured. Some, less intent on destroying game, may be seen under night snuffing a candle at the distance of fifty yards, off-hand, without extinguishing it. I have been told that some have proved so expert and cool as to make choice of the eye of a foe at a wonderful distance, boasting beforehand of the sureness of their piece, which has afterwards been fully proved when the enemy's head has been examined!

Having resided some years in Kentucky, and having more than once been witness of rifle sport, I shall present you with the results of my observation, leaving you to judge how far rifle-shooting is understood in that State.

Several individuals who conceive themselves expert in the management of the gun are often seen to meet for the purpose of displaying their skill, and betting a trifling sum, put up a target, in the centre of which a common-sized nail is hammered for about two-thirds of its length. The marksmen make choice of what they consider a proper distance, which may be forty paces. Each man cleans the interior of his tube, which is called wiping it, places a ball in the palm of his hand, pouring as much powder from his horn upon it as will cover it. This quantity is supposed to be sufficient for any distance within a hundred yards. A shot which comes very close to the nail is considered as that of an indifferent marksman; the bending of the nail is, of course, somewhat better; but nothing less than hitting it right on the head is satisfactory. Well, kind reader, one out of three shots generally hits the nail, and should the shooters amount to half a dozen, two nails are frequently needed before each can have a shot. Those who drive the nail have a further trial amongst themselves, and the two best shots out of these generally settle the affair, when all the sportsmen adjourn to some house, and spend an hour or two in friendly intercourse, appointing, before they part, a day for another trial. This is technically termed driving the nail.

Barking off Squirrels is delightful sport, and in my opinion requires a greater degree of accuracy than any other. I first witnessed this manner of procuring Squirrels whilst near the town of Frankfort. The performer was the celebrated Daniel Boone. We walked out together, and followed the rocky margins of the Kentucky River, until we reached a piece of flat land thickly covered with black walnuts, oaks, and hickories. As the general mast was a good one that year, Squirrels were seen gambolling on every tree around us. My companion, a stout, hale, and athletic man, dressed in a homespun hunting-shirt, bare-legged and moccasined, carried a long and heavy rifle, which, as he was loading it, he said had proved efficient in all his former undertakings, and which he hoped would not fail on this occasion, as he felt proud to show me his skill. The gun was wiped, the powder measured, the ball patched with six-hundred-thread linen, and the charge sent home with a hickory rod. We moved not a step from the place, for the Squirrels were so numerous that it was unnecessary to go after them. Boone pointed to one of these animals which had observed us, and was crouched on a branch about fifty paces distant, and bade me mark well the spot where the ball should hit. He raised his piece gradually, until the bead (that being the name given by the Kentuckians to the sight) of the barrel was brought to a line with the spot which he intended to hit. The whip-like report resounded through the woods and along the hills, in repeated echoes. Judge of my surprise when I perceived that the ball had hit the piece of the bark immediately beneath the Squirrel, and shivered it into splinters, the concussion produced by which had killed the animal, and sent it whirling through the air, as if it had been blown up by the explosion of a powder magazine. Boone kept up his firing, and, before many hours had elapsed, we had procured as many Squirrels as we wished; for you must know, kind reader, that to load a rifle requires only a moment, and that if it is wiped once after each shot, it will do duty for hours. Since that first interview with our veteran Boone I have seen many other individuals perform the same feat.

The snuffing of a candle with a ball, I first had an opportunity of seeing near the banks of Green River, not far from a large Pigeon-roost to which I had previously made a visit. I heard many reports of guns during the early part of a dark night, and knowing them to be those of rifles, I went towards the spot to ascertain the cause. On reaching the place, I was welcomed by a dozen of tall stout men, who told me they were exercising, for the purpose of enabling them to shoot under night at the reflected light from the eyes of a Deer or Wolf, by torchlight, of which I shall give you an account somewhere else. A fire was blazing near, the smoke of which rose curling among the thick foliage of the trees. At a distance which rendered it scarcely distinguishable, stood a burning candle, as if intended for an offering to the goddess of night, but which in reality was only fifty yards from the spot on which we all stood. One man was within a few yards of it, to watch the effects of the shots, as well as to light the candle should it chance to go out, or to replace it should the shot cut it across. Each marksman shot in his turn. Some never hit either the snuff or the candle, and were congratulated with a loud laugh; while others actually snuffed the candle without putting it out, and were recompensed for their dexterity by numerous hurrahs. One of them, who was particularly expert, was very fortunate, and snuffed the candle three times out of seven, whilst all the other shots either put out the candle or cut it immediately under the light.

Of the feats performed by the Kentuckians with the rifle, I could say more than might be expedient on the present occasion. In every thinly peopled portion of the State, it is rare to meet one without a gun of that description, as well as a tomahawk. By way of recreation, they often cut off a piece of the bark of a tree, make a target of it, using a little powder wetted with water or saliva, for the bull's-eye, and shoot into the mark all the balls they have about them, picking them out of the wood again.

After what I have said, you may easily imagine with what ease a Kentuckian procures game, or despatches an enemy, more especially when I tell you that every one in the State is accustomed to handle the rifle from the time when he is first able to shoulder it until near the close of his career. That murderous weapon is the means of procuring them subsistence during all their wild and extensive rambles, and is the source of their principal sports and pleasures.


On a journey from Louisville to Henderson in Kentucky, performed during very severe winter weather, in company with a foreigner, the initials of whose name are D. T., my companion, spying a beautiful animal, marked with black and pale yellow, and having a long and bushy tail, exclaimed, "Mr. Audubon, is not that a beautiful Squirrel?" "Yes," I answered, "and of a kind that will suffer you to approach it and lay hold of it, if you are well gloved." Mr. D. T., dismounting, took up a dry stick, and advanced towards the pretty animal, with his large cloak floating in the breeze. I think I see him approach, and laying the stick gently across the body of the animal, try to secure it; and I can yet laugh almost as heartily as I did then, when I plainly saw the discomfiture of the traveller. The Pole-cat (for a true Pole-cat it was, the Mephitis americana of zo?logists) raised its fine bushy tail, and showered such a discharge of the fluid given him by nature as a defence that my friend, dismayed and infuriated, began to belabor the poor animal. The swiftness and good management of the Pole-cat, however, saved its bones, and as it made its retreat towards its hole, it kept up at every step a continued ejectment, which fully convinced the gentleman that the pursuit of such Squirrels as these was at the best an unprofitable employment.

This was not all, however. I could not suffer his approach, nor could my horse; it was with difficulty he mounted his own; and we were forced to continue our journey far asunder, and he much to leeward. Nor did the matter end here. We could not proceed much farther that night; as, in the first place, it was nearly dark when we saw the Pole-cat, and as, in the second place, a heavy snow-storm began, and almost impeded our progress. We were forced to make for the first cabin we saw. Having asked and obtained permission to rest for the night, we dismounted and found ourselves amongst a crowd of men and women who had met for the purpose of corn-shucking.

To a European who has not visited the western parts of the United States, an explanation of this corn-shucking may not be unacceptable. Corn (or you may prefer calling it maize) is gathered in the husk, that is, by breaking each large ear from the stem. These ears are first thrown into heaps in the field, and afterwards carried in carts to the barn, or, as in this instance, and in such portions of Kentucky, to a shed made of the blades or long leaves that hang in graceful curves from the stalk, and which, when plucked and dried, are used instead of hay as food for horses and cattle. The husk consists of several thick leaves rather longer than the corn-ear itself, and which secure it from the weather. It is quite a labor to detach these leaves from the ear when thousands of bushels of the corn are gathered and heaped together. For this purpose, however, and in the western country more especially, several neighboring families join alternately at each other's plantations, and assist in clearing away the husks, thus preparing the maize for the market or for domestic use.

The good people whom we met with at this hospitable house were on the point of going to the barn (the farmer here being in rather good condition) to work until towards the middle of the night. When we had stood the few stares to which strangers must accustom themselves, no matter where, even in a drawing-room, we approached the fire. What a shock for the whole party! The scent of the Pole-cat, that had been almost stifled on my companion's vestments by the cold of the evening air, now recovered its primitive strength. The cloak was put out of the house, but its owner could not well be used in the same way. The company, however, took to their heels, and there only remained a single black servant, who waited on us till supper was served.

I felt vexed with myself, as I saw the good traveller displeased. But he had so much good-breeding as to treat this important affair with great forbearance, and merely said he was sorry for his want of knowledge in zo?logy. The good gentleman, however, was not only deficient in zo?logical lore, but, fresh as he was from Europe, felt more than uneasy in this out-of-the-way house, and would have proceeded towards my own home that night, had I not at length succeeded in persuading him that he was in perfect security.

We were shown to bed. As I was almost a stranger to him, and he to me, he thought it a very awkward thing to be obliged to lie in the same bed with me, but afterwards spoke of it as a happy circumstance, and requested that I should suffer him to be placed next the logs, thinking, no doubt, that there he should run no risk.

We started by break of day, taking with us the frozen cloak, and after passing a pleasant night in my own house, we parted. Some years after, I met my Kentucky companion in a far distant land, when he assured me that whenever the sun shone on his cloak or it was brought near a fire, the scent of the Pole-cat became so perceptible that he at last gave it to a poor monk in Italy.

The animal commonly known in America by the name of the Pole-cat is about a foot and a half in length, with a large bushy tail, nearly as long as the body. The color is generally brownish-black, with a large white patch on the back of the head; but there are many varieties of coloring, in some of which the broad white bands of the back are very conspicuous. The Pole-cat burrows, or forms a subterranean habitation among the roots of trees, or in rocky places. It feeds on birds, young Hares, Rats, Mice, and other animals, and commits great depredations on poultry. The most remarkable peculiarity of this animal is the power, alluded to above, of squirting for its defence a most nauseously scented fluid contained in a receptacle situated under the tail, which it can do to a distance of several yards. It does not, however, for this purpose sprinkle its tail with the fluid, as some allege, unless when extremely harassed by its enemies. The Pole-cat is frequently domesticated. The removal of the glands prevents the secretion of the nauseous fluid, and when thus improved, the animal becomes a great favorite, and performs the offices of the common cat with great dexterity.


The different modes of Deer hunting are probably too well understood, and too successfully practised in the United States; for, notwithstanding the almost incredible abundance of these beautiful animals in our forests and prairies, such havoc is carried on amongst them that, in a few centuries, they will probably be as scarce in America as the Great Bustard now is in Britain.

We have three modes of hunting Deer, each varying in some slight degree in the different States and districts. The first is termed still hunting, and is by far the most destructive. The second is called fire-light hunting, and is next in its exterminating effects. The third, which may be looked upon as a mere amusement, is named driving. Although many Deer are destroyed by this latter method, it is not by any means so pernicious as the others. These methods I shall describe separately.

Still hunting is followed as a kind of trade by most of our frontier-men. To be practised with success it requires great activity, an expert management of the rifle, and a thorough knowledge of the forest, together with an intimate acquaintance with the habits of the Deer, not only at different seasons of the year, but also at every hour of the day, as the hunters must be aware of the situations which the game prefers, and in which it is most likely to be found at any particular time. I might here present you with a full account of the habits of our Deer, were it not my intention to lay before you, at some future period, in the form of a distinct work, the observations which I have made on the various quadrupeds of our extensive territories.

Illustrations of any kind require to be presented in the best possible light. We shall therefore suppose that we are now about to follow the true hunter, as the "still hunter" is also called, through the interior of the tangled woods, across morasses, ravines, and such places, where the game may prove more or less plentiful, even should none be found there in the first instance. We shall allow our hunter all the agility, patience, and care which his occupation requires, and will march in his rear, as if we were spies, watching all his motions.

His dress, you observe, consists of a leather hunting-shirt, and a pair of trousers of the same material. His feet are well moccasined; he wears a belt round his waist; his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny shoulder; on one side hangs his ball pouch, surmounted by the horn of an ancient Buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now containing a pound of the best gunpowder; his butcher knife is scabbarded in the same strap; and behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been thrust through his girdle. He walks with so rapid a step that probably few men, beside ourselves, that is, myself and my kind reader, could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their anxiety to witness his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks to the flint of his gun, its priming, and the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, to judge of the course most likely to lead him to the game.

The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the dew hangs in pearly drops at the top of every leaf. Already has the emerald hue of the foliage been converted into the more glowing tints of our autumnal months. A slight frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As he proceeds he looks to the dead foliage under his feet, in search of the well-known traces of a buck's hoof. Now he bends towards the ground, on which something has attracted his attention. See! he alters his course, increases his speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now he moves with caution, stops at almost every tree, and peeps forward, as if already within shooting distance of the game. He advances again, but how very slowly! He has reached the declivity, upon which the sun shines in all its growing splendor; but mark him! he takes the gun from his shoulder, has already thrown aside the leathern cover of the lock, and is wiping the edge of the flint with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental figure, perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and the game which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, the report follows, and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I speak to him, and ask him the result of this first essay? Assuredly, reader, for I know him well.

"Pray, friend, what have you killed?" for to say, "What have you shot at?" might imply the possibility of having missed, and so might hurt his feelings. "Nothing but a buck." "And where is it?" "Oh, it has taken a jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball struck, and must have gone through his heart." We arrive at the spot where the animal had laid itself down among the grass in a thicket of grape-vines, sumach, and spruce bushes, where it intended to repose during the middle of the day. The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the Deer have left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies produced by its wound; but the blood that has gushed from its side discloses the course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot. There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath exhausted; it is dead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts the buck's throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it. For this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a tree. When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the rest of the carcass to the Wolves and Vultures, reloads his gun, flings the venison, enclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with a strap, and walks off in search of more game, well knowing that, in the immediate neighborhood, another at least is to be found.

Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have sought for the buck along the shadowy side of the hills. Had it been the spring season, he would have led us through some thick cane-brake, to the margin of some remote lake, where you would have seen the Deer immersed to his head in the water, to save his body from the tormenting attacks of mosquitoes. Had winter overspread the earth with a covering of snow, he would have searched the low, damp woods, where the mosses and lichens, on which at that period the Deer feeds, abound; the trees being generally crusted with them for several feet from the ground. At one time he might have marked the places where the Deer clears the velvet from his horns by rubbing them against the low stems of bushes, and where he frequently scrapes the earth with his fore-hoofs; at another he would have betaken himself to places where persimmons and crab-apples abound, as beneath these trees the Deer frequently stops to munch their fruits. During early spring our hunter would imitate the bleating of the doe, and thus frequently obtain both her and the fawn, or, like some tribes of Indians, he would prepare a Deer's head, placed on a stick, and creeping with it amongst the tall grass of the prairies, would decoy Deer in reach of his rifle. But, kind reader, you have seen enough of the still hunter. Let it suffice for me to add that by the mode pursued by him thousands of Deer are annually killed, many individuals shooting these animals merely for the skin, not caring for even the most valuable portions of the flesh, unless hunger, or a near market, induce them to carry off the hams.

The mode of destroying deer by fire-light, or, as it is named in some parts of the country, forest-light, never fails to produce a very singular feeling in him who witnesses it for the first time. There is something in it which at times appears awfully grand. At other times a certain degree of fear creeps over the mind, and even affects the physical powers of him who follows the hunter through the thick undergrowth of our woods, having to leap his horse over hundreds of huge fallen trunks, at one time impeded by a straggling grape-vine crossing his path, at another squeezed between two stubborn saplings, whilst their twigs come smack in his face, as his companion has forced his way through them. Again, he now and then runs the risk of breaking his neck, by being suddenly pitched headlong on the ground, as his horse sinks into a hole covered over with moss. But I must proceed in a more regular manner, and leave you, kind reader, to judge whether such a mode of hunting would suit your taste or not.

The hunter has returned to his camp or his house, has rested and eaten of his game. He waits impatiently for the return of night. He has procured a quantity of pine knots filled with resinous matter, and has an old frying-pan, that, for aught I know to the contrary, may have been used by his great-grandmother, in which the pine-knots are to be placed when lighted. The horses stand saddled at the door. The hunter comes forth, his rifle slung on his shoulder, and springs upon one of them, while his son, or a servant, mounts the other with the frying-pan and the pine-knots. Thus accoutred, they proceed towards the interior of the forest. When they have arrived at the spot where the hunt is to begin, they strike fire with a flint and steel, and kindle the resinous wood. The person who carries the fire moves in the direction judged to be the best. The blaze illuminates the near objects, but the distant parts seem involved in deepest obscurity. The hunter who bears the gun keeps immediately in front, and after a while discovers before him two feeble lights, which are produced by the reflection of the pine-fire from the eyes of an animal of the Deer or Wolf kind. The animal stands quite still. To one unacquainted with this strange mode of hunting, the glare from its eyes might bring to his imagination some lost hobgoblin that had strayed from its usual haunts. The hunter, however, nowise intimidated, approaches the object, sometimes so near as to discern its form, when, raising the rifle to his shoulder, he fires and kills it on the spot. He then dismounts, secures the skin and such portions of the flesh as he may want, in the manner already described, and continues his search through the greater part of the night, sometimes until the dawn of day, shooting from five to ten Deer, should these animals be plentiful. This kind of hunting proves fatal, not to the Deer alone, but also sometimes to Wolves, and now and then to a horse or cow, which may have straggled far into the woods.

Now, kind reader, prepare to mount a generous, full-blood Virginian hunter. See that your gun is in complete order, for hark to the sound of the bugle and horn, and the mingled clamor of a pack of harriers! Your friends are waiting for you, under the shade of the wood, and we must together go driving the light-footed Deer. The distance over which one has to travel is seldom felt when pleasure is anticipated as the result; so galloping we go pell-mell through the woods, to some well-known place where many a fine buck has drooped its antlers under the ball of the hunter's rifle. The servants, who are called the drivers, have already begun their search. Their voices are heard exciting the hounds, and unless we put spurs to our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and thus lose the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting game as it passes by. Hark again! The dogs are in chase, the horn sounds louder and more clearly. Hurry, hurry on, or we shall be sadly behind!

Here we are at last! Dismount, fasten your horse to this tree, place yourself by the side of that large yellow poplar, and mind you do not shoot me! The Deer is fast approaching; I will to my own stand, and he who shoots him dead wins the prize.

The Deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently cracked a dead stick with its hoof, and the dogs are now so near that it will pass in a moment. There it comes! How beautifully it bounds over the ground! What a splendid head of horns! How easy its attitudes, depending, as it seems to do, on its own swiftness for safety! All is in vain, however; a gun is fired, the animal plunges and doubles with incomparable speed. There he goes! He passes another stand, from which a second shot, better directed than the first, brings him to the ground. The dogs, the servants, the sportsmen are now rushing forward to the spot. The hunter who has shot it is congratulated on his skill or good luck, and the chase begins again in some other part of the woods.

A few lines of explanation may be required to convey a clear idea of this mode of hunting. Deer are fond of following and retracing paths which they have formerly pursued, and continue to do so even after they have been shot at more than once. These tracks are discovered by persons on horseback in the woods, or a Deer is observed crossing a road, a field, or a small stream. When this has been noticed twice, the deer may be shot from the places called stands by the sportsman, who is stationed there, and waits for it, a line of stands being generally formed so as to cross the path which the game will follow. The person who ascertains the usual pass of the game, or discovers the parts where the animal feeds or lies down during the day, gives intimation to his friends, who then prepare for the chase. The servants start the Deer with the hounds, and by good management generally succeed in making it run the course that will soonest bring it to its death. But, should the Deer be cautious, and take another course, the hunters, mounted on swift horses, gallop through the woods to intercept it, guided by the sound of the horns and the cry of the dogs, and frequently succeed in shooting it. This sport is extremely agreeable, and proves successful on almost every occasion.

Hoping that this account will be sufficient to induce you, kind reader, to go driving in our western and southern woods, I now conclude my chapter on Deer Hunting by informing you that the species referred to above is the Virginia Deer, Cervus virginianus; and that, until I be able to present you with a full account of its habits and history, you may consult for information respecting it the excellent "Fauna Americana" of my esteemed friend Dr. Harlan, of Philadelphia.


"What an odd-looking fellow!" said I to myself, as, while walking by the river, I observed a man landing from a boat, with what I thought a bundle of dried clover on his back; "how the boatmen stare at him! sure he must be an original!" He ascended with a rapid step, and approaching me asked if I could point out the house in which Mr. Audubon resided. "Why, I am the man," said I, "and will gladly lead you to my dwelling."

The traveller rubbed his hands together with delight, and drawing a letter from his pocket handed it to me without any remark. I broke the seal and read as follows: "My dear Audubon, I send you an odd fish, which you may prove to be undescribed, and hope you will do so in your next letter. Believe me always your friend B." With all the simplicity of a woodsman I asked the bearer where the odd fish was, when M. de T. (for, kind reader, the individual in my presence was none else than that renowned naturalist) smiled, rubbed his hands, and with the greatest good-humor said, "I am that odd fish I presume, Mr. Audubon." I felt confounded and blushed, but contrived to stammer an apology.

We soon reached the house, when I presented my learned guest to my family, and was ordering a servant to go to the boat for M. de T.'s luggage, when he told me he had none but what he brought on his back. He then loosened the pack of weeds which had first drawn my attention. The ladies were a little surprised, but I checked their critical glances for the moment. Th

e naturalist pulled off his shoes, and while engaged in drawing his stockings, not up, but down, in order to cover the holes about the heels, told us in the gayest mood imaginable that he had walked a great distance, and had only taken a passage on board the ark, to be put on this shore, and that he was sorry his apparel had suffered so much from his late journey. Clean clothes were offered, but he would not accept them, and it was with evident reluctance that he performed the lavations usual on such occasions before he sat down to dinner.

At table, however, his agreeable conversation made us all forget his singular appearance; and, indeed, it was only as we strolled together in the garden that his attire struck me as exceedingly remarkable. A long loose coat of yellow nankeen, much the worse for the many rubs it had got in its time, and stained all over with the juice of plants, hung loosely about him like a sac. A waistcoat of the same, with enormous pockets, and buttoned up to his chin, reached below over a pair of tight pantaloons, the lower parts of which were buttoned down to the ankles. His beard was as long as I have known my own to be during some of my peregrinations, and his lank black hair hung loosely over his shoulders. His forehead was so broad and prominent that any tyro in phrenology would instantly have pronounced it the residence of a mind of strong powers. His words impressed an assurance of rigid truth, and as he directed the conversation to the study of the natural sciences, I listened to him with as much delight as Telemachus could have listened to Mentor. He had come to visit me, he said, expressly for the purpose of seeing my drawings, having been told that my representations of birds were accompanied with those of shrubs and plants, and he was desirous of knowing whether I might chance to have in my collection any with which he was unacquainted. I observed some degree of impatience in his request to be allowed at once to see what I had. We returned to the house, when I opened my portfolios and laid them before him.

He chanced to turn over the drawing of a plant quite new to him. After inspecting it closely, he shook his head, and told me no such plant existed in nature; for, kind reader, M. de T., although a highly scientific man, was suspicious to a fault, and believed such plants only to exist as he had himself seen, or such as, having been discovered of old, had, according to Father Malebranche's expression, acquired a "venerable beard." I told my guest that the plant was common in the immediate neighborhood, and that I should show it him on the morrow. "And why to-morrow, Mr. Audubon? Let us go now." We did so, and on reaching the bank of the river I pointed to the plant. M. de T., I thought, had gone mad. He plucked the plants one after another, danced, hugged me in his arms, and exultingly told me that he had got not merely a new species, but a new genus. When we returned home, the naturalist opened the bundle which he had brought on his back, and took out a journal rendered water-proof by means of a leather case, together with a small parcel of linen, examined the new plant, and wrote its description. The examination of my drawings then went on. You would be pleased, kind reader, to hear his criticisms, which were of the greatest advantage to me, for, being well acquainted with books as well as with nature, he was well fitted to give me advice.

It was summer, and the heat was so great that the windows were all open. The light of the candles attracted many insects, among which was observed a large species of Scarab?us. I caught one, and, aware of his inclination to believe only what he should himself see, I showed him the insect, and assured him it was so strong that it would crawl on the table with the candlestick on its back. "I should like to see the experiment made, Mr. Audubon," he replied. It was accordingly made, and the insect moved about, dragging its burden so as to make the candlestick change its position as if by magic, until coming upon the edge of the table, it dropped on the floor, took to wing, and made its escape.

When it waxed late, I showed him to the apartment intended for him during his stay, and endeavored to render him comfortable, leaving him writing materials in abundance. I was indeed heartily glad to have a naturalist under my roof. We had all retired to rest. Every person I imagined was in deep slumber save myself, when of a sudden I heard a great uproar in the naturalist's room. I got up, reached the place in a few moments, and opened the door, when to my astonishment, I saw my guest running about the room naked, holding the handle of my favorite violin, the body of which he had battered to pieces against the walls in attempting to kill the bats which had entered by the open window, probably attracted by the insects flying around his candle. I stood amazed, but he continued jumping and running round and round, until he was fairly exhausted, when he begged me to procure one of the animals for him, as he felt convinced they belonged to "a new species." Although I was convinced of the contrary, I took up the bow of my demolished Cremona, and administering a smart tap to each of the bats as it came up, soon got specimens enough. The war ended, I again bade him good-night, but could not help observing the state of the room. It was strewed with plants, which it would seem he had arranged into groups, but which were now scattered about in confusion. "Never mind, Mr. Audubon," quoth the eccentric naturalist, "never mind, I'll soon arrange them again. I have the bats, and that's enough."

Some days passed, during which we followed our several occupations. M. de T. searched the woods for plants, and I for birds. He also followed the margins of the Ohio, and picked up many shells, which he greatly extolled. With us, I told him, they were gathered into heaps to be converted into lime. "Lime! Mr. Audubon; why, they are worth a guinea apiece in any part of Europe." One day, as I was returning from a hunt in a cane-brake, he observed that I was wet and spattered with mud, and desired me to show him the interior of one of these places, which he said he had never visited.

The cane, kind reader, formerly grew spontaneously over the greater portions of the State of Kentucky and other western districts of our Union, as well as in many farther south. Now, however, cultivation, the introduction of cattle and horses, and other circumstances connected with the progress of civilization, have greatly altered the face of the country, and reduced the cane within comparatively small limits. It attains a height of from twelve to thirty feet, and a diameter of from one to two inches, and grows in great patches resembling osier-holts, in which occur plants of all sizes. The plants frequently grow so close together, and in course of time become so tangled, as to present an almost impenetrable thicket. A portion of ground thus covered with canes is called a cane-brake.

If you picture to yourself one of these cane-brakes growing beneath the gigantic trees that form our western forests, interspersed with vines of many species, and numberless plants of every description, you may conceive how difficult it is for one to make his way through it, especially after a heavy shower of rain or a fall of sleet, when the traveller, in forcing his way through, shakes down upon himself such quantities of water as soon reduce him to a state of the utmost discomfort. The hunters often cut little paths through the thickets with their knives, but the usual mode of passing through them is by pushing one's self backward, and wedging a way between the stems. To follow a Bear or a Cougar pursued by dogs through these brakes is a task the accomplishment of which may be imagined, but of the difficulties and dangers accompanying which I cannot easily give an adequate representation.

The canes generally grow on the richest soil, and are particularly plentiful along the margins of the great western rivers. Many of our new settlers are fond of forming farms in their immediate vicinity, as the plant is much relished by all kinds of cattle and horses, which feed upon it at all seasons, and again because these brakes are plentifully stocked with game of various kinds. It sometimes happens that the farmer clears a portion of the brake. This is done by cutting the stems-which are fistular and knotted, like those of other grasses-with a large knife or cutlass. They are afterwards placed in heaps, and when partially dried set fire to. The moisture contained between the joints is converted into steam, which causes the cane to burst with a smart report, and when a whole mass is crackling, the sounds resemble discharges of musketry. Indeed, I have been told that travellers floating down the rivers, and unacquainted with these circumstances, have been induced to pull their oars with redoubled vigor, apprehending the attack of a host of savages, ready to scalp every one of the party.

A day being fixed, we left home after an early breakfast, crossed the Ohio, and entered the woods. I had determined that my companion should view a cane-brake in all its perfection, and after leading him several miles in a direct course, came upon as fine a sample as existed in that part of the country. We entered, and for some time proceeded without much difficulty, as I led the way, and cut down the canes which were most likely to incommode him. The difficulties gradually increased, so that we were presently obliged to turn our backs to the foe, and push ourselves on the best way we could. My companion stopped here and there to pick up a plant and examine it. After a while we chanced to come upon the top of a fallen tree, which so obstructed our passage that we were on the eve of going round, instead of thrusting ourselves through amongst the branches, when, from its bed in the centre of the tangled mass, forth rushed a Bear, with such force, and snuffing the air in so frightful a manner, that M. de T. became suddenly terror-struck, and, in his haste to escape, made a desperate attempt to run, but fell amongst the canes in such a way that he looked as if pinioned. Perceiving him jammed in between the stalks, and thoroughly frightened, I could not refrain from laughing at the ridiculous exhibition which he made. My gayety, however, was not very pleasing to the savant, who called out for aid, which was at once administered. Gladly would he have retraced his steps, but I was desirous that he should be able to describe a cane-brake, and enticed him to follow me by telling him that our worst difficulties were nearly over. We proceeded, for by this time the Bear was out of hearing.

The way became more and more tangled. I saw with delight that a heavy cloud, portentous of a thunder gust, was approaching. In the mean time, I kept my companion in such constant difficulties that he now panted, perspired, and seemed almost overcome by fatigue. The thunder began to rumble, and soon after a dash of heavy rain drenched us in a few minutes. The withered particles of leaves and bark attached to the canes stuck to our clothes. We received many scratches from briers, and now and then a switch from a nettle. M. de T. seriously inquired if we should ever get alive out of the horrible situation in which we were. I spoke of courage and patience, and told him I hoped we should soon get to the margin of the brake, which, however, I knew to be two miles distant. I made him rest, and gave him a mouthful of brandy from my flask; after which, we proceeded on our slow and painful march. He threw away all his plants, emptied his pockets of the fungi, lichens, and mosses which he had thrust into them, and finding himself much lightened, went on for thirty or forty yards with a better grace. But, kind reader, enough-I led the naturalist first one way, then another, until I had nearly lost myself in the brake, although I was well acquainted with it, kept him tumbling and crawling on his hands and knees until long after mid-day, when we at length reached the edge of the river. I blew my horn, and soon showed my companion a boat coming to our rescue. We were ferried over, and on reaching the house, found more agreeable occupation in replenishing our empty coffers.

M. de T. remained with us for three weeks, and collected multitudes of plants, shells, bats, and fishes, but never again expressed a desire of visiting a cane-brake. We were perfectly reconciled to his oddities, and, finding him a most agreeable and intelligent companion, hoped that his sojourn might be of long duration. But, one evening when tea was prepared, and we expected him to join the family, he was nowhere to be found. His grasses and other valuables were all removed from his room. The night was spent in searching for him in the neighborhood. No eccentric naturalist could be discovered. Whether he had perished in a swamp, or had been devoured by a Bear or a Gar-fish, or had taken to his heels, were matters of conjecture; nor was it until some weeks after that a letter from him, thanking us for our attention, assured me of his safety.


The Black Bear (Ursus americanus), however clumsy in appearance, is active, vigilant, and persevering; possesses great strength, courage, and address; and undergoes with little injury the greatest fatigues and hardships in avoiding the pursuit of the hunter. Like the Deer, it changes its haunts with the seasons, and for the same reason, namely, the desire of obtaining suitable food, or of retiring to the more inaccessible parts, where it can pass the time in security, unobserved by man, the most dangerous of its enemies. During the spring months, it searches for food in the low rich alluvial lands that border the rivers, or by the margins of such inland lakes as, on account of their small size, are called by us ponds. There it procures abundance of succulent roots, and of the tender juicy stems of plants, upon which it chiefly feeds at that season. During the summer heat, it enters the gloomy swamps, passes much of its time in wallowing in the mud, like a hog, and contents itself with crayfish, roots, and nettles, now and then, when hard pressed by hunger, seizing on a young pig, or perhaps a sow, or even a calf. As soon as the different kinds of berries which grow on the mountains begin to ripen, the Bears betake themselves to the high grounds, followed by their cubs. In such retired parts of the country where there are no hilly grounds, it pays visits to the maize fields, which it ravages for a while. After this, the various species of nuts, acorns, grapes, and other forest fruits, that form what in the western country is called mast, attract its attention. The Bear is then seen rambling singly through the woods to gather this harvest, not forgetting meanwhile to rob every Bee-tree it meets with, Bears being, as you well know, expert at this operation. You also know that they are good climbers, and may have been told, or at least may now be told, that the Black Bear now and then houses itself in the hollow trunks of the larger trees for weeks together, when it is said to suck its paws. You are probably not aware of a habit in which it indulges, and which, being curious, must be interesting to you.

At one season, the Black Bear may be seen examining the lower part of the trunk of a tree for several minutes with much attention, at the same time looking around, and snuffing the air, to assure itself that no enemy is near. It then raises itself on its hind-legs, approaches the trunk, embraces it with its fore-legs, and scratches the bark with its teeth and claws for several minutes in continuance. Its jaws clash against each other, until a mass of foam runs down on both sides of the mouth. After this it continues its rambles.

In various portions of our country, many of our woodsmen and hunters who have seen the Bear performing the singular operation just described, imagine that it does so for the purpose of leaving behind it an indication of its size and power. They measure the height at which the scratches are made, and in this manner can, in fact, form an estimate of the magnitude of the individual. My own opinion, however, is different. It seems to me that the Bear scratches the trees, not for the purpose of shewing its size or its strength, but merely for that of sharpening its teeth and claws, to enable it better to encounter a rival of its own species during the amatory season. The Wild Boar of Europe clashes its tusks and scrapes the earth with its feet, and the Deer rubs its antlers against the lower part of the stems of young trees or bushes, for the same purpose.

Being one night sleeping in the house of a friend, I was wakened by a negro servant bearing a light, who gave me a note, which he said his master had just received. I ran my eye over the paper, and found it to be a communication from a neighbor, requesting my friend and myself to join him as soon as possible, and assist in killing some Bears at that moment engaged in destroying his corn. I was not long in dressing, you may be assured, and, on entering the parlor, found my friend equipped and only waiting for some bullets, which a negro was employed in casting. The overseer's horn was heard calling up the negroes from their different cabins. Some were already engaged in saddling our horses, whilst others were gathering all the cur-dogs of the plantation. All was bustle. Before half an hour had elapsed, four stout negro men, armed with axes and knives, and mounted on strong nags of their own (for you must know, kind reader, that many of our slaves rear horses, cattle, pigs, and poultry, which are exclusively their own property), were following us at a round gallop through the woods, as we made directly for the neighbor's plantation, a little more than five miles off.

The night was none of the most favorable, a drizzling rain rendering the atmosphere thick and rather sultry; but as we were well acquainted with the course, we soon reached the house, where the owner was waiting our arrival. There were now three of us armed with guns, half a dozen servants, and a good pack of dogs of all kinds. We jogged on towards the detached field in which the Bears were at work. The owner told us that for some days several of these animals had visited his corn, and that a negro who was sent every afternoon to see at what part of the enclosure they entered, had assured him there were at least five in the field that night. A plan of attack was formed: the bars at the usual gap of the fence were to be put down without noise; the men and dogs were to divide, and afterwards proceed so as to surround the Bears, when, at the sounding of our horns, every one was to charge towards the centre of the field, and shout as loudly as possible, which it was judged would so intimidate the animals as to induce them to seek refuge upon the dead trees with which the field was still partially covered.

The plan succeeded. The horns sounded, the horses galloped forward, the men shouted, the dogs barked and howled. The shrieks of the negroes were enough to frighten a legion of Bears, and those in the field took to flight, so that by the time we reached the centre they were heard hurrying towards the tops of the trees. Fires were immediately lighted by the negroes. The drizzling rain had ceased, the sky cleared, and the glare of the crackling fires proved of great assistance to us. The Bears had been so terrified that we now saw several of them crouched at the junction of the larger boughs with the trunks. Two were immediately shot down. They were cubs of no great size, and being already half dead, we left them to the dogs, which quickly despatched them.

We were anxious to procure as much sport as possible, and having observed one of the Bears, which from its size we conjectured to be the mother, ordered the negroes to cut down the tree on which it was perched, when it was intended the dogs should have a tug with it, while we should support them, and assist in preventing the Bear from escaping by wounding it in one of the hind-legs. The surrounding woods now echoed to the blows of the axemen. The tree was large and tough, having been girded more than two years, and the operation of felling it seemed extremely tedious. However, it began to vibrate at each stroke; a few inches alone now supported it; and in a short time it came crashing to the ground, in so awful a manner that Bruin must doubtless have felt the shock as severe as we should feel a shake of the globe produced by the sudden collision of a comet.

The dogs rushed to the charge, and harassed the Bear on all sides. We had remounted, and now surrounded the poor animal. As its life depended upon its courage and strength, it exercised both in the most energetic manner. Now and then it seized a dog, and killed him by a single stroke. At another time, a well administered blow of one of its fore-legs sent an assailant off yelping so piteously that he might be looked upon as hors de combat. A cur had daringly ventured to seize the Bear by the snout, and was seen hanging to it, covered with blood, whilst a dozen or more scrambled over its back. Now and then the infuriated animal was seen to cast a revengeful glance at some of the party, and we had already determined to despatch it, when, to our astonishment, it suddenly shook off all the dogs, and, before we could fire, charged upon one of the negroes, who was mounted on a pied horse. The Bear seized the steed with teeth and claws, and clung to its breast. The terrified horse snorted and plunged. The rider, an athletic young man, and a capital horseman, kept his seat, although only saddled on a sheep's-skin tightly girthed, and requested his master not to fire at the Bear. Notwithstanding his coolness and courage, our anxiety for his safety was raised to the highest pitch, especially when in a moment we saw rider and horse come to the ground together; but we were instantly relieved on witnessing the masterly manner in which Scipio despatched his adversary, by laying open his skull with a single well-directed blow of his axe, when a deep growl announced the death of the Bear, and the valorous negro sprung to his feet unhurt.

Day dawned, and we renewed our search. Two of the remaining Bears were soon discovered, lodged in a tree about a hundred yards from the spot where the last one had been overpowered. On approaching them in a circle, we found that they manifested no desire to come down, and we resolved to try smoking. We surrounded the tree with a pile of brushwood and large branches. The flames ascended and caught hold of the dry bark. At length the tree assumed the appearance of a pillar of flame. The Bears mounted to the top branches. When they had reached the uppermost, they were seen to totter, and soon after, the branch cracking and snapping across, they came to the ground, bringing with them a mass of broken twigs. They were cubs, and the dogs soon worried them to death.

The party returned to the house in triumph. Scipio's horse, being severely wounded, was let loose in the field, to repair his strength by eating the corn. A cart was afterwards sent for the game. But before we had left the field, the horses, dogs, and Bears, together with the fires, had destroyed more corn within a few hours than the poor Bear and her cubs had during the whole of their visits.


Beargrass Creek, which is one of the many beautiful streams of the highly cultivated and happy State of Kentucky, meanders through a deeply shaded growth of majestic beechwoods, in which are interspersed various species of walnut, oak, elm, ash, and other trees, extending on either side of its course. The spot on which I witnessed the celebration of an anniversary of the glorious proclamation of our independence is situated on its banks near the city of Louisville. The woods spread their dense tufts towards the shores of the fair Ohio on the west, and over the gently rising grounds to the south and east. Every open spot forming a plantation was smiling in the luxuriance of a summer harvest. The farmer seemed to stand in admiration of the spectacle; the trees of his orchards bowed their branches, as if anxious to restore to their mother earth the fruit with which they were laden; the flocks leisurely ruminated as they lay on their grassy beds; and the genial warmth of the season seemed inclined to favor their repose.


The free, single-hearted Kentuckian, bold, erect, and proud of his Virginian descent, had, as usual, made arrangements for celebrating the day of his country's independence. The whole neighborhood joined with one consent. No personal invitation was required where every one was welcomed by his neighbor, and from the governor to the guider of the plough, all met with light hearts and merry faces.

It was indeed a beautiful day; the bright sun rode in the clear blue heavens; the gentle breezes wafted around the odors of the gorgeous flowers; the little birds sang their sweetest songs in the woods, and the fluttering insects danced in the sunbeams. Columbia's sons and daughters seemed to have grown younger that morning. For a whole week or more many servants and some masters had been busily engaged in clearing an area. The undergrowth had been carefully cut down, the low boughs lopped off, and the grass alone, verdant and gay, remained to carpet the sylvan pavilion. Now the wagons were seen slowly moving along under their load of provisions which had been prepared for the common benefit. Each denizen had freely given his ox, his ham, his venison, his Turkeys and other fowls. Here were to be seen flagons of every beverage used in the country; "la belle rivière" had opened her finny stores, the melons of all sorts, peaches, plums, and pears, would have sufficed to stock a market. In a word, Kentucky, the land of abundance, had supplied a feast for her children. A purling stream gave its waters freely, while the grateful breezes cooled the air. Columns of smoke from the newly kindled fires rose above the trees; fifty cooks or more moved to and fro as they plied their trade; waiters of all qualities were disposing the dishes, the glasses and the punch-bowls, amid vases filled with rich wines. "Old Monongahela" filled many a barrel for the crowd. And now the roasting viands perfume the air, and all appearances conspire to predict the speedy commencement of a banquet such as may suit the vigorous appetite of American woodsmen. Every steward is at his post ready to receive the joyous groups that at this moment begin to emerge from the dark recesses of the woods.

Each comely fair one, clad in pure white, is seen advancing under the protection of her sturdy lover, the neighing of their prancing steeds proclaiming how proud they are of their burden. The youthful riders leap from their seats, and the horses are speedily secured by twisting their bridles round a branch. As the youth of Kentucky lightly and gayly advanced towards the barbecue, they resembled a procession of nymphs and disguised divinities. Fathers and mothers smiled upon them as they followed the brilliant cortége. In a short time the ground was alive with merriment. A great wooden cannon bound with iron hoops was now crammed with home-made powder; fire was conveyed to it by means of a train, and as the explosion burst forth, thousands of hearty huzzas mingled with its echoes. From the most learned a good oration fell in proud and gladdening words on every ear, and although it probably did not equal the eloquence of a Clay, an Everett, a Webster, or a Preston, it served to remind every Kentuckian present of the glorious name, the patriotism, the courage, and the virtue of our immortal Washington. Fifes and drums sounded the march which had ever led him to glory; and as they changed to our celebrated "Yankee-Doodle," the air again rang with acclamations.

Now the stewards invited the assembled throngs to the feast. The fair led the van, and were first placed around the tables, which groaned under the profusion of the best productions of the country that had been heaped upon them. On each lovely nymph attended her gay beau, who in her chance or sidelong glances ever watched an opportunity of reading his happiness. How the viands diminished under the action of so many agents of destruction, I need not say, nor is it necessary that you should listen to the long recital. Many a national toast was offered and accepted, many speeches were delivered, and many essayed in amicable reply. The ladies then retired to booths that had been erected at a little distance, to which they were conducted by their partners, who returned to the table, and having thus cleared for action, recommenced a series of hearty rounds. However, as Kentuckians are neither slow nor long at their meals, all were in a few minutes replenished, and after a few more draughts from the bowl, they rejoined the ladies and prepared for the dance.

Double lines of a hundred fair ones extended along the ground in the most shady part of the woods, while here and there smaller groups awaited the merry trills of reels and cotillons. A burst of music from violins, clarionets, and bugles gave the welcome notice, and presently the whole assemblage seemed to be gracefully moving through the air. The "hunting-shirts" now joined in the dance, their fringed skirts keeping time with the gowns of the ladies, and the married people of either sex stepped in and mixed with their children. Every countenance beamed with joy, every heart leaped with gladness; no pride, no pomp, no affectation were there; their spirits brightened as they continued their exhilarating exercise, and care and sorrow were flung to the winds. During each interval of rest refreshments of all sorts were handed round, and while the fair one cooled her lips with the grateful juice of the melon, the hunter of Kentucky quenched his thirst with ample draughts of well-tempered punch.

I know, reader, that had you been with me on that day you would have richly enjoyed the sight of this national fête champêtre. You would have listened with pleasure to the ingenuous tale of the lover, the wise talk of the elder on the affairs of the State, the accounts of improvement in stock and utensils, and the hopes of continued prosperity to the country at large, and to Kentucky in particular. You would have been pleased to see those who did not join in the dance shooting at distant marks with their heavy rifles, or watched how they showed off the superior speed of their high bred "Old Virginia" horses, while others recounted their hunting exploits, and at intervals made the woods ring with their bursts of laughter. With me the time sped like an arrow in its flight, and although more than twenty years have elapsed since I joined a Kentucky barbecue, my spirit is refreshed every Fourth of July by the recollection of that day's merriment.

But now the sun has declined, and the shades of evening creep over the scene. Large fires are lighted in the woods, casting the long shadows of the live columns far along the trodden ground, and flaring on the happy groups loath to separate. In the still, clear sky, begin to sparkle the distant lamps of heaven. One might have thought that Nature herself smiled on the joy of her children. Supper now appeared on the tables, and after all had again refreshed themselves, preparations were made for departure. The lover hurried for the steed of his fair one, the hunter seized the arm of his friend, families gathered into loving groups, and all returned in peace to their happy homes.

And now, reader, allow me also to take my leave, and wish you good-night, trusting that when I again appear with another volume,[58] you will be ready to welcome me with a cordial greeting.


The Raccoon, which is a cunning and crafty animal, is found in all our woods, so that its name is familiar to every child in the Union. The propensity which it evinces to capture all kinds of birds accessible to it in its nightly prowlings, for the purpose of feasting on their flesh, induces me to endeavor to afford you some idea of the pleasure which our western hunters feel in procuring it. With your leave, then, reader, I will take you to a "Coon Hunt."

A few hours ago the sun went down far beyond the "far west." The woodland choristers have disappeared, the matron has cradled her babe, and betaken herself to the spinning-wheel; the woodsman, his sons, and "the stranger," are chatting before a blazing fire, making wise reflections on past events, and anticipating those that are to come. Autumn, sallow and sad, prepares to bow her head to the keen blast of approaching winter; the corn, though still on its stalk, has lost its blades; the wood-pile is as large as the woodsman's cabin; the nights have become chill, and each new morn has effected a gradual change in the dews, which now crust the withered herbage with a coat of glittering white. The sky is still cloudless; a thousand twinkling stars reflect their light from the tranquil waters; all is silent and calm in the forest, save the nightly prowlers that roam in its recesses. In the cheerful cabin all is happiness; its inmates generously strive to contribute to the comfort of the stranger who has chanced to visit them; and, as Raccoons are abundant in the neighborhood, they propose a hunt. The offer is gladly accepted. The industrious woman leaves her wheel, for she has listened to her husband's talk; now she approaches the fire, takes up the board shovel, stirs the embers, produces a basket filled with sweet potatoes, arranges its contents side by side in front of the hearth, and covers them with hot ashes and glowing coals. All this she does because she "guesses" that hungry stomachs will be calling for food when the sport is over. Ah! reader, what "homely joys" there are in such scenes, and how you would enjoy them! The rich may produce a better, or a more sumptuous meal, but his feelings can never be like those of the poor woodsman. Poor, I ought not to call him, for nature and industry bountifully supply all his wants; the woods and rivers produce his chief dainties, and his toils are his pleasures.

Now mark him! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet; his sons and the stranger prepare for the march. Horns and rifles are in requisition. The good man opens the wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud enough to scare a Wolf. The Raccoons scamper away from the corn-fields, break through the fences, and hie to the woods. The hunter has taken an axe from the wood-pile, and returning, assures us that the night is fine, and that we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle to ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts a feather into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung at his side is attached a powder-horn; his sheath-knife is there also; below hangs a narrow strip of homespun linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his teeth the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the ball on one hand, and with the other pours the powder upon it until it is just overtopped. Raising the horn to his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and restores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the tube; springs the box of his gun, greases the "patch" over with some melted tallow, or damps it; then places it on the honey-combed muzzle of his piece. The bullet is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with the handle of the knife, which now trims the edge of the linen. The elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, smoothly pushes the ball to its bed; once, twice, thrice has it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it were into the hunter's arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole, the powder fills the pan, which is closed. "Now I'm ready," cries the woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly more than a minute has elapsed. I wish, reader, you had seen this fine fellow-but hark! the dogs are barking.

All is now bustle within and without; a servant lights a torch, and off we march to the woods. "Don't mind the boys, my dear sir," says the woodsman, "follow me close, for the ground is covered with logs, and the grape-vines hang everywhere across. Toby, hold up the light, man, or we'll never see the gullies. Trail your gun, sir, as General Clark used to say-not so, but this way-that's it; now then, no danger, you see; no fear of snakes, poor things! They are stiff enough, I'll be bound. The dogs have treed one. Toby, you old fool, why don't you turn to the right?-not so much; there-go ahead, and give us light. What's that? Who's there? Ah, you young rascals! you've played us a trick, have you? It's all well enough, but now just keep behind, or I'll-" And, in fact, the boys, with eyes good enough to see in the dark, although not quite so well as an Owl's, had cut directly across the dogs, which had surprised a Raccoon on the ground, and bayed it until the lads knocked it on the head. "Seek him, boys!" cried the hunter. The dogs, putting their noses to the ground, pushed off at a good rate. "Master, they're making for the creek," says old Toby. On towards it therefore we push. What woods, to be sure! No gentleman's park this, I assure you, reader. We are now in a low flat; the soil thinly covers the hard clay; nothing but beech-trees hereabouts, unless now and then a maple. Hang the limbs! say I-hang the supple-jacks too-here I am, fast by the neck; cut it with your knife. My knee has had a tremendous rub against a log; now my foot is jammed between two roots; and here I stick. "Toby, come back; don't you know the stranger is not up to the woods? Halloo, Toby, Toby!" There I stood perfectly shackled, the hunter laughing heartily, and the lads glad of an opportunity of slipping off. Toby arrived, and held the torch near the ground, on which the hunter, cutting one of the roots with his hatchet, set me free. "Are you hurt, sir?"-"No, not in the least." Off we start again. The boys had got up with the dogs, which were baying a Raccoon in a small puddle. We soon joined them with the light. "Now, stranger, watch and see!" The Raccoon was all but swimming, and yet had hold of the bottom of the pool with his feet. The glare of the lighted torch was doubtless distressing to him; his coat was ruffled, and his rounded tail seemed thrice its ordinary size; his eyes shone like emeralds; with foaming jaws he watched the dogs, ready to seize each by the snout if it came within reach. They kept him busy for several minutes; the water became thick with mud; his coat now hung dripping, and his draggled tail lay floating on the surface. His guttural growlings, in place of intimidating his assailants excited them the more; and they very unceremoniously closed upon him, curs as they were, and without the breeding of gentle dogs. One seized him by the rump, and tugged, but was soon forced to let go; another stuck to his side, but soon taking a better directed bite of his muzzle than another dog had just done of his tail, Coon made him yelp; and pitiful were the cries of luckless Tyke. The Raccoon would not let go, but in the mean time the other dogs seized him fast, and worried him to death, yet to the last he held by his antagonist's snout. Knocked on the head by an axe, he lay gasping his last breath, and the heaving of his chest was painful to see. The hunters stood gazing at him in the pool, while all around was by the flare of the torch rendered trebly dark and dismal. It was a good scene for a skilful painter.

We had now two Coons, whose furs were worth two quarters of a dollar, and whose bodies, which I must not forget, as Toby informed us, were worth two more. "What now?" I asked. "What now?" quoth the father; "why, go after more, to be sure." So we did, the dogs ahead, and I far behind. In a short time the curs treed another, and when we came up, we found them seated on their haunches, looking upwards, and barking. The hunters now employed their axes, and sent the chips about at such a rate that one of them coming in contact with my cheek, marked it so that a week after several of my friends asked me where, in the name of wonder, I had got that black eye. At length the tree began to crack, and slowly leaning to one side, the heavy mass swung rustling through the air, and fell to the earth with a crash. It was not one Coon that was surprised here, but three-ay, three of them, one of which, more crafty than the rest, leaped fairly from the main top while the tree was staggering. The other two stuck to the hollow of a branch, from which they were soon driven by one of the dogs. Tyke and Lion, having nosed the cunning old one, scampered after him, not mouthing like the well-trained hounds of our southern Fox-hunters, but yelling like furies. The hunter's sons attacked those on the tree, while the woodsman and I, preceded by Toby, made after the other; and busy enough we all were. Our animal was of extraordinary size, and after some parley, a rifle-ball was sent through his brain. He reeled once only; next moment he lay dead. The rest were despatched by the axe and the club, for a shot in those days was too valuable to be spent when it could be saved. It could procure a Deer, and therefore was worth more than a Coon's skin.

Now, look at the moon! how full and clear has she risen on the Raccoon hunters! Now is the time for sport! Onward we go, one following the long shadow of his precursor. The twigs are no impediment, and we move at a brisker pace, as we return to the hills. What a hue and cry! here are the dogs. Overhead and all around, on the forks of each tree, the hunter's keen eye searches for something round, which is likely to prove a coiled-up Raccoon. There's one! Between me and the moon I spied the cunning thing crouched in silence. After taking aim, I raise my barrel ever so little, the trigger is pressed; down falls the Raccoon to the ground. Another and another are on the same tree. Off goes a bullet, then a second; and we secure the prey. "Let us go home, stranger," says the woodsman; and contented with our sport, towards his cabin we trudge. On arriving there, we find a cheerful fire. Toby stays without, prepares the game, stretches the skins on a frame of cane, and washes the bodies. The table is already set; the cake and the potatoes are all well done; four bowls of buttermilk are ranged in order, and now the hunters fall to.

The Raccoon is a cunning animal, and makes a pleasant pet. Monkey-like, it is quite dexterous in the use of its fore-feet, and it will amble after its master, in the manner of a Bear, and even follow him into the street. It is fond of eggs, but prefers them raw, and it matters not whether it be morning, noon, or night when it finds a dozen in the pheasant's nest, or one placed in your pocket to please him. He knows the habits of mussels better than most conchologists. Being an expert climber he ascends to the hole of the Woodpecker, and devours the young birds. He knows, too, how to watch the soft-shelled Turtle's crawl, and, better still, how to dig up her eggs. Now, by the edge of the pond, grimalkin-like, he lies seemingly asleep, until the Summer-Duck comes within reach. No negro knows better when the corn is juicy and pleasant to eat; and although Squirrels and Woodpeckers know this too, the Raccoon is found in the corn-field longer in the season than any of them, the havoc he commits there amounting to a tithe. His fur is good in winter, and many think his flesh good also; but for my part, I prefer a live Raccoon to a dead one; and should find more pleasure in hunting one than in eating him.


There seems to be a universal feeling of hostility among men against the Wolf, whose strength, agility, and cunning, which latter is scarcely inferior to that of his relative, Master Reynard, tend to render him an object of hatred, especially to the husbandman, on whose flocks he is ever apt to commit depredations. In America, where this animal was formerly abundant, and in many parts of which it still occurs in considerable numbers, it is not more mercifully dealt with than in other parts of the world. Traps and snares of all sorts are set for catching it, while dogs and horses are trained for hunting the Fox. The Wolf, however, unless in some way injured, being more powerful and perhaps better winded than the Fox, is rarely pursued with hounds or any other dogs in open chase; but as his depredations are at times extensive and highly injurious to the farmer, the greatest exertions have been used to exterminate his race. Few instances have occurred among us of any attack made by Wolves on man, and only one has come under my own notice.

Two young negroes who resided near the banks of the Ohio, in the lower part of the state of Kentucky, about twenty-three years ago, had sweethearts living on a plantation ten miles distant. After the labors of the day were over, they frequently visited the fair ladies of their choice, the nearest way to whose dwelling lay directly across a great cane-brake. As to the lover every moment is precious, they usually took this route to save time. Winter had commenced, cold, dark, and forbidding, and after sunset scarcely a glimpse of light or glow of warmth, one might imagine, could be found in that dreary swamp, excepting in the eyes and bosoms of the ardent youths, or the hungry Wolves that prowled about. The snow covered the earth, and rendered them more easy to be scented from a distance by the famished beasts. Prudent in a certain degree, the young lovers carried their axes on their shoulders, and walked as briskly as the narrow path would allow. Some transient glimpses of light now and then met their eyes, but so faint were they that they believed them to be caused by their faces coming in contact with the slender reeds covered with snow. Suddenly, however, a long and frightful howl burst upon them, and they instantly knew that it proceeded from a troop of hungry, perhaps desperate Wolves. They stopped, and putting themselves in an attitude of defence, awaited the result. All around was dark, save a few feet of snow, and the silence of night was dismal. Nothing could be done to better their situation, and after standing a few minutes in expectation of an attack, they judged it best to resume their march; but no sooner had they replaced their axes on their shoulders and begun to move, than the foremost found himself assailed by several foes. His legs were held fast as if pressed by a powerful screw, and the torture inflicted by the fangs of the ravenous animal was for a moment excruciating. Several Wolves in the meantime sprung upon the breast of the other negro, and dragged him to the ground. Both struggled manfully against their foes; but in a short time one of them ceased to move, and the other, reduced in strength, and perhaps despairing of maintaining his ground, still more of aiding his unfortunate companion, sprung to the branch of a tree, and speedily gained a place of safety near the top. The next morning the mangled remains of his comrade lay scattered around on the snow, which was stained with blood. Three dead Wolves lay around, but the rest of the pack had disappeared, and Scipio, sliding to the ground, took up the axes, and made the best of his way home, to relate the sad adventure.

About two years after this occurrence, as I was travelling between Henderson and Vincennes, I chanced to stop for the night at a farmer's house by the side of the road. After putting up my horse and refreshing myself, I entered into conversation with mine host, who asked if I should like to pay a visit to the Wolf-pits, which were about half a mile distant. Glad of the opportunity I accompanied him across the fields to the neighborhood of a deep wood, and soon saw the engines of destruction. He had three pits, within a few hundred yards of each other. They were about eight feet deep and broader at bottom, so as to render it impossible for the most active animal to escape from them. The aperture was covered with a revolving platform of twigs attached to a central axis. On either surface of the platform was fastened a large piece of putrid venison, with other matters by no means pleasing to my olfactory nerves, although no doubt attractive to the Wolves. My companion wished to visit them that evening, merely as he was in the habit of doing so daily, for the purpose of seeing that all was right. He said that Wolves were very abundant that autumn, and had killed nearly the whole of his sheep and one of his colts, but that he was now "paying them off in full;" and added that if I would tarry a few hours with him next morning, he would beyond a doubt show me some sport rarely seen in those parts. We retired to rest in due time, and were up with the dawn.

"I think," said my host, "that all's right, for I see the dogs are anxious to get away to the pits, and although they are nothing but curs, their noses are none the worse for that." As he took up his gun, an axe, and a large knife, the dogs began to howl and bark, and whisked around us, as if full of joy. When we reached the first pit, we found the bait all gone, and the platform much injured; but the animal that had been entrapped had scraped a subterranean passage for himself, and so escaped. On peeping into the next, he assured me that "three famous fellows were safe enough" in it. I also peeped in and saw the Wolves, two black, and the other brindled, all of goodly size, sure enough. They lay flat on the earth, their ears laid close over the head, their eyes indicating fear more than anger. "But how are we to get them out?" "How, sir?" said the farmer; "why, by going down, to be sure, and hamstringing them." Being a novice in these matters, I begged to be merely a looker-on. "With all my heart," quoth the farmer; "stand here and look at me through the brush." Whereupon he glided down, taking with him his axe and knife, and leaving his rifle to my care. I was not a little surprised to see the cowardice of the Wolves. He pulled out successively their hind legs, and with a side stroke of the knife cut the principal tendon above the joint, exhibiting as little fear as if he had been marking lambs.

"Lo!" exclaimed the farmer, when he had got out, "we have forgotten the rope; I'll go after it." Off he went accordingly, with as much alacrity as any youngster could show. In a short time he returned out of breath, and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand-"Now for it." I was desired to raise and hold the platform on its central balance, whilst he, with all the dexterity of an Indian, threw a noose over the neck of one of the Wolves. We hauled it up motionless with fright, as if dead, its disabled legs swinging to and fro, its jaws wide open, and the gurgle in its throat alone indicating that it was alive. Letting him drop on the ground, the farmer loosened the rope by means of a stick, and left him to the dogs, all of which set upon him with great fury and soon worried him to death. The second was dealt with in the same manner; but the third, which was probably the oldest, as it was the blackest, showed some spirit the moment it was left loose to the mercy of the curs. This Wolf, which we afterwards found to be a female, scuffled along on its fore-legs at a surprising rate, giving a snap every now and then to the nearest dog, which went off howling dismally, with a mouthful of skin torn from its side. And so well did the furious beast defend itself, that apprehensive of its escape, the farmer levelled his rifle at it, and shot it through the heart, on which the curs rushed upon it, and satiated their vengeance on the destroyer of their master's flock.


This singular animal is found more or less abundant in most parts of the Southern, Western, and Middle States of the Union. It is the Didelphis virginiana of Pennant, Harlan, and other authors who have given some accounts of its habits; but as none of them, so far as I know, have illustrated its propensity to dissimulate, and as I have had opportunities of observing its manners, I trust that a few particulars of its biography will prove amusing.

The Opossum is fond of secluding itself during the day, although it by no means confines its predatory rangings to the night. Like many other quadrupeds which feed principally on flesh, it is also both frugivorous and herbivorous, and, when very hard pressed by hunger, it seizes various kinds of insects and reptiles. Its gait, while travelling, and at a time when it supposes itself unobserved, is altogether ambling; in other words, it, like a young foal, moves the two legs of one side forward at once. The Newfoundland dog manifests a similar propensity. Having a constitution as hardy as that of the most northern animals, it stands the coldest weather, and does not hibernate, although its covering of fur and hair may be said to be comparatively scanty even during winter. The defect, however, seems to be compensated by a skin of considerable thickness, and a general subcutaneous layer of fat. Its movements are usually rather slow, and as it walks or ambles along, its curious prehensile tail is carried just above the ground, its rounded ears are directed forward, and at almost every step its pointed nose is applied to the objects beneath it, in order to discover what sort of creatures may have crossed its path. Methinks I see one at this moment slowly and cautiously trudging over the melting snows by the side of an unfrequented pond, nosing as it goes for the fare its ravenous appetite prefers. Now it has come upon the fresh track of a Grouse or Hare, and it raises its snout and snuffs the keen air. At length it has decided on its course, and it speeds onward at the rate of a man's ordinary walk. It stops and seems at a loss in what direction to go, for the object of its pursuit has either taken a considerable leap or has cut backwards before the Opossum entered its track. It raises itself up, stands for a while on its hind feet, looks around, snuffs the air again, and then proceeds; but now, at the foot of a noble tree, it comes to a full stand. It walks round the base of the huge trunk, over the snow-covered roots, and among them finds an aperture which it at once enters. Several minutes elapse, when it re-appears, dragging along a Squirrel already deprived of life, with which in its mouth it begins to ascend the tree. Slowly it climbs. The first fork does not seem to suit it, for perhaps it thinks it might there be too openly exposed to the view of some wily foe; and so it proceeds, until it gains a cluster of branches intertwined with grape-vines, and there composing itself, it twists its tail round one of the twigs, and with its sharp teeth demolishes the unlucky Squirrel, which it holds all the while with its fore-paws.

The pleasant days of spring have arrived, and the trees vigorously shoot forth their buds; but the Opossum is almost bare, and seems nearly exhausted by hunger. It visits the margins of creeks, and is pleased to see the young frogs, which afford it a tolerable repast. Gradually the poke-berry and the nettle shoot up, and on their tender and juicy stems it gladly feeds. The matin calls of the Wild Turkey Cock delight the ear of the cunning creature, for it well knows that it will soon hear the female and trace her to her nest, when it will suck the eggs with delight. Travelling through the woods, perhaps on the ground, perhaps aloft, from tree to tree, it hears a cock crow, and its heart swells as it remembers the savory food on which it regaled itself last summer in the neighboring farm-yard. With great care, however, it advances, and at last conceals itself in the very hen-house.

Honest farmer! why did you kill so many Crows last winter? ay and Ravens too? Well, you have had your own way of it; but now hie to the village and procure a store of ammunition, clean your rusty gun, set your traps, and teach your lazy curs to watch the Opossum. There it comes. The sun is scarcely down, but the appetite of the prowler is keen; hear the screams of one of your best chickens that has been seized by him! The cunning beast is off with it, and nothing can now be done, unless you stand there to watch the Fox or the Owl, now exulting in the thought that you have killed their enemy and your own friend, the poor Crow. That precious hen under which you last week placed a dozen eggs or so is now deprived of them. The Opossum, notwithstanding her angry outcries and rufflings of feathers, has removed them one by one, and now look at the poor bird as she moves across your yard; if not mad, she is at least stupid, for she scratches here and there, calling to her chickens all the while. All this comes from your shooting Crows. Had you been more merciful or more prudent, the Opossum might have been kept within the woods, where it would have been satisfied with a Squirrel, a young Hare, the eggs of a Turkey, or the grapes that so profusely adorn the boughs of our forest trees. But I talk to you in vain.

There cannot be a better exemplification of maternal tenderness than the female Opossum. Just peep into that curious sack in which the young are concealed, each attached to a teat. The kind mother not only nourishes them with care, but preserves them from their enemies; she moves with them as the shark does with its progeny, and now, aloft on the tulip-tree, she hides among the thick foliage. By the end of two months they begin to shift for themselves; each has been taught its particular lesson, and must now practise it.

But suppose the farmer has surprised an Opossum in the act of killing one of his best fowls. His angry feelings urge him to kick the poor beast, which, conscious of its inability to resist, rolls off like a ball. The more the farmer rages, the more reluctant is the animal to manifest resentment; at last there it lies, not dead, but exhausted, its jaws open, its tongue extended, its eye dimmed; and there it would lie until the bottle-fly should come to deposit its eggs, did not its tormentor at length walk off. "Surely," says he to himself, "the beast must be dead." But no, reader, it is only "'possuming," and no sooner has its enemy withdrawn than it gradually gets on its legs, and once more makes for the woods.

Once, while descending the Mississippi, in a sluggish flat-bottomed boat, expressly for the purpose of studying those objects of nature more nearly connected with my favorite pursuits, I chanced to meet with two well-grown Opossums, and brought them alive to the "ark." The poor things were placed on the roof or deck, and were immediately assailed by the crew, when, following their natural instinct, they lay as if quite dead. An experiment was suggested, and both were thrown overboard. On striking the water, and for a few moments after, neither evinced the least disposition to move; but finding their situation desperate, they began to swim towards our uncouth rudder, which was formed of a long slender tree, extending from the middle of the boat thirty feet beyond its stern. They both got upon it, were taken up, and afterwards let loose in their native woods.

In the year 1829, I was in a portion of lower Louisiana, where the Opossum abounds at all seasons, and having been asked by the President and the Secretary of the Zo?logical Society of London, to forward live animals of this species to them, I offered a price a little above the common, and soon found myself plentifully supplied, twenty-five having been brought to me. I found them excessively voracious, and not less cowardly. They were put into a large box, with a great quantity of food, and conveyed to a steamer bound for New Orleans. Two days afterwards, I went to that city, to see about sending them off to Europe; but, to my surprise, I found that the old males had destroyed the younger ones, and eaten off their heads, and that only sixteen remained alive. A separate box was purchased for each, and some time after they reached my friends, the Rathbones of Liverpool, who, with their usual attention, sent them off to London, where, on my return, I saw a good number of them in the Zo?logical Gardens.

This animal is fond of grapes, of which a species now bears its name. Persimmons are greedily eaten by it, and in severe weather I have observed it eating lichens. Fowls of every kind, and quadrupeds less powerful than itself, are also its habitual prey.

The flesh of the Opossum resembles that of a young pig, and would perhaps be as highly prized, were it not for the prejudice generally entertained against it. Some "very particular" persons, to my knowledge, have pronounced it excellent eating. After cleaning its body, suspend it for a whole week in the frosty air, for it is not eaten in summer; then place it on a heap of hot wood embers; sprinkle it when cooked with gunpowder; and now tell me, good reader, does it not equal the famed Canvas-back Duck? Should you visit any of our markets, you may see it there in company with the best game.


While advancing the best way I could through the magnificent woods that cover the undulating grounds in the vicinity of the Green River in Kentucky, I was overtaken by night. With slow and cautious steps I proceeded, feeling some doubt as to my course, when the moon came forth, as if purposely to afford me her friendly light. The air I thought was uncommonly keen, and the gentle breeze that now and then shook the tops of the tall trees more than once made me think of halting for the night, and forming a camp. At times I thought of the campaigns of my old friend, Daniel Boone, his strange adventures in these very woods, and the extraordinary walk which he performed to save his fellow creatures at Fort Massacre from the scalping knives of the irritated Indians.[59] Now and then a Raccoon or Opossum, causing the fallen leaves to rustle, made me pause for a moment; and thus I was forcing my way, thinking on many things dismal as well as pleasing, when the glimmer of a distant fire suddenly aroused me from my reveries, and inspired me with fresh animation. As I approached it, I observed forms of different kinds moving to and fro before it, like spectres; and ere long, bursts of laughter, shouts, and songs apprised me of some merry-making. I thought at first I had probably stumbled upon a camp meeting; but I soon perceived that the mirth proceeded from a band of sugar-makers. Every man, woman, and child stared as I passed them, but all were friendly, and, without more ceremony than was needful, I walked up to the fire, at which I found two or three old women, with their husbands, attending to the kettles. Their plain dresses of Kentucky homespun were far more pleasing to my sight than the ribboned turbans of city dames, or the powdered wigs and embroidered waistcoats of antique beaux. I was heartily welcomed, and supplied with a goodly pone of bread, a plate of molasses, and some sweet potatoes.

Fatigued with my long ramble, I lay down under the lee of the smoke, and soon fell into a sound sleep. When day returned, the frost lay thick around; but the party arose cheerful and invigorated, and after performing their orisons, resumed their labor. The scenery was most pleasing; the ground all round looked as if it had been cleared of underwood; the maples, straight and tall, seemed as if planted in rows; between them meandered several rills, which gently murmured as they hastened toward the larger stream; and as the sun dissolved the frozen dews the few feathered songsters joined the chorus of the woodsmen's daughters. Whenever a burst of laughter suddenly echoed through the woods, an Owl or Wild Turkey would respond to it, with a signal welcome to the young men of the party. With large ladles the sugar-makers stirred the thickening juice of the maple; pails of sap were collected from the trees and brought in by the young people, while here and there some sturdy fellow was seen first hacking a cut in a tree, and afterwards boring with an auger a hole, into which he introduced a piece of hollow cane, by which the sap was to be drained off. About half a dozen men had felled a noble yellow poplar, and sawed its great trunk into many pieces, which, after being split, they were scooping into troughs to be placed under the cane-cocks, to receive the maple juice.

Now, good reader, should you ever chance to travel through the maple grounds that lie near the banks of that lovely stream the Green River of Kentucky, either in January or in March, or through those on the broader Monongahela in April; nay, should you find yourself by the limpid streamlets that roll down the declivities of the Pocano Mountains to join the Lehigh, and there meet with a sugar camp, take my advice and tarry for a while. If you be on foot or on horseback, and are thirsty, you can nowhere find a more wholesome or more agreeable beverage than the juice of the maple. A man when in the Floridas may drink molasses diffused in water; in Labrador he may drink what he can get; and at New York or Philadelphia he may drink what he chooses; but in the woods a draught from the sugar maple is delicious and most refreshing. How often, when travelling, have I quenched my thirst with the limpid juice of the receiving-troughs, from which I parted with regret; nay, even my horse, I have thought, seemed to desire to linger as long as he could.

But let me endeavor to describe to you the manner in which the sugar is obtained. The trees that yield it (Acer saccharinum) are found more or less abundantly in all parts of the United States from Louisiana to Maine, growing on elevated rich grounds. An incision is made into the trunk at a height of from two to six feet; a pipe of cane or of any other kind is thrust into the aperture, a trough is placed beneath and receives the juice, which trickles by drops, and is as limpid as the purest spring water. When all the trees of a certain space have been tapped, and the troughs filled, the people collect the juice, and pour it into large vessels. A camp has already been pitched in the midst of a grove; several iron boilers have been fixed on stone or brick supports, and the business proceeds with vigor. At times several neighboring families join, and enjoy the labor, as if it were a pastime, remaining out day and night for several weeks; for the troughs and kettles must be attended to from the moment when they are first put in requisition until the sugar is produced. The men and boys perform the most laborious part of the business, but the women and girls are not less busy.

It takes ten gallons of sap to produce a pound of fine-grained sugar; but an inferior kind in lumps, called cake sugar, is obtained in greater quantity. When the season is far advanced, the juice will no longer grain by boiling, and only produces a syrup. I have seen maple sugar so good, that some months after it was manufactured it resembled candy; and well do I remember the time when it was an article of commerce throughout Kentucky, where, twenty-five or thirty years ago, it sold at from 6? to 12? cents per pound, according to its quality, and was daily purchased in the markets or stores.

Trees that have been thus bored rarely last many years; for the cuts and perforations made in their trunks injure their health, so that after some years of weeping they become sickly, exhibit monstrosities about their lower parts, gradually decay, and at length die. I have no doubt, however, that, with proper care, the same quantity of sap might be obtained with less injury to the trees; and it is now fully time that the farmers and land-owners should begin to look to the preservation of their sugar-maples.


No sooner have the overflowing waters of early spring subsided within their banks, and the temperature become pleasant, than the trees of our woods are seen to unfold their buds and blossoms, and the White Perch which during the winter has lived in the ocean, rushes up our streams, to seek the well-known haunts in which it last year deposited its spawn. With unabating vigor it ascends the turbulent current of the Mississippi, of which, however, the waters are too muddy to suit its habits; and glad no doubt it is to enter one of the numberless tributaries whose limpid waters are poured into the mighty river. Of these subsidiary waters the Ohio is one in whose pure stream the White Perch seems to delight; and towards its head-springs the fish advance in numerous shoals, following the banks with easy progress. Over many a pebbly or gravelly bar does it seek its food. Here the crawling Mussel it crunches and devours; there, with the speed of an arrow, it darts upon the minnow; again, at the edge of a shelving rock, or by the side of a stone, it secures a cray-fish. No impure food will "the Growler" touch; therefore, reader, never make use of such to allure it, otherwise not only will your time be lost, but you will not enjoy the gratification of tasting this delicious fish. Should you have no experience in fishing for Perch I would recommend to you to watch the men you see on that shore, for they are excellent anglers.

Smooth are the waters, clear is the sky, and gently does the stream move-perhaps its velocity does not exceed a mile in the hour. Silence reigns around you. See, each fisher has a basket or calabash, containing many a live cray; and each line, as thick as a crowquill, measures scarce a furlong. At one end two Perch-hooks are so fastened that they cannot interfere with each other. A few inches beyond the reaching point of the farthest hook, the sinker, perhaps a quarter of a pound in weight, having a hole bored through its length, is passed upon the line, and there secured by a stout knot at its lower extremity. The other end of the line is fastened ashore. The tackle, you observe, is carefully coiled on the sand at the fisher's feet. Now on each hook he fixes a cray-fish, piercing the shell beneath the tail, and forcing the keen weapon to reach the very head of the suffering creature, while all its legs are left at liberty to move. Now each man, holding his line a yard or so from the hooks, whirls it several times overhead, and sends it off to its full length directly across the stream. No sooner has it reached the gravelly bed than, gently urged by the current, it rolls over and over, until the line and the water follow the same direction. Before this, however, I see that several of the men have had a bite, and that by a short jerk they have hooked the fish. Hand over hand they haul in their lines. Poor Perch, it is useless labor for thee to flounce and splash in that manner, for no pity will be shown thee, and thou shalt be dashed on the sand, and left there to quiver in the agonies of death. The lines are within a few yards of being in. I see the fish gasping on its side. Ah! there are two on this line, both good; on most of the others there is one; but I see some of the lines have been robbed by some cunning inhabitant of the water. What beautiful fishes these Perches are! So silvery beneath, so deeply colored above! What a fine eye, too! But, friend, I cannot endure their gaspings. Pray put them on this short line, and place them in the water beside you, until you prepare to go home. In a few hours each fisher has obtained as many as he wishes. He rolls up his line, fastens five or six Perches on each side of his saddle, mounts his horse, and merrily wends his way.

In this manner the White Perch is caught along the sandy banks of the Ohio, from its mouth to its source. In many parts above Louisville some fishers prefer using the trot-line, which, however, ought to be placed upon, or very little above, the bottom of the stream. When this kind of line is employed, its hooks are more frequently baited with mussels than with cray-fish, the latter being, perhaps, not so easily procured there as farther down the stream. Great numbers of Perches are also caught in seines, especially during a transient rise of the water. Few persons fish for them with the pole, as they generally prefer following the edges of the sand-bars, next to deep water. Like all others of its tribe, the White Perch is fond of depositing its spawn on gravelly or sandy beds, but rarely at a depth of less than four or five feet. These beds are round, and have an elevated margin formed of the sand removed from their centre, which is scooped out for two or three inches. The fish, although it generally remains for some days over its treasure, is by no means so careful of it as the little "Sunny," but starts off at the least appearance of danger. I have more than once taken considerable pleasure in floating over their beds, when the water was sufficiently clear to admit of my seeing both the fish and its place of deposit; but I observed that if the sun was shining, the very sight of the boat's shadow drove the Perches away. I am of opinion that most of them return to the sea about the beginning of November; but of this I am not certain.

The usual length of this fish, which on the Ohio is called the White Perch, and in the state of New York the Growler, is from fifteen to twenty inches. I have, however, seen some considerably larger. The weight varies from a pound and a half to four, and even six pounds. For the first six weeks of their arrival in fresh-water streams they are in season; the flesh is then white and firm, and affords excellent eating; but during the heats of summer they become poor, and are seldom very good. Now and then, in the latter days of September, I have eaten some that tasted as well as in spring. One of the most remarkable habits of this fish is that from which it has received the name of Growler. When poised in the water, close to the bottom of the boat, it emits a rough croaking noise, somewhat resembling a groan. Whenever this sound is heard under a boat, if the least disturbance is made by knocking on the gunwale or bottom, it at once ceases; but is renewed when everything is quiet. It is seldom heard, however, unless in fine, calm weather.

The White Perch bites at the hook with considerable care, and very frequently takes off the bait without being caught. Indeed, it requires a good deal of dexterity to hook it, for if this is not done the first time it touches the bait, you rarely succeed afterward; and I have seen young hands at the game, who, in the course of a morning, seldom caught more than one or two, although they lost perhaps twenty crays. But now that I have afforded you some information respecting the habits of the White Perch, allow me to say a few words on the subject of its favorite bait.

The cray is certainly not a fish, although usually so styled; but as every one is acquainted with its form and nature, I shall not inflict on you any disquisition regarding it. It is a handsome crustaceous animal certainly, and its whole tribe I consider as dainties of the first order. To me "écrevisses," whether of salt or fresh water, stripped of their coats and blended into a soup or a "Gombo," have always been most welcome. Boiled or roasted, too, they are excellent in my estimation, and mayhap in yours. The cray-fish, of which I here more particularly speak-for I shall not deprive them of their caudal appendage, lest, like a basha without his tail, they might seem of less consequence-are found most abundantly swimming, crawling at the bottom or on shore, or working at their muddy burrows, in all the southern parts of the Union. If I mistake not, we have two species at least, one more an inhabitant of rocky streamlets than the other, and that one by far the best, though the other is good too. Both species swim by means of rapid strokes of the tail, which propel them backwards to a considerable distance at each repetition. All that I regret concerning these animals is that they are absolutely little aquatic vultures-or, if you please, crustacea with vulturine habits-for they feed on everything impure that comes in their way, when they cannot obtain fresh aliment. However this may be, the crays somehow fall in with this sort of food, and any person may catch as many as he may wish, by fastening a piece of flesh to a line, allowing it to remain under water for a while, and drawing it up with care, when, with the aid of a hand-net, he may bring it ashore with a few! But although this is a good method of procuring cray-fish, it answers only for those that live in running waters. The form of these is delicate, their color a light olive, and their motions in the water are very lively. The others are larger, of a dark, greenish brown, less active in the water than on land, although they are most truly amphibious. The first conceal themselves beneath shelving rocks, stones, or water-plants; the others form a deep burrow in the damp earth, depositing the materials drawn up as a man would do in digging a well. The manner in which they dispose of the mud you may see by glancing at the plate of the White Ibis, in my third volume of illustrations, where also you will find a tolerable portrait of one of these creatures.

According to the nature of the ground, the burrows of this cray-fish are more or less deep. Indeed, this also depends partly on the increasing dryness of the soil, when influenced by the heat of summer, as well as on the texture of the substratum. Thus, in some places, where the cray can reach the water after working a few inches, it rests contented during the day, but crawls out for food at night. Should it, however, be left dry, it renews its labors; and thus while one burrow may be only five or six inches deep, another may be two or three feet, and a third even more. They are easily procured when thus lodged in shallow holes; but when the burrow is deep, a thread is used, with a small piece of flesh fastened to it. The cray eagerly seizes the bait, and is gently drawn up, and thrown to a distance, when he becomes an easy prey. You have read of the method used by the White Ibis in procuring crays,[60] and I leave you to judge whether the bird or the man is the best fisher. This species is most abundant round the borders of the stagnant lakes, bayous, or ponds of the Southern Districts; and I have seen them caught even in the streets of the suburbs of New Orleans, after a heavy shower. They become a great pest by perforating embankments of all sorts, and many are the maledictions that are uttered against them, both by millers and planters, nay, even by the overseers of the levees along the banks of the Mississippi. But they are curious creatures, formed no doubt for useful purposes, and as such they are worthy of your notice.


Few of our smaller fresh-water fishes excel, either in beauty or in delicacy and flavor, the species which I have chosen as the subject of this article, and few afford more pleasure to young fishers. Although it occurs in all our streams, whether rapid or gentle, small or large, in the mill-dam overshadowed by tall forest trees, or in the open lake margined with reeds, you must never expect to find it in impure waters. Let the place be deep or shallow, broad or narrow, the water must be clear enough to allow the sun's rays to fall unimpaired on the rich coat of mail that covers the body of the Sunfish. Look at him as he poises himself under the lee of the protecting rock beneath our feet! See how steadily he maintains his position, and yet how many rapid motions of his fins are necessary to preserve it! Now another is by his side glowing with equal beauty, and poising itself by equally easy and graceful movements. The sun is shining, and under the lee of every stone, and sunk log, some of the little creatures are rising to the surface to enjoy the bright blaze, which enhances all their beauty. The golden hues of some parts of the body, blend with the green of the emerald, while the coral tints of the lower parts and the red of its sparkling eye, render our little favorite a perfect gem of the waters.

The rushing stream boils and gurgles as it forces its way over the obstacles presented by its bed, the craggy points, large stones and logs that are strewn along the bottom. Every one of these proves a place of rest, safety, and observation to the little things, whose eyes are ever anxiously watching their favorite prey as it passes. There an unfortunate moth, swept along by the current, labors in vain to extricate itself from the treacherous element; its body, indeed, at intervals, rises a little above the surface, but its broad wings, now wet and heavy, bear it down again to the water. The Sunfish has marked it, and as it passes his retreat, he darts towards it, with twenty of his fellows, all eager to seize the prize. The swiftest swallows it in a moment, and all immediately return to their lurking-places, where they fancy themselves secure. But, alas! the Sunfish is no more without enemies than the moth, or any other living creature. So has nature determined, evidently, to promote prudence and industry, without which none can reap the full advantage of life.

On the top of yon miller's dam stands boldly erect the ardent fisher. Up to the knees and regardless of the danger of his situation, he prepares his apparatus of destruction. A keen hook attached to his grass line is now hid within the body of a worm or grasshopper. With a knowing eye he marks one after another every surge of the water below. Observing the top of a rock scarcely covered, he sends his hook towards it with gentleness and certainty; the bait now floats and anon sinks; his reel slowly lengthens the line, which is suddenly tightened, and he feels that a fish is secured. Now whirls the reel again; thrice has the fish tried its utmost strength and speed, but soon, panting and exhausted, it is seen floating for a moment on the surface. Nothing now is required but to bring it to hand, which done, the angler baits anew, and sends forth the treacherous morsel. For an hour or more he continues the agreeable occupation, drawing from the stream a fish at every short interval. To the willow twig fastened to his waist a hundred "Sunnies" are already attached. Suddenly the sky is overcast, and the crafty fisher, although aware that with a different hook and bait he might soon procure a fine eel or two, carefully wades to the shore, and homeward leisurely plods his way.

In this manner are the Sunfishes caught by the regular or "scientific" anglers, and a beautiful sight it is to see the ease and grace with which they allure the objects of their desire, whether in the open turbulence of the waters, or under the low boughs of the overhanging trees, where, in some deep hole, a swarm of the little creatures may be playing in fancied security. Rarely does his tackle become entangled, whilst, with incomparable dexterity, he draws one after another from the waters.

Thousands of individuals, however, there are, who, less curious in their mode of fishing, often procure as many "Sunnies" without allowing them to play for a moment. Look at these boys! One stands on the shore, while the others are on fallen trees that project over the stream. Their rods, as you perceive, are merely shoots of the hazel or hickory, their lines are simply twine, and their hooks none of the finest. One has a calabash filled with worms and grubs of many sorts, kept alive in damp earth, and another is supplied with a bottle containing half a gross of live "hoppers;" the third has no bait at all, but borrows from his nearest neighbor. Well, there they are, "three merry boys," whirling their rods in the air to unroll their lines, on one of which, you observe, a cork is fastened, while on another is a bit of light wood, and on the third a grain or two of large shot, to draw it at once to a certain depth. Now their hooks are baited and all are ready. Each casts his line as he thinks best, after he has probed the depth of the stream with his rod, to enable him to place his buoy at the proper point. Bob, bob, goes the cork; down it moves; the bit of wood disappears, the leaded line tightens; in a moment up swing the "Sunnies," which, getting unhooked, are projected far among the grass, where they struggle in vain, until death ends their efforts. The hooks are now baited anew, and dropped into the water. The fish is abundant, the weather propitious and delightful, for it is now October; and so greedy have the "Sunnies" become of grasshoppers and grubs that dozens at once dash at the same bait. The lads, believe me, have now rare sport, and in an hour scarcely a fish remains in the hole. The happy children have caught, perhaps, some hundreds of delicious "panfish," to feed their parents and delight their little sisters. Surely their pleasure is fully as great as that experienced by the scientific angler.

I have known instances when the waters of a dam having been let out, for some reason better known to the miller than to myself, all the Sunfish have betaken themselves to one or two deep holes, as if to avoid being carried away from their favorite abode. There I have seen them in such multitudes that one could catch as many as he pleased with a pin-hook, fastened to any sort of line, and baited with any sort of worm or insect, or even with a piece of newly caught fish. Yet, and I am not able to account for it, all of a sudden, without apparent cause, they would cease to take, and no allurement whatever could entice them or the other fishes in the pool to seize the hook.

During high freshets, this species of Perch seldom bites at anything; but you may procure them with a cast-net or a seine, provided you are well acquainted with the localities. On the contrary, when the waters are clear and low, every secluded hole, every eddy under the lee of a rock, every place sheltered by a raft of timber, will afford you amusement. In some parts of the Southern States, the negroes procure these fishes late in the autumn in shallow ponds or bayous, by wading through the water with caution, and placing at every few steps a wicker apparatus, not unlike a small barrel, open at both ends. The moment the fishes find themselves confined within the lower part of this, which is pressed to the bottom of the stream, their skippings announce their capture, and the fisher secures his booty.

This species, the Labrus auritus of Linn?us, the Pomotis vulgaris of Cuvier, seldom exceeds five or six inches in length, but is rather deep in proportion. The usual size is from four to five inches, with a depth of from two to two and a half. They are not bony, and at all seasons afford delicate eating. Having observed a considerable change in their color in different parts of the United States, and in different streams, ponds, or lakes, I was led to think that this curious effect might be produced by the difference of color in the water. Thus the Sunfish caught in the deep waters of Green River, in Kentucky, exhibit a depth of olive-brown quite different from the general tint of those caught in the colorless waters of the Ohio or Schuylkill; those of the reddish-colored waters of the bayous of the Louisiana swamps look as if covered with a coppery tarnish; and, lastly, those met with in streams that glide beneath cedars or other firs, have a pale and sallow complexion.

The Sun Perch, wherever found, seems to give a decided preference to sandy, gravelly, or rocky beds of streams, avoiding those of which the bottom is muddy. At the period of depositing their eggs this preference is still more apparent. The little creature is then seen swimming rapidly over shallows, the bed of which is mostly formed of fine gravel, when after a time it is observed to poise itself and gradually sink to the bottom, where with its fin it pushes aside the sand to the extent of eight or ten inches, thus forming a circular cavity. In a few days a little ridge is thus raised around, and in the cleared area the roe is deposited. By wading carefully over the extent of the place, a person may count forty, fifty, or more of these beds, some within a few feet of each other, and some several yards apart. Instead of abandoning its spawn, as others of the family are wont to do, this little fish keeps guard over it with all the care of a sitting bird. You observe it poised over the bed, watching the objects around. Should the rotten leaf of a tree, a piece of wood, or any other substance, happen to be rolled over the border of the bed, the Sunfish carefully removes it, holding the obnoxious matter in its mouth, and dropping it over the margin. Having many times witnessed this act of prudence and cleanliness in the little sunny, and observed that at this period it will not seize on any kind of bait, I took it into my head one fair afternoon to make a few experiments for the purpose of judging how far its instinct or reason might induce it to act when disturbed or harassed.

Provided with a fine fishing-line, and such insects as I knew were relished by this fish, I reached a sand-bar covered by about one foot of water, where I had previously seen many deposits. Approaching the nearest to the shore with great care, I baited my hook with a living ground-worm, the greater part of which was left at liberty to writhe as it pleased, and, throwing the line up the stream, managed it so that at last it passed over the border of the nest, when I allowed it to remain on the bottom. The fish, I perceived, had marked me, and as the worm intruded on its premises, it swam to the farther side, there poised itself for a few moments, then approached the worm, and carried it in its mouth over the side next to me, with a care and gentleness so very remarkable as to afford me much surprise. I repeated the experiment six or seven times, and always with the same result. Then changing the bait, I employed a young grasshopper, which I floated into the egg-bed. The insect was removed, as the worm had been, and two attempts to hook the fish proved unsuccessful. I now threw my line with the hook bare, and managed as before. The Sunny appeared quite alarmed. It swam to one side, then to another, in rapid succession, and seemed to entertain a fear that the removal of the suspicious object might prove extremely dangerous to it. Yet it gradually approached the hook, took it delicately up, and the next instant dropped it over the edge of the bed.

Reader, if you are one who, like me, have studied Nature with a desire to improve your mental faculties, and contemplate the wonderful phenomena that present themselves to the view at every step we take in her wide domain, you would have been struck, had you witnessed the actions of this little fish, as I was, with admiration of the Being who gave such instincts to so humble an object. I gazed in amazement at the little creature, and wondered that Nature had endowed it with such feelings and powers. The irrepressible desire of acquiring knowledge prompted me to continue the experiment; but with whatever dexterity I could in those days hook a fish, all my efforts proved abortive, not with this individual only, but with many others which I subjected to the same trials.

Satisfied that at this period the Sunfish was more than a match for me, I rolled up my line, and with the rod gave a rap on the water as nearly over the fish as I could.

The Sunny darted off to a distance of several yards, poised itself steadily, and as soon as my rod was raised from the water, returned to its station. The effect of the blow on the water was now apparent, for I perceived that the fish was busily employed in smoothing the bed; but here ended my experiments on the Sunfish.


When, as a little lad, I first began my attempts at representing birds on paper, I was far from possessing much knowledge of their nature, and, like hundreds of others, when I had laid the effort aside, I was under the impression that it was a finished picture of a bird because it possessed some sort of a head and tail, and two sticks in lieu of legs; I never troubled myself with the thought that abutments were requisite to prevent it from falling either backward or forward, and oh! what bills and claws I did draw, to say nothing of a perfectly straight line for a back, and a tail stuck in anyhow, like an unshipped rudder.

Many persons besides my father saw my miserable attempts, and so many praised them to the skies that perhaps no one was ever nearer being completely wrecked than I by these mistaken, though affectionate words. My father, however, spoke very differently to me; he constantly impressed upon me that nothing in the world possessing life and animation was easy to imitate, and that as I grew older he hoped I would become more and more alive to this. He was so kind to me, and so deeply interested in my improvement that to have listened carelessly to his serious words would have been highly ungrateful. I listened less to others, more to him, and his words became my law.

The first collection of drawings I made were from European specimens, procured by my father or myself, and I still have them in my possession.[62] They were all represented strictly ornithologically, which means neither more nor less than in stiff, unmeaning profiles, such as are found in most works published to the present day. My next set was begun in America, and there, without my honored mentor, I betook myself to the drawing of specimens hung by a string tied to one foot, having a desire to show every portion, as the wings lay loosely spread, as well as the tail. In this manner I made some pretty fair signs for poulterers.

One day, while watching the habits of a pair of Pewees at Mill Grove, I looked so intently at their graceful attitudes that a thought struck my mind like a flash of light, that nothing, after all, could ever answer my enthusiastic desires to represent nature, except to copy her in her own way, alive and moving! Then I began again. On I went, forming, literally, hundreds of outlines of my favorites, the Pewees; how good or bad I cannot tell, but I fancied I had mounted a step on the high pinnacle before me. I continued for months together, simply outlining birds as I observed them, either alighted or on the wing, but could finish none of my sketches. I procured many individuals of different species, and laying them on the table or on the ground, tried to place them in such attitudes as I had sketched. But, alas! they were dead, to all intents and purposes, and neither wing, leg, nor tail could I place according to my wishes. A second thought came to my assistance; by means of threads I raised or lowered a head, wing, or tail, and by fastening the threads securely, I had something like life before me; yet much was wanting. When I saw the living birds, I felt the blood rush to my temples, and almost in despair spent about a month without drawing, but in deep thought, and daily in the company of the feathered inhabitants of dear Mill Grove.

I had drawn from the "manikin" whilst under David, and had obtained tolerable figures of our species through this means, so I cogitated how far a manikin of a bird would answer. I labored with wood, cork, and wires, and formed a grotesque figure, which I cannot describe in any other words than by saying that when set up it was a tolerable-looking Dodo. A friend roused my ire by laughing at it immoderately, and assuring me that if I wished to represent a tame gander it might do. I gave it a kick, broke it to atoms, walked off, and thought again.

Young as I was, my impatience to obtain my desire filled my brains with many plans. I not infrequently dreamed that I had made a new discovery; and long before day, one morning, I leaped out of bed fully persuaded that I had obtained my object. I ordered a horse to be saddled, mounted, and went off at a gallop towards the little village of Norristown, distant about five miles. When I arrived there not a door was open, for it was not yet daylight. Therefore I went to the river, took a bath, and, returning to the town, entered the first opened shop, inquired for wire of different sizes, bought some, leaped on my steed, and was soon again at Mill Grove. The wife of my tenant, I really believe, thought that I was mad, as, on offering me breakfast, I told her I only wanted my gun. I was off to the creek, and shot the first Kingfisher I met. I picked the bird up, carried it home by the bill, sent for the miller, and bade him bring me a piece of board of soft wood. When he returned he found me filing sharp points to some pieces of wire, and I proceeded to show him what I meant to do. I pierced the body of the fishing bird, and fixed it on the board; another wire passed above his upper mandible held the head in a pretty fair attitude, smaller ones fixed the feet according to my notions, and even common pins came to my assistance. The last wire proved a delightful elevator to the bird's tail, and at last-there stood before me the real Kingfisher.



Think not that my lack of breakfast was at all in my way. No, indeed! I outlined the bird, aided by compasses and my eyes, colored it, finished it, without a thought of hunger. My honest miller stood by the while, and was delighted to see me pleased. This was what I shall call my first drawing actually from nature, for even the eye of the Kingfisher was as if full of life whenever I pressed the lids aside with my finger.

In those happy days of my youth I was extremely fond of reading what I still call the delightful fables of La Fontaine. I had frequently perused the one entitled "L'hirondelle et les petits oiseaux," and thought much of the meaning imparted in the first line, which, if I now recollect rightly, goes on to say that "Quiconque a beaucoup vu, peut avoir beaucoup retenu." To me this meant that to study Nature was to ramble through her domains late and early, and if I observed all as I should, that the memory of what I saw would at least be of service to me.

"Early to bed, and early to rise," was another adage which I thought, and still think, of much value; 'tis a pity that instead of being merely an adage it has not become a general law; I have followed it ever since I was a child, and am ever grateful for the hint it conveyed.

As I wandered, mostly bent on the study of birds, and with a wish to represent all those found in our woods, to the best of my powers, I gradually became acquainted with their forms and habits, and the use of my wires was improved by constant practice. Whenever I produced a better representation of any species the preceding one was destroyed, and after a time I laid down what I was pleased to call a constitution of my manner of drawing birds, formed upon natural principles, which I will try to put briefly before you.

The gradual knowledge of the forms and habits of the birds of our country impressed me with the idea that each part of a family must possess a certain degree of affinity, distinguishable at sight in any one of them. The Pewees, which I knew by experience were positively Flycatchers, led me to the discovery that every bird truly of that genus, when standing, was usually in a passive attitude; that they sat uprightly, now and then glancing their eyes upwards or sideways, to watch the approach of their insect prey; that if in pursuit of this prey their movements through the air were, in each and all of that tribe, the same, etc., etc.

Gallinaceous birds I saw were possessed of movements and positions peculiar to them. Amongst the water-birds also I found characteristic manners. I observed that the Herons walked with elegance and stateliness, that, in fact, every family had some mark by which it could be known; and, after having collected many ideas and much material of this kind, I fairly began, in greater earnest than ever, the very collection of Birds of America, which is now being published.

The better I understood my subjects, the better I became able to represent them in what I hoped were natural positions. The bird once fixed with wires on squares, I studied as a lay figure before me, its nature, previously known to me as far as habits went, and its general form having been frequently observed. Now I could examine more thoroughly the bill, nostrils, eyes, legs, and claws, as well as the structure of the wings and tail; the very tongue was of importance to me, and I thought the more I understood all these particulars, the better representations I made of the originals.



January 28, 1851.

My drawings at first were made altogether in water-colors, but they wanted softness and a great deal of finish. For a long time I was much dispirited at this, particularly when vainly endeavoring to imitate birds of soft and downy plumage, such as that of most Owls, Pigeons, Hawks, and Herons. How this could be remedied required a new train of thought, or some so-called accident, and the latter came to my aid.

One day, after having finished a miniature portrait of the one dearest to me in all the world, a portion of the face was injured by a drop of water, which dried where it fell; and although I labored a great deal to repair the damage, the blur still remained. Recollecting that, when a pupil of David, I had drawn heads and figures in different colored chalks, I resorted to a piece of that material of the tint required for the part, applied the pigment, rubbed the place with a cork stump, and at once produced the desired effect.

My drawings of Owls and other birds of similar plumage were much improved by such applications; indeed, after a few years of patience, some of my attempts began almost to please me, and I have continued the same style ever since, and that now is for more than thirty years.

Whilst travelling in Europe as well as America, many persons have evinced the desire to draw birds in my manner, and I have always felt much pleasure in showing it to any one by whom I hoped ornithological delineations or portraitures would be improved.


Presented by Henry Carleton.


Abert, Col. John, i. 70.

Abingdon, ii. 218.

Abyssinian, i. 199.

Académie des Sciences, i. 308, 312, 317.

Academy of Arts, Edinburgh, i. 177.

Academy of Sciences, Philadelphia, i. 55, 56, 90, 525.

Academy of Sciences, New York. See New York Academy of Sciences.

Acer saccharinum, ii. 508.

Actitis macularia, i. 365.

Adams, Bernard, ii. 97.

Adams, John Quincy, i. 275.

Adamson, John, i. 230, 233, 235, 262-264, 437.

?gialitis semipalmatus, i. 386.

Africa, i. 217.

Alabama, i. 329; ii. 445.

Alauda alpestris, i. 384, 419, 420, 424. See also Lark, Shore.

-- spragueii, ii. 41.

Albagash River, ii. 392.

Alca torda, i. 364-366, 369, 383, 384, 391, 428.

Alexis, i. 529, 530; ii. 4, 7, 9, 16, 20, 23, 25, 36, 38, 39, 41, 42, 71.

Algiers, ii. 232.

Allan, William, i. 171, 189.

Alleghanies, Mountains, i. 62, 454, 459; ii. 437, 454.

Alligator, i. 87, 187, 205; ii. 251, 255, 258, 267, 309, 337, 354, 355.

Aln River, i. 228.

Alnwick, i. 228, 263.

Alnwick Castle, i. 262.

America, i. 66, 69, 91, 94, 228, 232, 235, 237, 245, 253-255, 270, 276, 277, 281, 289, 295-297, 301, 310, 313, 315, 329, 330, 331, 333, 339, 342; ii. 210, 231, 527.

American Fur Company, i. 72, 525; ii. 6, 47, 188.

American Harbor, i. 365, 380, 383, 384.

American Ornithological Union, i. 77.

Amherst Island, i. 354, 355.

Amiens, i. 305.

Ammodramus bairdi, ii. 117.

-- [Colurniculus] lecontei, i. 510.

Amsterdam, i. 301.

Anas fusca, i. 418.

-- glacialis, i. 414. See also Duck, Velvet.

-- obscura, i. 366.

Anatomical School, Oxford, i. 292.

Andes, i. 271.

"Andromache, The" (brig), i. 88.

Angel Inn, i. 275.

Anhingas, ii. 337.

Anser albifrons gambeli, i. 459.

-- canadensis, i. 370. See also Goose, Wild.

Antelope, i. 496, 499, 504, 505, 507-512, 525; ii. 9, 19, 36, 42-50, 56, 58, 60-65, 87, 90, 95, 102, 104-106, 108, 113, 114, 117, 118, 121, 122, 126, 128, 130-133, 138, 140, 154, 155, 166, 167, 169.

Anthus pennsylvanicus, i. 384.

-- spinoletta, i. 384, 391, 399. See also Lark, Brown.

-- [Neocorys] spraguei, ii. 41.

Anticosti Island, i. 363.

Antilocapra americana, ii. 42.

Antiquarian Society, Edinburgh, i. 169, 181, 205, 211.

Apple Creek, ii. 5, 158.

Apple White, i. 505.

Aquila chrysa?tus, i. 415.

Archibald, George, i. 438.

Arctomys [cynomys] ludovicianus, i. 458, 522. See also Dog, Prairie.

-- monax, i. 461.

Ardea herodias, i. 27, 354.

-- occidentalis, ii. 370.

Arickaras, i. 532; ii. 3.

Arkansas River, i. 161, 291; ii. 215, 437.

Arkwright, Sir Thomas, i. 137, 138.

Armadillo, ii. 36.

Arrow Rock, ii. 174.

Arthur's Seat, i. 213, 266.

Artemisia, ii. 26, 39.

Artois, i. 305.

Arvicola pennsylvanica, i. 530; ii. 165.

-- riparius, i. 530.

Ashley, General, ii. 3.

Asia, i. 217.

Assiniboin, ii. 23, 25, 26, 38, 48, 51, 77, 78, 97, 107-109, 112, 121, 124, 126, 127, 133, 140, 145, 154, 156.

"Assiniboin" (steamer), ii. 7, 42.

Astoria, Irving's, i. 456, 486.

Athen?um, Liverpool, i. 270.

Athen?um, London, i. 253.

Athens, British, ii. 208.

Atherton, Mr., i. 271.

Atkinson, Mr., i. 243.

Atlantic Ocean, i. 91, 354, 440.

Auckland, Lord, i. 282.

Audubon, Georgiana, ii. 175.

--, Admiral Jean, i. 5, 9, 42.

--, John Woodhouse, i. 6, 32, 38, 47, 51, 60, 62, 66, 67, 69, 70, 73-76, 81, 120, 230, 232, 259, 291; companion in Labrador, 345-445, 476; ii. 168, 176.

--, Mrs. Lucy, i. 18, 21, 26, 34, 35, 39-41, 48, 51, 52, 60, 63, 64, 66, 68, 70, 81, 449; ii. 158.

--, Lucy, infant, i. 37.

--, Rosa, i. 24, 35, 37.

--, Mrs. V. G. See Audubon, Georgiana.

--, Victor Gifford, i. 10, 29, 30, 38, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 60, 62, 66-71, 73, 75, 76, 230, 291, 300, 302, 345, 453, 520; ii. 117, 168, 274, 277.

Audubon and Bakewell, i. 29.

Audubonian period, i. 64.

Audubon Park, i. 71.

Audubon's Bluff, ii. 107.

Audubon's Isle, ii. 338.

Auk, Great, ii. 131.

--, Razor-billed, i. 364.

Aux Cayes, i. 7, 8.

Avocet, i. 517.

Ayowah River, ii. 169.

Ayre River, i. 245, 246.

Ayres, W. O., ii. 41.

Baamchenunsgamook, Lake, ii. 392.

Bachman, John, D.D., i. 40, 56, 66-68, 70, 72, 76, 426, 441, 449, 467, 476, 510, 529; ii. 29, 97, 173, 378.

--, Maria R., i. 70.

Backhouse, John, i. 285.

Bad River, i. 526.

Badger, ii. 35, 36, 146, 147, 166, 168, 170, 173.

Baird, Spencer F., ii. 12, 117; Birds of North America, ii. 117.

Bakewell, i. 135, 138.

--, Benjamin, i. 22, 26, 28.

--, Lucy. See Audubon, Mrs. Lucy.

--, Thomas W., i. 20, 29, 32, 33, 35, 46.

--, William, i. 17, 18, 24, 28, 39.

--, William Gifford, i. 174, 454, 526.

Balacouda, i. 83; ii. 303, 305.

Balize, i. 87; ii. 301.

Ball in Newfoundland, i. 433.

Baltimore, i. 310, 449, 453, 477; ii. 219, 221.

Bamborough Castle, i. 225.

Bangor, ii. 390, 392, 393.

Bantams, i. 303.

Baptiste. See Moncrévier, Jean Baptiste.

Barbier, Antoine Alexandre, i. 314.

Barclay, Mr., i. 101, 102, 260, 261.

Barro, ii. 218, 221.

Barry's Hotel, i. 190, 194.

Basil, ii. 93, 98-101.

Basil River, i. 503; ii. 168.

Bat, i. 482, 500, 502; ii. 162.

Baton Rouge, ii. 251, 252.

Bay Verte, i. 440.

Bayfield, i. 376, 388, 392, 406, 407; ii. 415.

Bayonne, i. 11.

Bayou Lafourche, ii. 252.

-- Sara, i. 49, 52, 58, 62, 81, 130, 231, 259, 307; ii. 251, 274.

Beal Family, ii. 200.

Bear, i. 175, 365, 375, 408, 412, 458; ii. 136-138, 154-156, 158, 212, 222, 227, 228, 245, 261-263, 267, 269, 270, 272, 294, 319, 320, 324, 374, 382, 383, 390, 424, 439, 440, 441, 452, 457, 478-480, 482, 496.

--, Black, i. 378, 489, 490, 492; ii. 133, 173, 174, 481, 482, 484, 485.

--, Grizzly, i. 526; ii. 14, 25, 41, 51, 54, 60, 64-66, 72, 75, 86, 117, 121-123, 139, 146, 147.

-- story, ii. 136.

-- trap, i. 371.

Beaumont, Mr., ii. 172.

Beaver, i. 300, 378, 484, 501, 520, 531; ii. 4, 54, 70, 76, 93, 95, 99, 100, 102, 122, 136, 158, 160, 161, 176.

-- Creek, ii. 159.

Bedford, ii. 221.

"Bee" (steamer), ii. 50.

-- tree, ii. 481.

Beech woods, i. 52, 53, 231.

Beetle, Diamond, i. 129.

Beggar's Opera, i. 184, 185.

Behind the Veil, i. 29.

Belford, i. 225.

Belgrade, ii. 276.

Bell, John G., i. 73; companion on Missouri River trip, i. 453-532; ii. 4-176, 352.

Belle Isle, ii. 416.

-- Vue, i. 477, 517; ii. 172, 416.

Belles Fleurs, Redouté's, i. 326.

Bengal, i. 307.

Bennett, Edward T., i. 294.

Bentley, Robert, i. 139-141, 246-248, 250-254, 259, 264, 274, 279-282, 341.

Berlin, i. 127.

Berry, Duchesse de, i. 337.

Berthoud, Nicholas Augustus, i. 34, 47, 54, 69, 88, 441, 454; ii. 29, 175, 200, 215, 221, 247, 250, 453.

-- family, i. 29.

Bertrand, Dr., i. 324.

Berwick, i. 225.

Best, Robert, i. 36, 37, 48.

Bewick, Robert, i. 231, 232.

--, Thomas, i. 108, 229-233, 237, 238, 260, 263, 303; ii. 198.

Big Bend Creek, i. 513.

-- Sioux River, i. 489, 501; ii. 169, 170.

Bighorns, ii. 24, 49, 56, 65, 68, 71, 72, 74, 75, 78, 88, 101, 111, 114, 121-123, 128, 131, 132, 139, 140, 142, 147-152, 154.

Bijou's Hill, ii. 167.

Billings, Capt., i. 365, 371, 372, 413.

Biography of Birds, ii. 97.

Bird of Washington, i. 266, 271.

-- Rocks, i. 359.

Birds of America, i. 27, 28, 40, 59, 69, 70, 75, 91, 153, 160, 237, 277, 342, 345, 402, 427, 457, 459, 470; ii. 117, 198, 212, 526.

Birds of Colorado Valley, ii. 117.

Birds of North America, Baird's, ii. 117.

Birds of the North West, Coues, i. 402.

Birmingham, i. 119.

Bismarck, ii. 5, 9.

Bittern, American, i. 434.

Black Bull Hotel, i. 144.

-- Cock, i. 144, 206, 209, 210, 299.

-- Harris, ii. 35, 173.

-- Heath, i. 304.

-- Hills, ii. 20, 136, 152.

-- Mts. ii. 5, 20.

-- Snake Hills, i. 471, 472, 475; ii. 173.

-- Warrior, i. 57.

Blackbird, i. 106, 134, 226, 236, 278, 297, 338, 339, 340, 447, 477; Brewer's, i. 474.

-- (chief), i. 485.

-- Hill, i. 485.

Blackfoot Fort, ii. 42, 50.

Blackfoot Indians, i. 501; ii. 33, 47, 48, 53, 77, 78, 87, 89, 108, 112, 137, 144, 154, 178, 188, 189.

-- River, ii. 114.

Black-poll Warbler, i. 178.

Blackwall, i. 385.

"Blackwood's Magazine," i. 160, 161, 172, 180, 200, 240, 266.

Blair, Mr., i. 217.

Blanc Sablons, i. 416.

Blanchard, Mr., i. 437.

Blind asylum, Liverpool, i. 106, 272.

Blood Indians, ii. 180, 188.

"Blow me down," Cape, i. 444.

Blue Boar, i. 285.

-- Jay, i. 353.

Blue-bird, i. 476, 477, 496; ii. 7, 55, 163.

--, Arctic, ii. 50, 55, 67, 79.

Boar, Wild, ii. 482.

Bobolink, ii. 86.

Bodley, A. P., ii. 254.

Bohn, Henry George, i. 127, 128, 135.

Bolton, i. 142.

--, Fox, Livingston, and Co., i. 511.

Bombarde, Alexis. See Alexis.

Bonaparte, Charles Lucien, i. 55, 56, 81, 118, 177, 185, 186, 194, 200, 244, 256, 257, 270, 292, 298, 301, 314, 324, 366, 368, 385, 403, 412, 416, 422.

--, Charles Lucien, Ornithology, i. 55.

--, Joseph, i. 169, 185.

--, Napoleon, i. 11, 15, 24, 40, 185, 186, 217, 238, 273, 317, 322, 324; ii. 35, 203.

Bonasa umbellus, i. 401.

Bonaventure, ii. 42, 51, 58-61, 64.

Bonhomme Island, ii. 168.

Bonita, ii. 302.

Bonne Espérance, i. 413, 425.

Bonnet Carré, ii. 253.

Bonneville, Capt., ii. 4.

Boobies, ii. 347.

Booby, Island, ii. 347.

Boone, Daniel, i. 459; ii. 241, 245, 455, 460, 461, 506.

Boone family, ii. 207.

Boone's Lick, i. 459.

--Salt works, i. 459.

Boonesborough, ii. 506.

Booneville, i. 459; ii. 174.

Booth family, ii. 200.

Boston, i. 67, 68, 73, 88, 345, 351, 411, 422, 441, 442, 445; ii. 382, 393, 401.

Botanical gardens, i. 103.

Boucherville, ii. 78, 86, 131-133, 138.

Boulcar, Lady, i. 196, 197.

Boulogne, i. 339.

Bourgeat, Alexandre, i. 81, 162, 211.

Bowie, Mr., i. 528; ii. 5.

Bowen, Lieut., i. 391, 392, 407.

--, J. T., i. 453.

Brackenridge, i. 486.

Bradbury, i. 486.

Brae House, i. 218.

Bragdon, Samuel L., i. 94.

Branard, Mr., i. 51.

Brand family, i. 52.

Brandywine, i. 280.

Birmingham, i. 251.

Branta canadensis, i. 457.

-- hutchinsi, ii. 174.

Bras d'Or, i. 410-413, 421, 428; ii. 362, 416, 418.

Breaking of the ice, i. 31.

Brent, i. 357, 359, 378.

Brewer, Thomas M., i. 73, 526; ii. 48.

Brewster, Sir David, i. 164, 179-183, 189, 190, 209.

Bridges, David, i. 157-159, 161, 169, 172, 174, 178, 183, 188, 202, 204.

British Birds, MacGillivray's, i. 65.

British Museum, i. 258, 284, 301, 342.

Brookes, Joshua, i. 117, 118, 123, 124, 280-282.

Brouillerie, Baron de, i. 315, 321, 334-336, 338.

Brown, Andrew, i. 184.

--, George A., i. 287.

--, Dr. John, i. 172.

Bruce, Thomas, i. 169.

Brussels, i. 111, 127, 301.

Bryon, Isle de, i. 362.

Buckland, William, i. 293.

Buffalo, i. 481, 490, 491, 493, 494, 496, 497, 500, 502-513, 517, 519, 522-524, 526-530, 532; ii. 4-16, 21-28, 31, 33-37, 43, 49, 52, 55-62, 66, 69, 71, 73, 75, 78, 85-94, 102, 104, 105, 107-114, 118-124, 127-132, 139-146, 150, 151, 154-161, 164-167, 169, 174, 175, 181, 206, 227, 245, 294, 456, 457.

-- berries, ii. 160.

-- Bluffs, ii. 154.

-- Lick, ii. 278.

Buford County, ii. 27.

Bulow, John, ii. 333, 352.

Bunting, i. 357, 387; ii. 408.

--, Arctic Towhee, ii. 7, 8.

--, Baird's, ii. 116.

--, Bay-winged, ii. 21.

--, Black-breasted Lark, ii. 105, 107.

--, Clay-colored, i. 477, 518.

--, Cow, ii. 16.

--, Henslow's, i. 477, 496; ii. 4.

--, Indigo, i. 245.

--, Lark, i. 486.

--, Rice, ii. 306.

--, Shattuck's, i. 518. See also Emberiza shattuckii.

--, Snow, i. 352.

--, Towhee, i. 372, 471.

--, White-crowned, i. 387, 391, 398, 399, 405.

Burgwin, Capt. J. H. K., i. 478-480; ii. 172.

Burnt Hills, ii. 167.

Burton, i. 142.

--, Dr. and Mrs. Edward, i. 293.

Bustard, Great, ii. 466.

Butte Quarré, ii. 157.

Buxton, i. 139.

Buzzard, i. 509; ii. 106, 107.

--, Turkey, i. 176, 180, 183, 187, 458, 471, 483; ii. 7, 75, 168. See also Cathartes aura.

Cabané Bluff, ii. 171.

Cabris, ii. 96, 113.

-- Creek, i. 525.

Cainard, M., i. 320.

Calais, i. 304, 305, 340.

Calcarius ornatus, ii. 51.

"Caledonia" (steamer), i. 351.

California, i. 75.

Calvert, Mr., i. 260.

Calton, Thomas, i. 287.

Cam River, i. 286.

Cambridge, Eng., i. 216, 285, 286, 290, 292, 295.

Camden, N.J., i. 61; ii. 310.

Camel, ii. 400.

Cameron, i. 159, 173.

Campbell, Sir Archibald, ii. 387.

--, Ellen, i. 201.

-- (steamer), i. 70.

Camptol?mus labradorius, i. 418.

Canachites canadensis, i. 352.

Canada, i. 71, 356, 492; ii. 416.

Canadians, French, i. 375, 401, 408.

Canfield, C. A., ii. 42.

Canis latrans, i. 483.

-- lupus, i. 483.

-- nubilus, i. 483.

Cannon Ball River, ii. 5, 158, 159.

Canoe Creek, ii. 238.

Canseau Cape, i. 351-353.

--, Strait of, i. 435.

Canso. See Canseau.

Canterbury, i. 304.

Cape Breton Island, i. 353, 354.

-- Florida Songster, i. 88.

Caprimulgus, ii. 163.

Cariacus macrotis, i. 484.

Caribou, i. 378, 389, 403, 407-409, 432, 433; ii. 394, 399, 400, 412, 418.

-- flies, i. 411; ii. 404.

Carleton, Lieut. James Henry, ii. 172, 173.

Carlisle, Eng., i. 141-144.

--, Penn., ii. 117.

Carolinas, ii. 445.

Carré, Charles, i. 52; ii. 249, 251, 253.

Carrier, Gen. Jean B., i. 10.

Carrière, Michel, ii. 136, 137.

Carroll Co., Mo., i. 462.

Cash Creek, i. 31; ii. 274.

Cat-bird, i. 219, 245, 470; ii. 7, 253.

Catchfly, i. 399.

Catfish, i. 282; ii. 213.

Cathartes aura, i. 458. See also Buzzard, Turkey.

Catlin, George, i. 497, 498; ii. 10, 15, 24, 27, 49, 96, 108, 180.

"Cavalier," ii. 305.

Cavendish Square, i. 69.

Cedar birds, i. 475.

-- Island, i. 505, 508; ii. 166, 167.

Centrocircus urophasianus, ii. 126.

Ceritronyx bairdii, ii. 117.

Cerré, M., i. 493, 494, 498.

Cervus macrotis, i. 484.

-- virginianus, ii. 473.

Chaffinch, i. 226.

Chamois, ii. 56, 153.

Champ de Mars, i. 326.

Chapel En-La-Frith, i. 136.

Charadrius, i. 423.

-- semipalmatus, i. 386, 398, 412.

Charbonneau River, ii. 93, 98, 101.

Charbonnière River, ii. 175.

Chardon, Mr., i. 524, 526, 528, 529; ii. 11-16, 22, 24, 38, 40-44, 47, 50, 71.

Charing Cross, i. 303.

Chariton River, i. 462; ii. 174.

"Charity, Mr.," i. 510, 511.

Charles I., i. 235, 236.

Charleston, S.C., i. 66-72; ii. 97, 347.

Charrette, F. A. de, i. 273.

Charwell River, i. 292.

Chastelleux, Marquis de, i. 270.

Chat, Yellow-breasted, i. 470, 504; ii. 7.

Chenopòduum album, ii. 14.

Chester, Eng., i. 249.

Chevalier, M., i. 410, 413.

Cheyenne River, i. 529; ii. 133, 136.

Chicha River, i. 527.

Chickadee, i. 400.

Chickasaw, ii. 260.

Children, John George, i. 252, 254, 257, 258, 264, 276, 277, 294, 301, 342.

Chillicothe, ii. 218.

Chippeway Indian, ii. 126, 127.

Chittenden, Capt. Hiram M., i. 479, 492.

Choctaw Indians, ii. 260.

Chorley, Henry, i. 269.

--, John, i. 248, 249, 264, 269, 273, 276.

Chouans, i. 10.

Chouteau, Auguste, ii. 33.

--, Pierre, i. 452, 454, 463, 468, 499; ii. 33, 35.

--, Madam Pierre, i. 468; ii. 173.

Chouteau's River, i. 503.

Chuckmill's Widow, i. 132.

Cincinnati, i. 36, 37, 48-50, 454; ii. 175, 250, 454.

Clancarty, Lord, i. 171, 183.

Clapham, i. 254.

Clarence, Duchess of, i. 259.

Claridge, Mr., ii. 436.

Clark, David, i. 46.

--, Jonathan, i. 31.

--, Lady Mary, i. 187.

--, William, i. 31.

Clay, Henry, i. 126, 157, 272.

Clayton, John, i. 263.

Clementi, Muzio, i. 115.

Clifton, Lord, i. 257.

Clinton, De Witt, i. 120, 167, 192.

Clyde River, i. 266.

Cocks of the plain, ii. 126.

Cod, i. 357; ii. 419, 422-425.

Colaptes aurato-mexicanus, ii. 41.

-- ayresii, ii. 53.

-- cafer, ii. 53. See also Woodpecker, Red-shafted.

-- hybridus, ii. 41.

Cold Water River, ii. 260, 261.

Colinus virginianus, i. 457.

Collins, John, ii. 53, 57, 68, 70, 72, 76, 82, 86, 102, 124.

Colmesnil, Louis, i. 19.

"Columbia" (ship), i. 60, 342; ii. 56.

-- College, i. 77.

-- Fur Co., i. 499.

-- River, i. 302.

Colymbus glacialis, i. 389, 392.

-- septentrionalis, i. 390. See also Diver, Red-throated.

Combe, Andrew, i. 191, 207.

--, George, i. 157, 160, 164, 166, 168, 188, 191, 204, 225.

Condolleot, M., i. 309, 316.

Connecticut, ii. 262.

Constant, M., i. 327.

Contopus richardsonii, i. 405, 406.

-- virens, i. 406.

Coolidge, Capt., i. 350; ii. 432.

--, Joseph, i. 67, 68; companion in Labrador, 345-420, 428, 436, 439.

Cooper, J. F., ii. 207.

-- Co., Mo., i. 459.

Coot, i. 472, 532; ii. 7, 337.

--, White-winged, i. 418.

Cormorant, i. 157, 370, 384-386, 393-395, 459; ii. 337, 353, 360, 361, 404, 433.

--, Double-crested, i. 398, 400.

--, Florida, i. 459.

Corn-shucking, ii. 463.

Cornwall, Eng., i. 142.

Corpus Christi, i. 288.

Cou?ron, i. 11.

Coues, Dr. Elliott, i. 29, 64, 402.

Cougar, i. 74; ii. 260-269, 374, 441, 478.

Council Bluffs, i. 475, 477, 478, 482.

Covent Garden Theatre, i. 253, 291, 315.

Cowbirds, i. 477, 481.

Craighlockhart, i. 164.

Crane, Sand-hill, i. 475; ii. 9, 95, 171, 174.

--, Whooping, i. 87.

Cree Indians, ii. 109, 123, 132.

Creeper, Black-and-White, i. 471.

--, Chestnut-sided, i. 471.

--, Yellow-back, i. 471.

Crisp, Major, i. 516.

Croghan, Major, i. 30.

-- family, ii. 200, 207.

Cross, Mr., i. 279-281.

Crossbills, i. 396, 400, 416, 433.

--, White-winged, i. 385, 412, 415, 431, 434.

Crow, i. 379, 385, 434, 471, 475, 476; ii. 36, 212, 323, 353, 503.

-- Blackbird, i. 477, 480, 481.

--, Carrion, i. 181, 183, 190, 352; ii. 249, 252.

--, Fish, ii. 170, 365.

-- Fort, ii. 50, 65, 178.

-- Indians, ii. 10, 33, 48, 54, 178, 180.

"Crow-feather" (boat), i. 499.

Cruden, Alexander, i. 212.

Cruikshank, George, ii. 236.

Cuba, i. 88; ii. 306, 309.

Cuckoo, i. 180, 245.

Cuckoo, Black-billed, ii. 8.

Culbertson, Alexander, 1843, i. 528; ii. 29, 177, 182, 188.

--, Mrs. Alexander, ii. 81, 85, 88, 89, 111, 112, 121, 154, 157, 163.

Cumberland, i. 454.

-- Isle, ii. 277.

-- River, ii. 277.

Cummings, Capt. Samuel, i. 48, 49; ii. 175.

Curlew, i. 96, 176, 419, 423, 427, 428; ii. 63, 310, 350, 426.

--, Esquimaux, i. 420, 422. See also Numenius borealis.

--, Labrador, i. 425.

--, Long-billed, i. 489.

--, Rose-colored, ii. 364.

Curlew-berry, i. 423.

Currie, W. W., i. 269, 270.

Cushat, i. 338.

Cutting, Mr., i. 520, 521, 524; ii. 37, 168.

Cuvier, Baron, i. 235, 294, 306-308, 312, 315-326, 331, 333, 334, 338, 339, 519, 522.

--, Baroness, i. 39, 319, 325.

--, Mlle., i. 309, 316-319, 324.

Cymochorea leucorrhoa, i. 396.

Da Costa, i. 19, 21-24, 26, 27, 39.

Dakota River, i. 501.

Dalmahoy Castle, i. 186, 192, 195.

Damelaphus hemionus, i. 484.

Darlington, i. 238.

Dauphine St., New Orleans, i. 49.

David, Jacques Louis, i. 24, 36, 39, 313, 324; ii. 524, 527.

Davy, Messrs., i. 246.

Day, Capt. Robert, ii. 346, 371.

Dearman, Mr., i. 129.

Decatur, i. 485.

Deer, i. 182, 375, 378, 389, 407, 461, 473, 481, 482, 490, 493-496, 501, 502, 504, 507, 512, 516, 517, 527; ii. 8, 20, 23, 26, 35-42, 49-57, 65, 74, 75, 80, 92, 117, 126, 139, 154, 155, 158, 165-168, 174, 175, 205, 206, 222, 245, 261, 262, 266, 269, 270, 273, 300, 319, 324, 347, 350, 382, 383, 390, 396, 399, 400, 439, 441, 452, 457, 461, 468-472, 481, 482.

--, Black-tailed, i. 516; ii. 57, 72, 74, 147, 165, 484.

--, Long White-tailed, ii. 65, 74, 75, 127, 176.

--, Mule, i. 484; ii. 167.

--, Virginia, i. 485; ii. 473.

Deer-hunting, ii. 466, 473.

De Tabelay, Lord, i. 113.

Delano, Captain, i. 342.

"Delos" (ship), i. 81, 82, 85, 88; ii. 301, 306.

Denig, Edwin F., ii. 56, 72, 73, 77, 81, 85, 89, 133, 136, 137, 178, 180-183.

Dennysville, Me., i. 67, 345, 389, 401; ii. 384, 400.

Derby, i. 111, 129.

--, Earl of, i. 103, 105, 108-110, 116, 282, 296.

Derbyshire, i. 122, 139.

Derwent River, i. 137, 138.

D'Essling, Prince, i. 312, 313.

Detaillé, Fran?ois, ii. 147.

Devonshire, Duke of, i. 137.

Dexter's Lake, ii. 338.

Dickie, Mrs., i. 63, 145, 156, 167, 174, 188, 201.

Didelphis virginiana, ii. 501.

D'Issy, i. 336.

Diver, ii. 403.

--, Black-necked, i. 387.

--, Great Northern, i. 389.

--, Red-necked, i. 371, 387, 389, 398, 400, 432.

--, Red-throated, i. 390, 391, 393.

Dockray, Mr., i. 135, 136, 138.

Dodo, ii. 524.

Dog and Pheasants, i. 341.

Dog, Esquimaux, i. 408, 411; ii. 412.

--, Prairie, i. 531. See also Arctomys ludovicianus.

Dolphin, i. 82-85, 88, 90, 91, 94; ii. 302-307.

Don, David, i. 277.

Donkin, John, i. 236, 237, 262.

Dood, Major, i. 191.

D'Or, Cape, i. 444.

D'Orbigny, Charles, i. 39, 333.

Dorion. See Durion.

Douglass, Lady Isabella, i. 116, 171.

Dove, i. 88, 148, 247, 297, 532; ii. 44, 64, 162, 163, 166, 253, 360.

Dover, i. 303, 304.

-- Castle, i. 304.

Drake, Dr., i. 36, 48.

Dripps, Major Andrew, i. 499.

Drury Lane Theatre, i. 315.

Dublin, i. 216.

Duck, i. 86, 89, 359, 367, 394, 396, 419, 452, 454, 462, 476, 487, 494, 497, 502, 504; ii. 21, 39, 86, 95, 154, 155, 159, 167, 170, 171, 174, 175, 252, 347, 353, 410, 434, 447.

--, Black, ii. 160.

--, Canvas-back, i. 452; ii. 505.

--, Dusky, i. 366.

--, Eider, i. 366, 371-373, 376, 379, 387, 393, 394, 406; ii. 431.

--, Gadwall, i. 531; ii. 7, 107, 155.

--, Golden-eyed, i. 431.

--, Harlequin, i. 414.

--, King, i. 418.

--, Labrador, i. 418.

--, Long-tailed, i. 414.

--, Mallard, i. 476, 485; ii. 7, 112, 155, 171.

--, Pied, i. 418.

--, Scoter, i. 366, 370, 371, 390.

--, Spoon-billed, ii. 4.

--, Summer, ii. 496.

--, Surf, i. 366.

--, Velvet, i. 359, 364, 414, 418.

--, Wild, i. 277; ii. 28, 350.

--, Wood, i. 472, 485; ii. 278.

Duddingston, i. 213.

Dumesnil, C., i. 315.

Dunbar, i. 225.

Duncan, Andrew, i. 146, 148, 151.

Dupuy Gaudeau, Gabriel, i. 14, 24.

Durack, John, i. 528.

Durham, Eng., i. 328.

Durion, i. 525.

Eagle, i. 113, 169, 182, 271, 352, 388, 415, 436, 458; ii. 156, 181, 353, 391, 441.

--, Andean, i. 271.

--, Bald, i. 415, 458.

--, Golden, ii. 107, 157, 431.

--, White-headed, i. 281, 282, 295, 297, 471, 476; ii. 8, 10, 131, 166, 176, 203, 215, 247.

Eagle and Lamb, i. 299, 341.

Eastham, i. 250.

Eastport, Me., i. 345, 349, 353, 355, 365, 366, 435, 444; ii. 401, 419, 432, 437.

Ebbett's Island, ii. 165.

école Militaire, i. 326.

Edinburgh, i. 63, 69, 71, 111, 143-150, 152, 155, 160, 179-181, 195, 196, 200, 201, 210, 214, 216, 219, 221, 223, 225, 230-233, 243, 249, 253-256, 260, 264-266, 271, 287, 295.

Edinburgh Academy of Arts. See Academy of Arts, Edinburgh.

Edinburgh Antiquarian Society. See Antiquarian Society, Edinburgh.

Edinburgh Review, i. 200, 201.

Edward, Prince, i. 442.

Edwardsville, i. 451, 454.

Eel, i. 389.

Eel River, ii. 389, 393.

Egan, Pilot, ii. 312, 379.

Eggers, i. 405, 410.

Egleston, Thomas, i. 77.

Egret, Peale's, ii. 361.

Elgin, Earl of, i. 169, 170, 171.

Elk, i. 481, 484, 485, 490, 492, 494, 504, 507, 522, 527, 532; ii. 8, 12, 19-27, 30, 36, 65, 123, 131, 132, 147, 154-157, 160-163, 206, 319.

Elk-horns, i. 524, 526, 527, 529; ii. 170, 173.

Elk Point, ii. 169.

Elliot, Daniel G., i. 64, 77.

Emanuel Creek, i. 503.

Emberiza bairdii ii. 116.

-- Le Conteii, i. 510.

-- orizivora, ii. 86.

-- pallida, i. 496, 498, 517, 518; ii. 21.

-- shattuckii, i. 68, 517, 518.

Emery, Capt., i. 67, 345.

"Emily Christian" (steamboat), i. 457.

Empetrum nigrum, i. 423.

England, i. 58-60, 63, 67, 69, 70, 81, 91, 97, 113, 114, 128, 216, 228, 232, 240, 241, 245, 250, 251, 260, 261, 266, 270, 300, 304, 305, 309, 313, 317, 402, 430, 437; ii. 109, 301.

Entrée Bay, i. 354.

Epsom, i. 254.

Ereunetes pusillus, i. 425.

Esquimaux, ii. 402.

Europe, i. 94, 338; ii. 207, 527.

Evans, Roland, i. 41, 42.

Ewart, Miss, i. 148.

Exeter Exchange, i. 280.

Expedition of Lewis and Clark, i. 457, 478, 482, 484, 488, 494; ii. 3, 10, 27, 47, 58.

Falco, i. 302.

-- auduboni, i. 385.

-- columbarius, i. 385, 399, 401. See also Hawk, Pigeon.

-- gyrfalco obsoletus, i. 427.

-- harlani, i. 57.

-- islandicus, i. 427.

-- labradoria, i. 427.

-- leucocephalus, i. 381.

-- temerarius, i. 385.

Falcon, i. 297, 302.

--, Labrador, i. 427.

--, Peregrine, i. 390, 391, 398, 399, 410, 428, 458, 471; ii. 156, 176, 306.

False River, ii. 260.

"Fancy, The" (boat), ii. 435, 436.

Fatland Ford, i. 17, 19, 20, 26, 28, 32, 42, 43, 226.

Fauna Americana, i. 460; ii. 473.

Featherstonehaugh, Mr., i. 257.

Felton, i. 228.

Fénelon, Fran?ois, Abbé, ii. 249.

Ferguson, Dr., ii. 200.

Fetter Lane, i. 285.

Fiesque, i. 308.

Fifty Years in Both Hemispheres, Nolte's, ii. 220.

Finch, i. 286, 357, 382, 420, 485; ii. 256, 306.

--, Arctic Ground, ii. 31.

--, Ground, i. 496; ii. 16.

--, Harris, i. 472, 475, 476, 481, 495, 496, 499, 500.

--, Lark, i. 509.

--, Lazuli, ii. 4, 31, 35, 37, 51, 56, 67, 79.

--, Lincoln's, i. 410, 470, 486, 498. See also Fringilla lincolnii.

--, Mountain, i. 338.

--, Red-collared, ii. 51.

--, Savannah, i. 352, 353, 384, 385, 392, 414, 477.

--, White-crowned, i. 470, 499.

--, White-throated, i. 499.

Fish River, ii. 5.

Fisher, Miers, i. 16, 17.

Fitzwilliam, Lord, i. 289.

Flamingo, ii. 360, 366.

Flat Lake, i. 162.

Flicker, ii. 41.

--, Red-shafted, ii. 42.

Flint, Mr., ii. 281, 282, 285, 286.

Florida, i. 66, 88, 92, 370, 397, 425; ii. 176, 253, 305, 306, 309, 332, 333, 345, 358, 364, 370, 371, 378, 380, 418, 508.

--, Cape, ii. 374.

--, East, i. 423; ii. 321, 327, 329-332, 352.

--, Keys, i. 90; ii. 313, 349, 358, 365.

--, South, ii. 365.

Florisson, i. 451.

Floyd, Serg. Charles, i. 488.

-- Memorial Association, i. 488.

Floyd's Bluff, i. 489.

-- Creek, i. 488.

-- Grave, ii. 170.

Flycatcher, i. 90, 434; ii. 526.

--, Arkansas, i. 506, 510, 529; ii. 56, 70, 86, 156.

--, Bluegray, i. 471, 476.

--, Bonaparte's, i. 244.

--, Green blackcapped, i. 405, 421.

--, Hooded, i. 471.

--, Pewee, ii. 51, 248.

--, Red-eyed, i. 471.

--, Say's, i. 504, 510, 517; ii. 16, 51, 52, 67, 166.

--, Small-crested, ii. 7.

--, White-crested, i. 471.

Flying fish, ii. 302-305.

Fontenelle, Lucien, i. 499.

Foote, Maria, i. 107, 203, 205.

Fort Alexander, ii. 69, 113.

-- Berthold, i. 526.

-- Calhoun, i. 482.

-- Clark, ii. 10, 42, 57, 132, 146, 147.

-- Croghan, i. 478; ii. 171, 172.

-- George, i. 519-521; ii. 165, 169.

-- Leavenworth, i. 468, 500; ii. 172, 173.

-- Massacre, ii. 276, 506.

-- McKenzie, ii. 127, 133, 178, 188, 189, 194, 195.

-- Mortimer, ii. 31, 53-55, 65, 68, 70, 72, 78, 86-88, 101, 111, 112, 123-128, 131, 147, 148.

-- Pierre, i. 499, 500, 502, 510, 513, 519, 520, 524, 528; ii. 10, 11, 14, 96, 97, 147, 163, 167.

-- Recovery, i. 512.

-- Rice, ii. 5.

-- Union, ii. 19, 20, 23, 27, 29, 50, 54, 57, 93, 101, 106, 132, 137, 147, 154, 161, 165, 178, 180, 187, 191.

-- Vermilion, i. 510; ii. 168.

-- Yates, ii. 6.

Four Bears (chief), ii. 157.

Fox, i. 375, 378, 408; ii. 102, 105, 166, 173, 415, 497, 503.

--, Black, i. 356, 357, 408.

--, Cross, i. 411; ii. 12.

--, Gray, ii. 147.

--, Kit. See Fox, Swift.

--, Prairie, ii. 12.

--, Red, i. 356, 357; ii. 76, 147.

--, Silver, i. 408.

--, Swift, ii. 11, 37, 58, 116, 130, 131, 521.

--, Dr. Charles, i. 155, 193.

-- Indians, i. 475.

-- River, ii. 102, 106.

Fox-hunter, ii. 495.

France, i. 23, 24, 27, 39, 40, 66, 111, 130, 239, 283, 305, 307, 309, 310, 315, 317, 325, 333; ii. 412, 415.

Franconi, i. 319.

Frankfort, Kentucky, ii. 274, 460.

Frankland, Captain, ii. 432, 433.

Frascati, i. 320.

Fraser, James B., i. 217.

Fratercula arctica, i. 383.

Frederick, ii. 218.

Fredericton, ii. 387, 389.

French Creek, ii. 291.

-- Revolution, i. 308.

Frigate-bird, ii. 309.

Fringilla, i. 391.

-- acanthis linaria, i. 396.

-- harrisii, i. 470, 472, 499; ii. 172, 415.

-- linaria, i. 414.

-- lincolnii, i. 68, 382, 385, 388, 470. See also Finch, Lincoln's.

-- leucophyrs, i. 398, 399.

-- nivalis, i. 352.

-- querula, i. 472.

-- savanna, i. 399.

Frith of Forth, i. 145, 149, 223, 266.

Fuligula americana, i. 366. See also Duck, Scoter.

-- glaciales, i. 418.

-- histrionica, i. 414, 418.

Fulmar, i. 352.

Fundy, Bay of, i. 350, 438, 440, 433; ii. 431, 434-437.

Fur and Fish Company, i. 373, 375, 380.

Fur Company, American. See American Fur Company.

Gallatin, Albert, Mr. and Mrs., i. 253.

Gallinule, ii. 337, 365.

Galt, W. C., M.D., ii. 200.

Galveston, i. 70.

Gannet, i. 88, 157, 351, 352, 355, 358-363, 372, 377, 412, 413; ii. 419.

--, Brown, ii. 372.

-- Rocks, i. 359.

Gar-fish, ii. 480.

Garnier, Mr., ii. 247-254.

Gasconade River, i. 457; ii. 175.

Gaspé, Cape, i. 407.

Gates, Major, ii. 358.

Gauché (chief), ii. 133.

Gavia imber, i. 379.

-- lumme, i. 379.

Geomys, bursarius, i. 455, 463.

George, Cape, i. 353.

-- Street, Edinburgh, i. 145, 155.

Georgia, i. 32; ii. 445.

Gérard, Fran?ois, i. 324, 325, 330, 331.

German Ocean, i. 149, 264.

Gilpin's Mills, i. 280.

Glasgow, Missouri, ii. 174.

Glasgow, Scotland, i. 179, 195, 216, 266, 267, 324, 460.

-- Hotel, i. 451.

"Gleaner, The" (ship), i. 86-88.

Goat, ii. 154.

Goat-pen Creek, ii. 24.

Goddard, Rev. William, i. 102, 106, 341.

Godwit, ii. 176, 364, 365.

--, Tell-tale, i. 365, 371, 431, 433, 475.

Goldfinch, i. 475.

Goose, i. 359, 366, 370-373, 378, 411, 414, 452, 455, 457, 472, 475, 477, 484, 485, 487, 489, 494, 502, 506, 531, 532; ii. 7, 8, 21, 24, 28, 125, 159, 168, 170-175, 447.

--, Canada, i. 418, 434.

--, Hutchins', ii. 174.

--, Snow, i. 418.

--, White-fronted, i. 459.

--, Wild, i. 282, 353.

Gopher, i. 465, 470, 475; ii. 335.

--, Pocket, i. 455.

-- Hills, i. 471, 481.

Gordon, Alexander, i. 98, 106, 249.

Goshawk, i. 473.

Grackle. See Grakle.

Graham, Robert, i. 162, 163.

Grakle, i. 297.

--, Boat-tailed, ii. 252.

--, Rusty, ii. 49.

Grand Banks, i. 92.

-- Falls, ii. 392.

-- Menan, i. 346, 350; ii. 431.

-- Prix, i. 332.

-- River, i. 462, 531; ii. 174.

"Grand Town," i. 506.

Grande Isle, ii. 190.

Grant, Mrs. Anne, i. 219.

Grasswrack, ii. 377.

Gray, John E., i. 301.

Great Bend, i. 468; ii. 165, 166.

-- Cedar Island, i. 512.

-- Egg Harbor, i. 61.

Great Egg Harbor, ii. 310.

Great Falls, ii. 189, 190.

-- Pine Swamp, i. 61, 453.

Great Pine Swamp, ii. 314.

Great Russell Street, London, i. 252, 275.

Grebe, i. 472, 532.

Green Bank, i. 107, 108, 111-116, 119, 120, 127-134, 160, 224-227, 238, 248, 269, 274, 293.

-- Lake, i. 440.

-- River, i. 53; ii. 242, 246, 277, 279, 461, 506, 507, 519.

Greenough, Horatio, i. 10.

Greenville, ii. 174.

Greenwood, Rev. Henry, i. 286.

Gregg, Helen, i. 135.

--, John, i. 158.

--, Robert H., i. 124.

--, Samuel, i. 118, 121, 123, 126, 140, 167, 169, 175, 188, 247, 264, 270.

--, Mrs. Samuel, i. 135, 283.

Greville, Robert Kaye, i. 192.

Griseo albus, i. 483.

Grosbeak, ii. 166, 400, 434.

--, Black-headed, i. 523; ii. 50.

--, Blue, i. 510.

--, Cardinal, i. 471; ii. 253.

--, Evening, i. 523.

--, Rose-breasted, i. 477.

--, Pine, i. 421, 431, 433.

Gros Ventres Indians, ii. 5, 16-18, 23-25, 48, 68, 132, 144, 156, 157, 164, 178, 188.

Ground-hog, i. 461, 471.

Grouse, i. 414, 451; ii. 66, 67, 88, 90, 95, 114, 125, 206, 320, 340, 375, 376, 379, 390-394, 398, 399, 403, 502.

--, Canada, i. 352, 405.

--, Rock, i. 405.

--, Ruffed, i. 401.

--, Sage, ii. 126.

--, Sharp-tailed, ii. 23, 26, 49, 54, 86, 87, 122, 163, 165, 166, 176.

--, Willow, i. 400, 405, 414, 433; ii. 408.

--, Wilson's, i. 376.

"Growler," ii. 510, 512.

Guillemot, i. 355, 361-363, 377, 384, 386, 393; ii. 404, 407-412, 431.

--, Black, i. 354, 355, 358.

--, Brindled, i. 372.

--, Foolish, i. 351, 354, 362-364, 383.

Gulf Stream, i. 86.

Gulf Weed, i. 89.

Gull, i. 361, 363, 396, 399, 402-405, 414, 420, 421, 427, 472; ii. 166, 252, 364, 365, 403, 404, 410, 415, 427, 432, 433.

--, Black-headed, i. 477, 484, 493, 502, 504, 532.

--, Great Black-backed, i. 352, 393, 394.

--, Herring, i. 350, 368. See also Larus argentatus.

--, Ring-billed, i. 398, 402.

--, Rose-breasted, ii. 309.

--, Silvery, i. 411.

"Gulnare" (ship), i. 376, 377, 379, 380-384, 386, 391-395, 407, 421, 425.

Gwathway's Hotel, i. 29.

Gyrfalcon, i. 427.

Haines, Reuben, i. 58.

Halia?tus leucocephalus, i. 415, 458.

Halibut, ii. 419.

Halifax, i. 373, 413, 435, 439-442.

-- Bay, i. 442.

--, Bishop of, i. 359.

-- River, ii. 335, 374.

Hall, Basil, i. 175, 176, 179, 184, 187, 201-203, 206, 209, 212, 214, 221, 253, 300, 301.

--, Mrs. Basil, i. 187, 188, 207, 219.

--, Caroline, i. 73.

--, Ellen, i. 265.

--, James, Edinburgh, i. 146, 171, 173.

--, James, New York, i. 449, 526.

Hamilton, Major, i. 519, 521.

--, Sir William, i. 225.

Hampstead, i. 297.

Hardwick, i. 138.

Hardwicke, Lord, i. 282.

Hare, i. 116, 135, 137, 268, 356, 386, 401, 408, 432, 474, 494; ii. 49, 51, 72, 76, 84, 111, 118, 121, 465, 502, 503.

--, Bachman's, i. 461.

--, Prairie, i. 474, 510.

--, Townsend's, i. 510, 529; ii. 22, 56, 60, 89, 118, 138. See also Lepus townsendii.

--, White, i. 529.

Harelda hiemalis, i. 414.

Harlan, Richard, i. 57, 65, 124, 247, 300; ii. 473, 501.

Harlem, ii. 175.

Harper's Ferry, ii. 218.

Harpy, i. 271.

Harris, Edward, i. 56, 57, 70, 73, 346, 441, 444, 451, 453, 455, 458, 461; companion on Missouri trip, i. 470-531; ii. 7, 75.

Harrisburg. See Harrisonburg.

Harrisonburg, ii. 218.

Hartford, Eng., i. 304.

Harvey, Primeau and Co., ii. 6.

Hatch, Capt. Joseph, i. 81, 85, 86; ii. 301, 307.

Havana, ii. 360.

Havell, Robert, i. 61, 257-260, 265, 275, 276, 278, 291, 294, 295, 299, 300, 316, 340-345, 427.

Haw Creek, ii. 334.

Hawick, i. 143.

Hawk, i. 96, 139, 156, 388, 399, 423, 427, 428; ii. 27, 44, 67, 117, 404, 527.

--, Cooper's, i. 517.

--, Fish, i. 431, 477; ii. 166, 247, 312, 337, 391.

--, Fork-tailed, i. 504.

--, Great-footed, i. 88.

--, Marsh, i. 444, 474, 496, 506.

Hawk, Pigeon, i. 365, 385, 396, 399, 431, 475; ii. 162. See alsoFalco columbarius.

--, Red-tailed, i. 394, 471; ii. 114.

--, Sparrow, i. 428; ii. 7, 24.

--, Swallow-tailed, i. 481.

--, White-rumped, ii. 86, 87.

Hawk and Partridges, i. 269.

Hawkins, Oriel College, i. 292, 293.

Hays, Drummond, i. 197, 198, 203, 207, 211, 215, 219, 221, 222, 283.

Head Harbor Bay, ii. 433.

Healy, George P. A., i. 58.

Heart River, ii. 9.

Heath, Charles, i. 233.

Heath, George, i. 287, 290.

Heights of Abraham, i. 138.

Hell Gate, i. 200.

Henderson, Ky., i. 7, 21, 30-38, 44, 46, 47, 162, 480; ii. 203, 206-213, 215, 218-221, 238, 278, 462, 498.

Henley Harbor, i. 402.

Henry, Alexander, i. 497.

--, Andrew, ii. 4.

--, Charles, M.D., i. 146, 156.

Henslow, John Stevens, i. 287, 290.

Herbe Sainte, ii. 39.

Hermandez, General, ii. 352.

Hermann Bros., i. 253.

Heron, i. 113, 157, 337; ii. 313, 323, 354, 360, 364-366, 370, 378, 384, 526, 527.

--, Blue, i. 334, 471, 477, 490, 493, 532; ii. 7.

--, Great Blue, i. 354.

--, Green, i. 87.

--, Night, ii. 364.

--, Yellow-crowned, i. 481.

Herring, i. 357; ii. 305, 419.

Hibbert, Dr., i. 181.

Highland Creek, ii. 238.

-- Lick, ii. 278.

-- Lick Creek, ii. 278.

Highwater Creek, i. 525.

Hirundo bicolor, i. 472.

Hobart, William, i. 94.

Hodgson, Adam, i. 104-106, 108-111, 249.

--, Mary, i. 133.

Holland, Dr. Henry, i. 135.

Holyrood, i. 149-152.

Honda, Bay of, ii. 349.

Hondekoeter, Melchior, i. 204.

Hopkinsville, ii. 53.

Horsfield, i. 255.

Hotel Robart, i. 304.

Houlton, Me., ii. 389, 390.

Howe, Gen. William, i. 43.

Hudson River, i. 77, 322, 353.

Hudson's Bay, i. 417.

-- Bay Co. i. 365, 378; ii. 109.

Hull, i. 430.

Hulme, Dr., i. 119, 123, 140.

Humboldt, Alexander von, i. 108, 111.

Humming-bird, i. 402, 436, 475; ii. 338.

Hunt, W. H., i. 105.

Hunter, Lady, i. 175, 179, 187, 195.

Ibis, i. 113, 273, 337, 338, 360, 364-367, 515.

-- alba, ii. 514, 515.

Ile à Vaches, i. 9.

Illingsworth, Mr., i. 520-524; ii. 165.

Illinois, i. 46, 451.

-- River, ii. 437.

Independence, i. 467.

-- Landing, ii. 173.

Indian affairs, ii. 188.

-- Isle, ii. 312, 369, 379.

-- Key, ii. 348, 358, 362.

-- River, ii. 374.

Indians, i. 138, 148, 353, 373, 378, 379, 407, 411, 431-433, 456, 462, 467, 469, 477, 486, 488, 493, 496, 498, 507, 519, 520, 523, 528; ii. 7, 10, 12, 17-23, 43-45, 48, 54, 77, 80, 81, 108-110, 117, 121, 122, 125, 128, 132, 133, 135, 140, 143, 154-157, 164-168, 181-185, 189, 191, 193, 194, 206, 213, 224-229, 242-245, 296, 340, 349, 374-395, 398, 434, 449, 455-458. See also names of tribes.

Indigo-bird, i. 472, 476; ii. 37.

Ingalls, William, i. 67, 345, 356, 388, 389, 406, 412, 436, 437, 439-441; ii. 403

Inglis, Bishop, i. 442.

--, Sir Robert, i. 254, 255.

Innes, Gilbert, i. 170, 171.

Institut Fran?ais, i. 313, 322, 332.

Iowa, i. 462, 478, 489.

-- Indians, i. 474, 475.

-- River, ii. 169.

Ipswich, i. 422, 423.

Ireland, i. 96.

Iridoprocne bicolor, i. 472.

Irish Channel, i. 133.

--, Jediah, i. 453; ii. 315, 320.

Iron Bear (chief), ii. 157.

Irving, Washington, i. 456; ii. 3, 207.

--, Washington, Astoria, i. 456, 486.

Irwell River, i. 121.

Isbet Hill, i. 235.

Isis River, i. 292.

Islington Road, i. 275.

Italian opera, i. 315.

Italians, i. 457.

Italy, i. 316.

Jackdaw, i. 137, 138, 229, 240, 289.

Jack-rabbit, i. 475.

Jacks River. See Jacques River.

Jackson, Gen. Andrew, i. 411.

--, Miss, i. 53.

Jacques River, i. 501; ii. 168.

Jager, i. 365; ii. 396. See also Lestris.

-- Pomarine, i. 420. See also Lestris pomarinus.

Jail, Liverpool, i. 133.

James River, i. 501.

Jameson, Robert, i. 141, 146, 149, 150-156, 165, 172, 176-180, 187, 205, 210, 213, 236.

Jardin des Plantes, i. 306, 307, 332.

-- du Roi, i. 306, 312, 313, 320, 321, 332.

--, Royal, i. 308.

Jardine Hall, i. 161, 189.

--, Sir William, i. 152, 154, 160, 179, 183, 189-194, 268.

Jay, i. 385.

--, Blue, i. 436, 476.

--, Canada, i. 381, 433; ii. 391.

Jefferson City, i. 458; ii. 175.

Jeffrey, Francis, i. 151, 192, 200.

Jersey, Island of, i. 421.

Jestico Island, i. 353.

Johnson, Edward, i. 230.

--, Garrett, i. 63.

Jones. Mr., of Labrador, i. 414-418, 420.

Judd, Capt. U.S.N., ii. 289.

Juniata River, ii. 220.

Juniperus virginianus, i. 508.

Kalmia angustifolia, i. 433.

-- glauca, i. 377.

Kansas, i. 459.

Katota Tokah, i. 525.

Kauman and Co., i. 22, 23.

Kayac, ii. 154.

Kelley, Dr., i. 392, 395.

Kemble, Charles, i. 291.

Kendal, i. 142.

Kennebunk, i. 81, 94.

Kensington Gardens, i. 296.

Kentucky, i. 29, 32, 53, 46, 215, 280, 329, 419, 478; ii. 203, 208-215, 242-245, 277, 321, 331, 450-497, 506-509, 519.

Kentucky Barbecue, ii. 486.

Kentucky Barrens, ii. 234.

Kentucky River, ii. 460.

Kestrell, i. 137.

Key Tavernier, ii. 351.

-- West, ii. 348-351, 360, 371, 377, 380.

Kidd, John, M.D., i. 292, 293.

--, Joseph B., i. 65, 214, 215, 224, 254-256.

Kiener, L. C., i. 313.

Killdeer, i. 99, 125; ii. 7.

King-bird, i. 471; ii. 7, 70.

Kingfisher, i. 139, 261, 433; ii. 391, 524, 525.

Kinglet, i. 381.

King's College, i. 290.

Kinnoul, Earl of, i. 284.

Kipp, Mr., ii. 9, 10, 19, 26, 36, 50, 52, 65, 69, 97, 113, 146.

Kirkstall, Abbey, i. 157.

Kite, Mississippi, i. 88; ii. 306.

Kittiwake, i. 157, 362.

Knife River, ii. 24, 154.

Knox, John, M.D., i. 146, 152, 174, 175.

Knoxville, ii. 218.

La Barge, Joseph, i. 479, 492, 495.

Labrador, i. 67, 68, 344-445; ii. 57, 79, 508.

Labrus auritus, ii. 519.

La Charette, ii. 8.

"Lady of the Green Mantle" (boat), ii. 361, 371, 373.

La Fayette, Marquis de, i. 8, 111, 478.

La Fleur, ii. 105, 106, 108, 113, 115-119, 122, 126, 131-133, 137, 139, 140, 142, 146, 176.

La Gerbetière, i. 6, 10, 15, 23.

Lagopus albus, i. 405. See also Ptarmigan.

-- rupestris, i. 405.

-- Willow.

La Grande Rivière, i. 462.

Laidlaw, William, i. 499, 500, 501; ii. 131, 132, 165, 173.

La Main Gauche (chief), ii. 156.

Lambert, Aylmer Bourke, ii. 277.

Lancaster, ii. 218.

Landsdowne, Marquis of, i. 297.

Landseer, Sir Edwin, i. 210, 211.

Lapwing, i. 227, 236.

La Rivière Blanche, i. 512.

Lark, i. 134, 226, 235; ii. 426.

--, Black-breasted Prairie, ii. 160.

--, Brown, i. 384, 391, 405. See also Anthus spinoletta.

--, Chestnut-colored, i. 496.

--, Finch, i. 525.

Lark, Meadow, i. 241, 506, 509, 510, 526; ii. 26, 53, 67, 80, 165, 312.

--, Missouri, ii. 41.

--, Prairie, ii. 56, 67.

--, Shore, i. 384, 394, 400, 410, 412, 415, 417, 419, 425; ii. 57, 86, 88. See also Alauda alpestris.

--, Sprague's, ii. 42, 51, 53, 55, 88.

--, Wood, i. 284, 285, 291.

La Rochelle, i. 6, 333; ii. 220.

Larpenteur, Charles, ii. 41, 65, 68, 73, 77, 81, 124, 126, 138, 183.

Larus argentatus, i. 350, 368, 369.

-- argentatus smithsonianus, i. 368.

-- canus, i. 402.

-- delawarensis, i. 398, 402.

-- marinus, i. 352, 365-370, 373, 375, 377, 379, 383, 385, 387, 389, 402, 427. See also Gull, Great Black-backed.

-- tridactylus, i. 375.

-- zonorhynchus, see Larus delawarensis.

Lasterie, Comte de, i. 321.

Latimer, Rev. James, i. 28.

La Vendée, i. 10.

Lawrence, Sir Thomas, i. 101, 252-256, 284, 291, 341.

"Lawyer," ii. 313.

L'Eau Bourbeux, ii. 27.

-- qui Court, i. 498, 503; ii. 168.

"Lebanon" (boat), ii. 173, 174.

Le Boulet River, ii. 5.

Le Brun, Bernard, ii. 56, 57, 65, 132, 136, 137.

L'école de musique, i. 325.

Leeds, i. 243-246, 258, 259, 264.

-- Natural History Society. See Natural History Society of Leeds.

-- Philosophical Hall, i. 260.

-- Public Library, i. 260.

Lehigh River, ii. 212, 317-319, 508.

Lehman, George, ii. 362.

Leicester, i. 129.

Leith, i. 149, 287.

Le Mangeur d'Hommes (chief), ii. 121.

Lepus artemisia, ii. 49.

-- campestris, i. 474, 510; ii. 19.

-- nuttalli, ii. 49.

-- sylvaticus, i. 461; ii. 49.

-- townsendii, i. 475; ii. 19. See also Hare, Townsend's.

-- virginianus, i. 474.

Leslie, John, i. 210.

Lesson, René Primevère, i. 309, 333.

Lestris, i. 352, 396, 414, 428. See also Jager.

-- pomarinus, i. 420, 421, 434.

Le Sueur, Charles Alexandre, i. 58, 320, 321.

Levaillant, Fran?ois, i. 289, 301.

Levis, Duc de, i. 333.

Lewis and Clarke. See Expedition of Lewis and Clark.

Lexington, Ky., ii. 174, 218.

Liberty Landing, ii. 173.

-- St., New York, ii. 169.

Lincoln, Thomas, ii. 384.

--, Thomas, Jr., i. 67; companion in Labrador, 345-439, 470.

Linn?an Society, London, i. 252, 282, 283, 294, 309, 340.

Linn?us, i. 322; ii. 519.

Linnet, i. 246, 414.

Lint, i. 426.

Little Chayenne River, i. 531.

-- Knife River, ii. 24, 25.

-- Medicine Creek, i. 520.

-- Missouri River, ii. 20, 26, 155, 156.

-- River, i. 350.

-- Sioux River, i. 484; ii. 171.

Live-Oakers, ii. 327.

Liverpool, i. 69, 81, 86-98, 101, 102, 105, 108, 113, 114, 117, 118, 127, 132, 148, 161, 174, 177, 216, 221, 248, 250, 264, 268, 290, 295; ii. 301, 309, 505.

-- Athen?um, i. 270.

-- Blind Asylum, i. 106, 272.

-- Jail, i. 133.

-- Literary Society, i. 174.

-- Philosophical Society, see Philosophical Society of Liverpool.

--, Royal Institute of, see Royal Institute of Liverpool.

Lizard, Red-throated, i. 88; ii. 306.

Lizars, Daniel, i. 184, 185, 188, 265, 280.

--, William H., i. 153-160, 163-169, 170-179, 181-183, 186, 188, 191-194, 200, 204, 205, 211, 218, 225, 233, 255-257, 262-266, 292.

--, Mrs. William H., i. 154, 155, 165, 166, 188, 193.

Lloyd, Charles, i. 118, 123, 124.

Loch Lomond, i. 209.

Loire River, i. 6, 8, 23, 39, 130.

London, i. 61, 63, 66, 69, 110, 128, 129, 135, 216, 219, 236, 248-259, 262-265, 274-280, 284, 285, 294, 296-299, 309, 311, 314, 315, 325, 334, 340.

-- Athen?um, i. 253.

--, Linn?an Society. See Linn?an Society, London.

Londonderry, Marquis of, i. 262.

Long, Major S. H., i. 37, 459.

Longspur, Chestnut-collared, ii. 51.

--, McCown's, ii. 51.

Loon, i. 366, 389, 392-394, 431, 471; ii. 434.

Lost One, The, ii. 331.

Loudon, John Claudius, i. 294, 295, 297.

Louis Philippe, i. 5.

Louisiana, i. 7, 49, 60-63, 77,117, 130, 134, 182, 185, 239, 241, 261, 273, 301, 387, 492; ii. 220, 222, 267, 273, 301, 306, 508, 519.

Louisville, i. 28-33, 36, 38, 43, 47, 53, 54, 60-63, 66, 270, 450, 454, 486; ii. 199-203, 218, 219, 222, 274, 279, 450, 454, 462, 486, 511.

L'Ours de Fer, ii. 164.

-- qui danse, ii. 156.

Louvre, i. 308, 312, 325.

Loxia leucoptera, i. 385.

Lubec, i. 350.

Luxemburg, i. 324.

Lynx, i. 374, 378; ii. 441.

Lyon, David, i. 291.

Lyons, Richard, M.D., i. 99, 164.

Macatine Island, i. 392.

--, Little, Island, i. 396, 406.

McCullough, Dr., i. 436-438.

MacGillivray, William, i. 64, 65, 68.

--, William, British Birds. See British Birds.

McKenzie, Kenneth, ii. 138, 181, 189.

--, Owen, ii. 41, 49, 51, 56-64, 68, 72-76, 80-97, 103, 113, 115, 118-128, 131, 138-143, 146, 176.

Mackerel, i. 357; ii. 419, 430.

Mackinaw barge, i. 511; ii. 35, 37, 38, 65, 154.

Macroura, i. 460.

Madison, Thomas C., i. 481.

Magdalene Islands, i. 354, 355, 359, 379, 431.

Magpie, i. 114, 134, 139, 338, 480, 523, 532; ii. 58, 63, 131.

Maha Indians, i. 498; ii. 47.

Maine, i. 66, 67, 354, 444; ii. 51, 212, 295, 380, 381, 387, 389, 400, 401, 419, 508.

Mallory, Daniel, i. 48.

--, Georgiana R. See Audubon, Mrs. V. G.

Mamelles, ii. 116-118, 124.

Mammellaria vivipara, ii. 15.

Manatees, ii. 360.

Manchester, i. 111, 116, 117, 120, 121, 125, 129, 133-135, 138-146, 156, 159, 162, 230, 246, 259, 260, 264, 268, 274, 275, 317.

Manchester Academy of Natural History, i. 123, 134.

Manchester, Royal Institute. See Royal Institute of Manchester.

Mandan Indians, i. 497; ii. 14, 18, 23, 42-48, 144, 146, 156.

-- Village, ii. 8-10, 15.

Mandeville, i. 5.

Mankizitah River, i. 512.

Manuel da Lisa, i. 503.

-- River, i. 503; ii. 168.

Maple-sugar Camp, ii. 506.

Maria River, ii. 134, 135, 189.

Marignac, M. de, i. 332.

Marigny, Marquis de Mandeville, i. 5, 6.

"Marion" (boat), ii. 345-348, 358-361, 369, 372, 377.

--, Mo., ii. 175.

Marmot, i. 458, 461, 469, 472.

--, Prairie, i. 531; ii. 4.

Mars Hill, ii. 390.

Marshall, John, i. 246.

Marsh-hen, ii. 311, 313.

Marten, i. 378, 401, 409; ii. 382.

Martin, i. 241, 375, 477, 506; ii. 7.

--, John, i. 104.

--, Pine, ii. 400.

--, Purple, i. 472.

Mason, Major, i. 469.

Massachusetts, ii. 419.

Massena, Prince of, i. 313, 315.

Matanemheag River, ii. 393.

Matanzas, ii. 344.

Matlock, i. 129, 136-138.

Mauch Chunk, i. 62; ii. 314, 319-321.

Maupin family, ii. 200.

Maury, Mr., i. 101, 102, 139, 272.

Mauvaises Terres, ii. 101, 113, 127, 137, 143, 148-151, 190.

Maximilian, Prince of Wied, i. 471; ii. 7, 34.

Meadville, i. 58; ii. 289-293.

Medicine Horn, ii. 100.

-- Knoll, i. 520.

-- Lodge, ii. 12.

Meduxmekeag Creek, ii. 392.

Medway River, i. 304.

Meetingford, i. 228.

Melly, A., i. 102, 115, 121, 134, 249, 313, 317.

Melospiza lincolni, i. 382, 470.

Mephitis americana, ii. 463.

Merganser, i. 89, 357.

--, Red-breasted, i. 354, 366, 370, 394, 406, 431.

Mergus serrator, i. 370. See also Merganser, Red-breasted.

Mersey River, i. 98, 99, 112, 130, 132, 250.

Merula migratoria, i. 379. See also Robin.

Mexico, Gulf of, i. 70, 88, 94, 95, 303-307, 339.

Michaux, Jean Baptiste, i. 492-496, 507, 509, 511, 516; ii. 169, 170, 172, 174, 413.

Mic-mac Indians, i. 430; ii. 428.

Microtus riparius, i. 530.

Mill Grove, i. 10, 16, 17, 19, 22, 28, 32, 41-43, 74, 75, 246; ii. 523, 524.

Miller, Major, ii. 172.

Mine River, i. 459.

Minnetaree Indians, ii. 16, 18, 24.

Minniesland, i. 71, 73, 453; ii. 15.

Miramichi, i. 354.

Mississippi, ii. 445.

Mississippi River, i. 31, 44, 81, 219, 243, 282, 322, 329, 490, 492, 507; ii. 222-225, 232, 237, 238, 246-251, 260, 404, 437-454, 504, 509, 515.

Missouri, ii. 172.

--, Falls of, 501.

-- Indians, i. 475.

-- River, i. 71, 72, 447, 453, 457, 459, 475, 476, 482, 487, 492, 498, 503, 507, 525, 526; ii. 3, 5, 7, 10, 14, 15, 20, 21, 24, 48, 53, 57, 72, 78, 89, 98, 104, 106, 109, 112, 176, 177, 180, 181, 189, 190, 219, 320, 322.

-- Trading Company, ii. 4.

Missouriopolis, i. 458.

Mitchell, Major, i. 479; ii. 47, 134.

--, David D., ii. 188.

Mitford, i. 226.

--, Capt., i. 227, 228, 230, 263.

-- Castle, 227.

-- Hall, i. 229.

Mocking-bird, i. 155, 193, 209, 245, 248, 252, 274, 330.

Moncrévier, Jean Baptiste, ii. 105, 119, 122, 126, 127, 128, 138, 146, 157, 158, 160, 162, 185.

Monongahela River, ii. 508.

Monroe, Mr., i. 110, 116-118, 164, 171, 174, 176, 248, 273.

Montagnais Indians, i. 376, 377, 411, 412.

Montgomery, General, i. 187.

Moorestown, i. 56.

Moose, ii. 154, 382.

Moose Hunt, ii. 393.

Moreau River, i. 531, 160.

Morgantown, ii. 240.

Mormon arcticus, i. 383-386, 392, 426-428. See also Puffin.

Moroe River. See Moreau River.

Morpeth, i. 227, 229.

Morristown, N.J., i. 16.

Morton, Countess of, i. 186, 196-202, 219, 222, 289.

--, Earl of, i. 192, 195-199, 207, 219, 222.

--, Major, ii. 173.

--, Samuel George, i. 453.

Mother Carey's Chickens, i. 85, 93.

Mount Desert Island, i. 372.

-- Pleasant, ii. 175.

-- Vesuvius, ii. 325.

Mouse, ii. 89, 465.

--, Field, i. 464.

-- River, ii. 121.

Moynette, Anne, i. 6.

Mud Island, i. 350.

Muddy River, i. 45; ii. 27.

Mule Keys, ii. 370, 371.

Mulo?, i. 464.

Mulot, i. 464.

Murray, George, i. 123, 203, 205.

--, Mrs. George, i. 164, 183.

--, Isabella, i. 168.

--, James, ii. 33, 38.

--, John, i. 213.

Murre Rocks, i. 412.

Mus leucopus, ii. 89.

Muscicapa, i. 434.

-- Phoebe, i. 405.

Musée, fran?ais, i. 306, 307.

Musignano, Prince of, i. 186, 256; ii. 202, 385.

Muskrat, i. 484; ii. 54, 158, 382.

Musquash Lake, ii. 394.

Nantes, i. 8, 10, 14, 23, 39, 75, 111, 140, 273.

Napoleon. See Bonaparte.

Nashville, Mo., ii. 175.

Nashville, Tenn., ii. 218.

Natasquan River, i. 365, 369, 370, 374.

--, Little, River, i. 380; ii. 414.

Natchez, i. 49, 52, 300; ii. 216, 441, 449, 450, 454.

Natchez in 1820, ii. 246.

Natchitochez, ii. 441.

Natural Bridge, ii. 218.

Natural History Society, Edinburgh, i. 212.

Natural History Society, Leeds, i. 247.

"Nautilus" (boat), ii. 175.

Nebraska, i. 489.

Neill, Patrick, i. 148, 153, 157, 170, 176, 187, 217, 221.

Nelson, Lord, i. 148.

Nemours, Marquis de, i. 246.

Neotoma floridana, i. 511, 525.

Neville, Miss, i. 212, 217, 218, 253.

New Bedford, i. 23, 477.

New Brunswick, i. 66, 407, 444; ii. 254, 387, 462.

--, Mo., ii. 174.

New England, i. 427; ii. 262.

New Jersey, i. 61; ii. 310.

New Madrid, ii. 237.

New Orleans, i. 6, 8, 29, 34, 37, 40, 46-51, 53, 59, 81, 86, 87, 96, 178, 284, 329; ii. 48, 202, 220, 232, 249-254, 301, 439, 447, 450-454, 505, 515.

New York, i. 15, 22-26, 29, 40, 60, 63, 69, 71, 177, 200, 277, 427, 445, 453; ii. 175, 215, 508.

New York Academy of Sciences, i. 77.

Newbold, Rev. William, i. 215, 222.

Newcastle, i. 216, 224, 229, 230-236, 238-241, 260, 262, 437.

--, Literary Society, i. 234.

--, Philosophical Society, i. 234.

Newfoundland, i. 9, 384, 415, 421, 429, 431, 435; ii. 416, 426.

Newgate, i. 254.

Niagara, ii. 286.

Nicholson, William, i. 175.

Nighthawk, ii. 163, 170, 226, 372.

Night-jar, i. 243.

Niobrara River, i. 503; ii. 168.

Nishnebottana River, ii. 172.

Noddy, i. 90; ii. 309, 347.

Nolte, Vincent, i. 99, 104; ii. 220, 221.

--, Fifty Years in both Hemispheres, ii. 220.

Nonpareil, ii. 255.

Norristown, ii. 524.

North Carolina, i. 69; ii. 174.

North, Christopher, i. 75.

Northampton, i. 274.

Northumberland, i. 225, 227.

--, Duke of, i. 228.

Notre Dame, i. 332.

Nova Scotia, i. 351, 353, 359, 414, 435, 439; ii. 431, 435.

Numenius borealis, i. 420, 422, 424.

--, hudsonicus, i. 420.

Nuthatch, i. 471.

--, Red-bellied, i. 384.

Nuttall Ornithological Club, i. 29.

--, Thomas, i. 277, 416, 445, 472; ii. 56, 90, 163.

Oakes, William, i. 423.

?demia, i. 366.

-- deglaudi, i. 418.

Ogden, Captain, ii. 453.

Ohio, ii. 241.

Ohio, The, ii. 208.

Ohio, Falls of, i. 54; ii. 199, 453, 454.

--, Rapids of, ii. 215.

-- River, i. 28, 30, 34, 62, 112, 182, 231, 322, 329, 450, 490; ii. 203-206, 208, 232, 238, 250, 274-277, 354, 437, 456-458, 477, 478, 486, 497, 510, 512, 519.

Old Bull's Backfat (chief), ii. 178.

"Old Jostle," i. 426.

Old Squaw, i. 414.

Old Town, ii. 391, 392, 393.

Omaha Indians, i. 169, 478, 485, 487, 498.

-- River, ii. 170.

O'Meara, Barry Edward, M.D., i. 185.

"Omega" (steamboat), i. 72, 455, 479, 492, 493, 499, 507, 511, 528; ii. 10, 29.

Opelousas, ii. 301.

Opossum, ii. 85, 222, 223, 506.

Opossum, The, ii. 501.

Opposition Fort, ii. 37, 53.

-- Fur Company, ii. 17, 28, 31, 36, 54, 82, 147, 157, 168, 520.

Ord, George, i. 56, 189.

Oriel College, i. 292.

--, Provost of, i. 293.

Oriole, i. 245.

--, Baltimore, i. 329, 481.

--, Orchard, i. 476.

Orléans, Duc d', i. 321, 327, 330, 336-338, 340.

--, Duchesse d' i. 332, 337, 338.

Ornithological Biography, i. 31, 63-65, 69, 276, 405, 457, 459, 470; ii. 198, 201-203, 208, 246.

Ornithology, Bonaparte's, i. 55.

Ornithorynchus paradoxus, i. 270.

Osage Indians, i. 44, 45, 48, 216, 291, 329.

-- River, ii. 175.

Otocorys alpestris, i. 384.

Otter, i. 114, 120, 165, 173, 175, 176, 207, 342, 378, 389, 409, 484; ii. 4, 12, 54, 93, 95, 122, 161.

Ottoe Indians, i. 482.

Ouse River, i. 240, 242, 243.

Owl, i. 242, 243, 384, 392, 394; ii. 97, 167, 270, 323, 364, 388, 493, 503, 507, 527.

--, Barred, ii. 212, 404, 405.

--, Great Gray, i. 393, 394; ii. 390.

--, Great Horned, i. 132; ii. 97, 205.

Oxford, i. 129, 216, 252, 291, 292, 294.

Oyster Catcher, i. 391.

Page, Benjamin, i. 34.

--, J. W. H., i. 477, 526.

Painb?uf, i. 23.

"Painter." See Panther.

Palais Royal, i. 307, 318, 324, 327, 338.

Panthéon, i. 325.

Panther, i. 262, 263, 267.

Paris, i. 6, 66, 111, 127, 128, 295, 301, 303, 306-309, 312-316, 324-326, 331, 334, 336-339.

Parker, Mr. (artist), i. 300, 303, 307-310, 316-322, 332, 335.

Parkman, George, M.D., i. 441; ii. 401.

Parocket Island, i. 425, 428.

Parrakeet, i. 468-470, 476, 477, 481, 507; ii. 165, 173.

Parroquet, i. 291.

Parrot, i. 330.

Parry, Captain W. E., i. 309.

Partridge, i. 116, 122, 156, 243, 274, 401, 423, 457, 471, 475, 507; ii. 173, 253, 302.

-- Bay, i. 371, 373.

Parus Hudsonicus, i. 400, 403, 433.

Passamaquoddy Indians, ii. 394, 435.

Passerculus bairdi, ii. 117.

Pawling, David, i. 75.

Peale, Rembrandt, i. 55; ii. 203.

--, Titian R. i. 37.

Peale's Museum, ii. 321.

Pears, Thomas, i. 33.

Peel, Sir Robert, i. 222.

Pelecanus americanus, i. 457.

-- erythrorhynchus, i. 457.

-- trathyrhynchus, i. 457.

Pelican, ii. 168, 171-173, 252, 349, 353, 360, 361, 374.

-- Frigate, i. 87, 88, 304; ii. 364, 365, 372.

--, White, i. 168, 457, 473, 476, 477, 484, 522, 529; ii. 168, 174.

Pennant, Thomas, ii. 501.

Pennsylvania, i. 10, 61; ii. 203, 212, 241, 320, 438.

Penobscot Indians, ii. 393.

-- River, ii. 391-393.

Penrith, i. 142.

Pentland Hills, i. 219.

Perceval, Spencer, i. 203.

Perch, White, ii. 214.

Percy, Mrs. Charles, i. 49, 52, 81.

--, Marguerite, i. 52.

Perkiomen Creek, i. 10, 19, 20, 41, 42, 241.

Petit Caporal, i. 385.

-- C?té, i. 457.

Petrel, i. 88-90, 93-94, 396.

-- Dusky, i. 89.

-- Stormy, i. 350.

Peuc?a lincolnii, i. 470.

Pewee, i. 471, 476; ii. 67, 523, 526.

--, Crested, i. 471, 476.

--, Fly-catcher, i. 473.

--, Least, i. 500.

--, Short-legged, i. 405.

--, Western-wood, i. 405.

--, Wood, i. 373, 405, 406.

Phalacrocorax carbo, i. 370, 385.

-- dilophus, i. 370, 398, 400.

-- dilophus floridanus, i. 459.

-- floridanus, i. 370.

-- mexicanus, i. 459. See also Cormorant.

Phal?noptilus nuttalli, ii. 163.

Phalarope, i. 87.

--, Northern, i. 419.

Phalaropus hyperboreus, i. 419.

Pheasant, i. 122-124, 135, 202, 205, 206, 209, 268; ii. 320.

Philadelphia, i. 16, 21, 26, 29, 32, 46, 55, 58, 63, 277, 453; ii. 202, 203, 218, 219, 310, 314, 318, 321, 473, 508.

-- Academy of Natural Sciences, i. 55, 56, 90, 523.

Philosophical Society of Liverpool, i. 174.

Ph?be, Say's, ii. 51.

Pica pica hudsonica, i. 480. See also Magpie.

Picardy, i. 305.

Piccadilly, i. 278, 303.

Picotte, Mr., i. 524-529.

Pictou, i. 435, 436.

Picus ayresii, ii. 41.

Piegan Indians, ii. 133-135, 188.

Piercy, Lieut., ii. 352.

Pigeon, Carrier, i. 301.

-- Creek, ii. 406.

--, Migratory, i. 423.

--, Passenger, i. 423; ii. 156.

-- Roost, ii. 461.

--, Stock, i. 134, 167, 338.

--, White-headed, i. 88.

--, Wild, i. 141, 186, 212, 419, 473, 475; ii. 160, 163, 309, 350, 527.

-- Wood, i. 129, 164.

Pillet, Fabian, i. 134.

Pilot Knob, ii. 70.

Pinckney, ii. 175.

Pine Forest, ii. 241.

Pipilo arcticus, i. 502, 504.

Pirate, The, ii. 340.

Pitois, M., i. 339, 342.

Pittsburg, i. 28, 58, 62, 329, 454; ii. 218, 219, 293, 438, 453.

Platibus, Duck-billed, i. 270.

Platte River, i. 469, 477; ii. 164, 172.

Pleasant Bay, i. 355.

Plectrophenax nivalis, i. 352.

Plover, ii. 64.

--, American Ring, i. 386, 387, 389. See also Charadrius semipalmatus.

--, Black-breasted, i. 425.

--, Golden, i. 434; ii. 166.

--, Piping, i. 357, 358.

Plum Creek, i. 503.

Plymouth, i. 10, 14.

Pocano Mountains, ii. 508.

Point-Lepreaux, ii. 435.

-- Harbor, ii. 434.

Pokioke River, ii. 389.

Pole-cat, ii. 462.

Pomme blanche, i. 505.

Pomotis vulgaris, ii. 519.

Poncas Creek, i. 503.

-- Island, i. 504; ii. 168.

-- River, i. 489; ii. 168.

Poncaras Indians, i. 438.

Ponchartrain Lake, i. 5.

Pont des Arts, i. 316, 321.

-- d' Austerlitz, i. 306.

-- de Jena, i. 326.

-- Neuf, i. 307.

-- Ste. Geneviève, i. 306.

Poor-will, ii. 163.

Pope, Dr., i. 81, 211.

--, John, i. 30.

Porcher, Dr., ii. 352.

Porcupine, i. 408, 522; ii. 81, 82, 84, 113, 131, 147, 393.

--, Canadian, ii. 83.

--, Cape, i. 353.

Porpoise, i. 83, 84, 89, 96; ii. 308, 309.

--, Bottle-nosed, ii. 305.

Port Eau, i. 419-421.

Portage, Baie de, i. 413.

Portland, i. 86.

Portobello, i. 213, 215.

Portsmouth, England, i. 60, 342.

Potowatamies, i. 481.

Prairie, The, i. 31.

Presque Isle Harbor, ii. 289.

Preston, England, i. 141.

Primeau. See Harvey, Primeau and Co.

Primeau, Charles, ii. 6, 10, 15, 159.

Primrose Hill, i. 275.

Procellaria, i. 85, 372. See also Mother Carey's Chickens.

--, Wilsonii, i. 350.

Provan, Dr., i. 52.

Provost (hunter), i. 477; ii. 16, 36-42, 49-52, 54-57, 64-68, 70-76, 80-85, 89-91, 93-95, 98-102, 108, 112, 113, 121, 122, 126, 128, 131-133, 137, 142, 146, 147, 156-163, 165, 169, 175.

Psaracolius cyanocephalus, ii. 48.

Pseudostoma bursarias, i. 455. See also Rat, Pouched.

Psoralea esculenta, i. 505.

Ptarmigan, i. 366, 375, 389, 390, 392, 403, 428; ii. 415, 418.

--, Small, i. 431.

--, Willow, i. 405.

Pueblo de Taos, i. 480.

Puffin, i. 383, 404, 410, 427. See also Mormon arcticus.

Puncah. See Poncas.

Puncas. See Poncas.

Pusilla, i. 366.

Pyke, James, i. 101, 104.

Quadrupeds of North America, i. 70, 73, 75, 76, 449, 453, 455.

Quaglas, Mr., i. 52.

Quarry Bank, i. 121, 122, 126, 134, 140, 141, 158, 247, 283.

Quebec, i. 71, 356, 376, 380, 408, 409, 411, 430; ii. 416.

"Queen Bee," i. 113, 114, 160. See also Rathbone, Mrs. William.

Querquedula discors, i. 459.

Qui Court River, i. 503.

Quiscalus, brewerii, i. 474; ii. 48.

Quoddy, Maine, i. 436.

Rabbit, i. 258, 268, 386, 459, 461, 471, 472, 494, 507, 509; ii. 50, 72, 79, 80, 83, 86, 102, 114, 122, 124, 125, 138-140, 155.

Rabin, i. 5.

Raccoon, ii. 85, 133, 168, 222-227, 270, 382, 478, 506.

Raccoon Hunt, A, ii. 492.

Radcliffe Library, i. 292.

Raffles, Lady, ii. 255.

Rafinesque, Constantine S., i. 480, 484.

Rail, Virginian, i. 492.

Rainbow Tavern, i. 172.

Ram Mountain, ii. 24, 26, 28, 40, 67, 86, 148, 152.

Rampart River, i. 531.

Randell, Maxon, ii. 291.

Randolph, Judge John, i. 58, 127.

Rankin, Dr., i. 30, 32, 163, 218.

Rapacious Birds of Great Britain, MacGillivray, i. 165.

Rapid River, i. 503.

Rat, ii. 335, 356, 432, 465.

--, Norway, i. 40.

--, Pouched, i. 455, 463, 465.

Rathbone, Basil, i. 101.

--, Benson, i. 269.

--, Hannah [Anna], i. 108, 114, 134-136, 138, 234, 248, 269, 272.

--, Richard, i. 99-102, 129, 270.

--, Mrs. Richard, i. 101-106, 168, 270.

--, William, Jr., i. 99, 104, 108, 109, 114, 122, 131, 132, 163, 248, 262, 268, 283.

--, Mrs. William, i. 113, 116, 131, 135, 136, 138, 141, 168, 186, 244, 248, 269, 274, 289, 293, 295. See also "Queen Bee."

--, Mrs. William, Jr., i. 108, 109.

-- family, i. 75, 107, 111, 120, 121, 125, 127, 146, 175, 186, 248, 249, 264, 313; ii. 221, 505.

Rathbone's Flycatcher, i. 244.

Rattlesnake, i. 156, 211, 213, 297, 498.

"Rattlesnake" (boat), i. 25.

Raven, i. 353, 355, 379, 385, 396-399, 404, 420, 434, 476, 484, 493, 496, 509, 523, 532; ii. 7, 28, 30, 36, 59, 80, 106, 107, 122, 168, 404, 424, 431, 441, 503.

Recurvirostra americana, i. 517.

Redouté, Pierre Joseph, i. 320, 321, 326-330, 332, 334, 338.

Redpolls, i. 298, 396, 414.

--, Lesser, i. 420.

Red River, i. 498; ii. 437, 441.

Red-fish, i. 499.

Redstart, American, i. 353, 471.

Redwing, i. 274.

Rees, Colonel, ii. 335-338.

Rees' Lake, ii. 336, 337.

Regent's Park, i. 277-279, 281, 285, 298.

Regulators, ii. 230, 231.

Regulators, The, ii. 232, 233.

Regulus calendula, i. 381.

Reindeer, i. 375, 432; ii. 426, 428.

Reuben's Creek, i. 520.

Reynolds, William, M.D., i. 108.

Riccaree Indians, ii. 3, 5, 14, 15, 23, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 156.

Richardson, Major, i. 474.

--, John, i. 483; ii. 37.

Riddell, Sir James, i. 219.

Rikaras. See Riccaree Indians.

Rikarees. See Riccaree Indians.

"Ripley" (ship), i. 67, 345, 349, 352, 358, 364, 371, 397, 400, 417, 435, 439, 444; ii. 405, 410, 417, 426, 427, 430.

Ritchie, Mr., i. 215, 468.

Rivière aux Couteaux, ii. 24.

Roanoke River, i. 322.

Robertson, Samuel, i. 410, 411.

Robin, i. 120, 245, 260, 269, 351, 353, 357, 379, 433, 496; ii. 275, 434.

Rochambeau, Jean Baptiste, i. 8.

Rochefort, i. 10, 13, 24, 216.

Rocheport, Mo., ii. 174.

Rochester, Eng., i. 304.

--, N.Y., i. 117.

Rocky Mts., i. 74, 467, 488, 501, 523; ii. 20, 163, 192, 439.

-- Mts. fur trade, i. 499.

Roloje Creek, ii. 169.

Rook, i. 134, 137, 229, 240, 242, 286, 289, 338.

Roscoe, Edward, i. 102, 103, 110-112, 150, 249.

--, William, i. 99, 107-110, 113, 134, 226, 249, 272.

--, Mrs. William, i. 127.

-- family, i. 109, 114, 115, 116, 120, 127, 128, 146.

Rose, Mr., ii. 274-279.

Roses, Les, Redouté's, i. 326.

Roslyn Castle, i. 168, 219, 221.

-- Chapel, i. 220.

Rotterdam, i. 301.

Royal Academy, Edinburgh, i. 182, 183, 188.

-- Academy, London, i. 341.

-- Institute, Edinburgh, i. 162, 209.

-- Institute, Liverpool, i. 104-107, 112, 115, 130, 132, 156, 248, 249.

-- Institute of Manchester, i. 247.

-- Oak, i. 436, 437.

-- Society of Edinburgh, i. 203, 207, 216, 225.

-- Society of London, i. 252, 257.

Rozier, Ferdinand, i. 24, 26, 28, 31, 40, 43, 44; ii. 222.

Rubus cham?morus, i. 432.

Rudder-fish, i. 84; ii. 302, 307, 308.

Runaway, The, ii. 270.

Running-water River, i. 498, 503.

Russell, Michael, i. 204, 206.

Russellville, ii. 218.

Rutland Arms, i. 136, 138.

-- Cave, i. 138.

--, Duke of, i. 314.

Rutter, Dr., i. 144, 273.

Ruy's Island, i. 435.

Sabine, Sir Edward, i. 281.

Sable, i. 375, 378, 401, 409; ii. 382.

--, Cape, i. 351; ii. 367, 374.

-- d'Olhonne; i. 9.

Sac Indians, i. 474.

St. Albans, i. 298.

St. Andrew's Church, Edinburgh, i. 155.

St. Andrew's Day, i. 169.

St. Augustine, ii. 352, 353, 356, 358.

St. Charles, Mo., i. 457; ii. 175.

St. Clair, Mr., i. 185.

St. Cloud, i. 309, 311.

St. Croix River, i. 443.

St. Francisville, i. 57, 62, 81.

St. Geneviève, i. 30, 31, 44; ii. 222, 230, 450.

St. George's Bay, i. 429; ii. 426.

St. George's Channel, i. 97.

St. Hilaire, Geoffroy de, i. 307, 312, 315, 317, 332.

--, Isidore de, i. 312, 313, 318, 320.

St. John's College, Cambridge, i. 286.

St. John's River, i. 429, 444; ii. 254, 330-332, 336-338, 389, 392, 393.

St. John's River in Florida, ii. 353.

St. Joseph, i. 471.

St. Lawrence, Gulf of, i. 353, 428, 440.

St. Louis, i. 72, 449, 450, 454, 458-461, 463, 467, 478, 479, 490, 492, 496, 499, 501, 513, 517, 525, 526; ii. 11, 29, 30, 37, 38, 64, 86, 132, 149, 169, 175, 181, 219, 225, 450.

St. Mary's Abbey, York, i. 239.

St. Mary's Church, Cambridge, i. 290.

St. Nazaire, i. 24.

St. Nicholas Church, Newcastle, i. 231, 233.

St. Omer, i. 305.

St. Paul's Cathedral, i. 252.

St. Tammany Parish, i. 5.

Salamander, ii. 335.

Salmon, i. 375, 430.

-- River, i. 442.

Sandford, Major, i. 467.

Sandpiper, i. 366, 504; ii. 160.

--, Least, i. 425.

--, Purple, i. 424.

--, Rock. See Sandpiper, Purple.

--, Spotted, i. 353, 365, 431; ii. 7, 162.

--, Wilson's, i. 366.

Sandy Island, ii. 364-367.

Santa Fé, i. 459, 467.

Santee Indians, i. 507, 516.

Santo Domingo, i. 5, 7-10.

Sapinot, G. L., i. 81.

Sarpy, Mr., i. 455-457, 463, 477, 529.

Saskatchewan River, ii. 109.

Saunders, Howard, i. 402.

Sauve qui peut, i. 341.

Savannah, i. 301.

Say, Thomas, i. 37, 459, 461, 472, 483, 502.

Sayornis ph?be, ii. 51.

"Scapegrace." See Diver, Red-necked.

Schoodiac Lakes, ii. 393.

Schuylkill River, i. 10, 17, 41, 43, 241, 271; ii. 519.

Scipio and the Bear, ii. 481.

Sciurus aberti, i. 70.

-- audubonii, i. 460, 476.

-- capistratus, i. 455.

-- carolinensis, i. 470.

-- ludovicianus, i. 459, 476.

-- macrourus, i. 455, 459, 461, 472, 475.

-- magnicaudatus, i. 460.

-- niger, i. 455.

-- occidentalis, i. 460.

-- rubicaudatus, i. 460.

-- rufiventer, i. 460.

-- sayii, i. 460.

-- subauratus, i. 459.

Scolecophagus carolinus, ii. 48.

-- cyanocephalus, i. 474; ii. 48.

Scoter, White-winged, i. 418.

Scotland, i. 69, 143, 223, 224, 228, 238, 266, 267; ii. 33.

Scott, Anne, i. 177, 207, 217.

-- House, i. 454.

--, Sir Walter, i. 97, 111, 143, 144, 146, 148, 151, 155, 167, 169, 170, 182, 183, 206-211, 216, 217, 237, 266.

Scottish Society of Arts, i. 209, 214, 216.

"Sea Parrot." See Mormon.

Sea-cow, ii. 360.

Sea-eagle, ii. 312.

Sea-gull, ii. 312.

--, White-breasted, ii. 313.

Seal, i. 354, 404, 408, 410; ii. 414, 431, 481.

Seal-catcher, i. 408.

Seal-fishing, i. 357, 414.

Seal Island, i. 350.

Seal oil, i. 408.

--, Wild Turkey, i. 160.

Seboois Lake, ii. 392.

Sedgwick, Adam, i. 286-288.

Seine River, i. 307, 309, 310, 336.

Selby, Prideaux John, i. 18, 150-154, 179, 183, 189-193, 224, 227, 230, 262-264, 271, 283, 312.

Selby family, i. 226, 227, 264.

Selkirk, Lord, i. 116, 144.

Seminole Indians, ii. 355, 356, 367.

Sergeant, E. W., i. 121, 247, 248, 259, 264, 274, 291.

Severn River, i. 250, 251.

Shark, i. 85, 430; ii. 304, 307.

--, Basking, i. 366.

Shattuck, George C., i. 67, 345, 377, 388, 392, 397, 420, 437, 439, 441, 517; ii. 403.

Shawanee, i. 34, 44, 45; ii. 238.

-- Indians, i. 148.

Sheeps-head, ii. 310, 313.

Shewash River, ii. 5.

Shippingport, i. 29, 38, 47, 53-55, 270; ii. 203, 206, 215, 221, 454.

Shrewsbury, Eng., i. 249-251.

Shrike, ii. 97.

--, Loggerhead, ii. 122.

Sick-e-chi-choo, ii. 154.

"Siffleurs." See Marmots.

Silver Hills, ii. 199.

Siméon, Vicomte, i. 334, 336, 339.

Simmons, Dr., ii. 352.

Sioux City, i. 488.

-- Indians, i. 481, 489, 494, 498, 502, 508, 518, 525; ii. 25, 47, 68, 70, 133, 154, 164, 169.

-- Pictout River, i. 484.

Sire, Joseph A., i. 452, 454, 479, 490, 520, 528; ii. 19, 27.

Siskin, i. 357, 377, 414; ii. 417.

Sismondi, Jean C. L., i. 107, 108.

Six-trees (camp), i. 519; ii. 165.

Skene, W. F., i. 170, 171, 175, 186.

Skinner, John Stuart, ii. 221.

Skunk, i. 476.

Skylark, i. 215; ii. 51.

Small-pox, ii. 48.

Smet, Father P. J. de, i. 467, 468.

Smith, Lieut. Constantine, ii. 352.

--, Gideon B., i. 453, 476; ii. 29, 173.

--, Sydney, i. 215-217, 233.

Smyth, William, i. 126.

Snipe, i. 57.

--, Solitary, i. 475.

Snow-bird, i. 384.

Snyders, Francis, i. 175.

Society of Natural History, Boston, i. 58.

Soldier River, ii. 171.

Somerset House, i. 342.

South Carolina, i. 69.

South Dakota, i. 489.

Spanish Fort, ii. 249.

"Spark" (boat), ii. 352-355.

Sparr Point, i. 410.

Sparrow, Chipping, i. 481.

--, Field, i. 481.

--, Fox-colored, i. 372, 402.

--, Fox-tailed, i. 357, 410.

--, Lincolnii, i. 431.

--, Song, i. 353, 391.

--, Swamp, i. 382, 391, 420.

--, White-crowned, i. 379-381, 384, 391, 410, 414.

--, White-throated, i. 352, 379, 391, 399, 405.

Sparrow-hawk, i. 506; ii. 50.

Spence, Dr. William, i. 217.

Spermophile, ii. 27, 51.

--, Federation, ii. 37.

Spermophilus hoodii, ii. 37, 124, 138, 140.

-- tridecem-lineatus, ii. 37.

-- tridecem-pallidus, ii. 37.

Spizella brewerii, i. 517, 518.

"Split Cape," i. 444.

Sprague, Isaac, i. 73; assistant on Missouri River trip, i. 453-531; ii. 4-173, 183.

Spreading Water, i. 503.

Spring Garden, ii. 333.

Spring Garden Creek, ii. 336, 338.

Square Hills, ii. 9.

Squatters of Labrador, i. 415.

Squatters of Labrador, ii. 443.

Squires, Lewis, i. 73, 453; secretary on Missouri River trip, i. 461-528; ii. 9-173, 182.

Squirrel, i. 468, 507; ii. 212, 323, 404, 459-463, 496, 502, 503.

--, Abert's, i. 70.

--, Black, i. 472, 475, 476.

--, Catesby's Black, i. 455.

--, Flying, i. 401.

--, Fox, i. 455.

--, Gray, i. 457-459, 469, 470, 473, 475; ii. 173, 175.

--, Ground, ii. 27, 51.

--, Long-tailed, ii. 170, 174.

--, Red, i. 433; ii. 433.

--, Western Fox, i. 459, 476.

Stanford, Lord, i. 122, 123, 135.

Stanley, Lord. See Derby, Earl of.

Starling, i. 229, 241, 246, 274, 278, 481.

--, Red-winged, i. 480; ii. 90.

Stateford, i. 164.

Steen (or Stein), Mr., i. 52.

Stercorarius pomarinus, i. 420.

Sterna fosteri, i. 368.

-- havelli, i. 61.

-- hirundo, i. 357, 368, 370, 380.

-- regia, i. 402.

-- shegrava, i. 402.

Stewart, Dugald, i. 166.

Stockport, i. 136.

Stokoe, Baron, M.D., i. 185.

Stow, i. 170.

Strobel, Benjamin, M.D., ii. 348, 378.

Stuart, Sir William, i. 468.

Sturnella neglecta, i. 506, 510.

Sublette, William, and Co., ii. 69, 132.

Sula bassana, i. 359.

Sullivan's Bridge, i. 43.

Sully, Robert, i. 276, 285.

--, Thomas, i. 55, 57, 109, 192, 252, 271, 300.

Sun Perch, The, ii. 515.

Sussex, Duke of, i. 377.

Swainson, William, i. 57, 64, 295-300, 303, 306-309, 312, 313, 316, 320, 325, 332, 341, 405, 477.

--, Mrs. William, i. 299, 300, 306, 312, 313.

Swallow, i. 141; ii. 253.

--, Bank, i. 350, 358, 381, 431, 485.

--, Barn, i. 472, 508; ii. 7.

--, Chimney, i. 353.

--, Cliff, i. 487, 494; ii. 16, 66, 176.

--, Greenbacked, i. 472, 477, 484.

--, House, i. 358, 431; ii. 16, 167.

--, Martin, i. 433.

--, Republican, i. 431.

--, Rough-winged, i. 471, 477, 508; ii. 7.

--, White-bellied, i. 472.

Swan, i. 141, 310, 471, 494; ii. 5, 19, 21, 140, 154, 157, 159, 171, 222, 223.

Swift, i. 471.

"Swiftsure" (boat), ii. 431, 432.

Sword-fish, i. 88.

Sylvia parus, ii. 316.

-- roscoe, i. 301.

-- striata, i. 399.

Sylvicola [Dendr?ca] maculosa, i. 498.

Syme, John, i. 157, 165, 173, 176, 205.

Tachycinata bicolor, i. 472.

Tah-Tah, ii. 154.

Talbot, Isham, i. 36.

Tamias, ii. 27, 31.

-- quadrivittatus, ii. 154.

Tanager, Red, i. 471.

Tarascon family, i. 29, 47, 48, 54; ii. 200.

Tarascon's Mills, ii. 215.

Tawapatee Bottom, i. 31, 207; ii. 222, 224.

Taylor, Mr., ii. 168.

--, James I., i. 120.

--, John, D.D., i. 139.

Teal, Blue-winged, i. 459, 471, 472; ii. 167, 176, 206.

--, Green-winged, ii. 176.

Temminck, C. T., i. 235, 275, 380.

Tennessee, i. 32, 329.

Tern, i. 368, 428, 432; ii. 313, 364, 372.

--, Arctic, i. 369, 372, 377, 380, 389.

--, Black, i. 493; ii. 39.

--, Caspian, i. 402.

--, Cayenne, i. 368, 402, 433.

--, Foster's, i. 368.

--, Great, i. 357, 368, 433, 434.

--, Havell's, i. 61.

--, Sooty, i. 87.

Teton River, i. 525-527.

Tetrao canadensis, i. 352, 414.

-- [Bonasa] umbellus, i. 461.

-- umbellus, i. 401.

Texas, i. 70, 74, 75.

Thalassidroma, i. 396.

"Thalia" (boat), i. 90.

Thames River, i. 304.

Théatre fran?ais, i. 308.

Thomas, William, i. 16, 19.

--, Mrs. William, i. 27.

Thompson's Creek, i. 162.

Thomson, Anthony Todd, i. 146, 148, 155.

--, Thomas, i. 222.

Thrasa?tos harpyia, i. 271.

Thrush, i. 134, 226, 242, 272, 357; ii. 7.

--, Black, i. 269.

--, Ferruginous, i. 471.

--, Golden-crowned, i. 462, 471.

--, Hermit, i. 350, 357.

--, Red, i. 245, 516; ii. 7.

--, Tawny, i. 353, 357, 406.

--, Water, i. 470, 476. See also Turdus aquaticus.

--, Wilson's Water, i. 301.

--, Wood, i. 193, 209, 242, 339, 471, 476, 496; ii. 316.

Thruston, Mr., ii. 358, 363.

"Tinkers." See Alca torda.

Titian, Vecellio, i. 196.

Titlark, ii. 166.

Titlark, Brown, i. 399.

Titmouse, i. 477; ii. 117.

--, Black-headed, i. 400, 431.

--, Canada, i. 431, 433.

--, Hudson's Bay, i. 400.

Tittenhanger Green, i. 298, 300, 301.

Todd, John, i. 111.

--, Thomas, i. 111.

Toledo, General, i. 32.

Tomlinson, Mr., i. 115.

Tongue River, i. 503.

Tortugas, ii. 309, 346, 371-374.

Totanus macularius, i. 353, 365.

Townsend, J. K., i. 472; ii. 56.

Trade Water River, ii. 278.

Traill, Thomas S., i. 107, 111, 112, 115, 116, 120, 127-129, 146, 163, 175, 248, 249, 269, 295.

"Trapper" (steamboat), i. 524-528; ii. 10, 124.

Travers Lake, ii. 146.

Trenton, i. 16.

Tringa, i. 366, 423, 431.

-- [Acto-dromas] minutilla, i. 366.

-- arquatella maritima, i. 424.

-- maritima, i. 424.

-- minutilla, i. 366.

-- pusilla, i. 368, 425.

Trinidad, i. 167, 168.

Trinity, Illinois, i. 53, 149; ii. 274, 275.

-- Chapel, Cambridge, i. 290.

-- Church Cemetery, i. 77.

-- College, Cambridge, i. 286.

Troglodytes bewickii, i. 302.

-- ludovicianus, i. 302.

Trollope, Mrs. Frances, i. 440.

Troupial, Yellow-headed, i. 478, 480, 481, 485, 495.

Trudeau, Dr., i. 464.

Truro, i. 438.

Tuileries, Jardins de, i. 312, 314, 326, 334, 338.

Turdus aquaticus, i. 301. See also Thrush, Water.

-- migratorius, i. 373.

Turkey, Wild, i. 100, 115, 131, 141, 156, 159, 161, 163, 173-176, 180, 191, 194, 203, 243, 451, 454, 458, 461, 468-471, 473, 475, 481, 482, 485, 487-490, 495; ii. 168-170, 174, 206, 214, 217, 220-224, 248, 276, 320, 329, 331, 355, 447, 452, 459, 487, 503, 507.

Turner, Rev. William, i. 239, 240, 264.

Turtle, ii. 360-363, 373-380.

--, Green, ii. 373-380.

--, Hawk-billed, ii. 347, 373, 374, 377.

--, Loggerhead, ii. 373-378.

--, Trunk, ii. 373, 374, 377.

Turtlers, The, ii. 371.

Tuskar Rock, i. 97.

Twizel House, i. 225, 268, 293.

Tyne River, i. 230, 231, 233-236.

Tyrannula richardsonii, i. 405.

Tyrolese Singers, i. 272.

"Union" (boat), ii. 139, 146.

United States, i. 329, 413, 422, 436; ii. 187, 188, 194, 225, 230, 508.

United States Congress, i. 272, 275, 278.

University of Cambridge, i. 288.

University of Edinburgh, i. 146, 177.

Upper Knife River, ii. 24.

Uria grylle, i. 354, 389.

-- ringvia, i. 372.

-- troile, i. 351, 354, 366, 371, 372, 413, 428.

Urinator imber, i. 389.

-- lumme, i. 389, 390.

Vacher, Baron, i. 334, 336.

Valenciennes achille, i. 307, 325, 330.

Valéry, M., i. 325, 326.

Valley Forge, i. 10, 41, 43.

Vanconnah Swamp, ii. 260.

Van Pra?t, Joseph Basile, i. 314.

Vaux, James, i. 43.

Veras, Colonel, i. 468.

Vermilion River, i. 489, 490, 494; ii. 168.

Versailles, i. 316, 317.

Vespertilio subulatus, i. 502.

Vestris, Madam, i. 253.

Viarme, Place de, Nantes, i. 273.

Viellot, Fran?ois, i. 301, 472.

Vigors, Nicholas Aylward, i. 255-257, 281, 282, 294, 296, 303.

Vincennes, ii. 498.

Vireo, i. 473, 497.

-- bellii, i. 473.

--, Bell's, i. 473, 500.

-- Warbling, i. 475.

--, White-eyed, i. 475.

Virginia, ii. 51, 218, 232, 244, 444, 455.

Virginians, i. 40; ii. 242, 457, 478.

Vivien, Admiral, i. 13.

Voltaire, Fran?ois, M.A., i. 322.

Vulpes fulvus macrourus, ii. 76.

-- macrourus, ii. 12, 76.

--, Utah, ii. 12, 76. See also Fox, Red.

Vultur atratus, i. 181.

Vulture, i. 113, 352, 394, 415, 458; ii. 210, 246-249, 252, 304, 418, 468.

Wagtail, i. 248.

Wales, i. 97, 105, 250.

Walker, Sir Patrick, i. 159.

Wallaghasquegantook Lake, ii. 392.

Waller, Sir Walter, i. 258.

Wananri River, i. 503.

Wansbeck River, i. 229.

Wapiti, i. 484.

"War Eagle" (boat), i. 499.

Warbler, i. 87, 88, 242, 357, 379, 382; ii. 310, 426, 355.

--, Black and Yellow, i. 498.

--, Blackburnian, i. 485.

--, Black-capped, i. 357, 397, 399, 410, 421.

--, Black-poll, i. 379, 381, 399.

--, Blue-eyed, i. 471.

--, Blue-winged, i. 471.

--, Blue Yellow-eyed, i. 431.

--, Cerulean, i. 462, 471.

--, Children's, i. 275.

--, Cuvier's, i. 275.

--, Hemlock, ii. 316.

--, Kentucky, i. 471, 473.

--, Mourning, i. 475.

--, Nashville, i. 471.

--, Pale, i. 481.

--, Red-breasted, i. 134.

--, Vigor's, i. 275.

--, Yellow, i. 481.

--, Yellow-rumped, i. 405, 470, 484.

--, Yellow-winged, i. 405.

Ward, J. F., i. 284.

Washinga Sabba. See Blackbird (chief).

Washington, D.C., i. 63, 69.

--, George, i. 10, 43, 478.

--, Miss., i. 52.

--, Mo., ii. 175.

--, Penn., i. 52.

Wassataquoik River, ii. 392.

Waterloo Hotel, i. 169.

Waterloo Place, i. 253.

Waterton, Charles, i. 56, 158, 169.

Watson, i. 469.

Weak-fish, ii. 312.

Wear River, i. 238.

Webster, J. W., i. 441.

Weiss, Charles N., i. 166, 167, 172, 177.

Wells, Maine, i. 94.

Wernerian Society, Edinburgh, i. 146, 152, 174, 176, 180, 186, 202, 205, 211, 213, 217.

West, Benjamin, i. 207.

West Indies, i. 28.

-- Point, i. 480.

Weterhoo River, i. 531.

Wetherill, John Macomb, i. 43.

--, Samuel, i. 32, 41.

--, W. H., i. 41, 43.

Whale, i. 94, 96.

Whapatigan, ii. 404.

Wheeling, Virginia, i. 450, 454; ii. 218.

Whewell, William, i. 286-290.

Whip-poor-will, i. 242, 245, 471, 473; ii. 163, 164, 170.

"White Cloud" (boat), i. 499.

White Cow (chief), ii. 72.

-- Earth River, i. 512; ii. 25, 133.

-- Head Island, ii. 431, 432.

-- Horse Inn, i. 285.

-- Paint Creek, i. 509.

White Perch, The, ii. 509.

White River, i. 512; ii. 25, 167.

Whitestone River, i. 494.

Wied, Prince of, i. 525; ii. 323.

Wilberforce, William, i. 293.

Wilcomb, Captain, i. 422, 428.

Wild Cat, i. 494, 504; ii. 166, 400, 413.

Wild Horse, A, ii. 215.

Willet, i. 472.

Williams, W. H., i. 265, 292.

Wilson, Alexander, i. 29, 65, 108, 128, 261, 292, 298, 312, 385; ii. 200, 201, 203.

--, James, i. 64, 157, 179.

--, John, i. 160, 161, 176, 180, 200, 203, 217, 266.

Wimpole Street, London, i. 69.

Winchester, ii. 218.

Windsor, Nova Scotia, i. 442, 443; ii. 435.

-- Castle, i. 291.

-- River, i. 443.

Witham, Henry, i. 173, 174, 224.

"Wizard" (boat), i. 422, 428.

Wolf, i. 365, 378, 392, 403, 408, 409, 458, 483, 485, 491-495, 499, 504, 508-511, 517-521, 523, 525, 529-532; ii. 4, 7, 9, 19, 20, 22-28, 30-33, 36, 37, 40-42, 49, 52, 54, 57-61, 64, 70, 72, 74-76, 80-85, 87-89, 92, 93, 102, 104, 106, 110-117, 121, 124, 127, 130, 142, 148, 154, 156-159, 163, 166-169, 171, 176, 184, 223, 267, 278, 374, 405, 424, 461, 468-471, 492, 497-500.

--, American, i. 483.

--, Buffalo, i. 483.

--, Gray, ii. 35-38.

--, Prairie, i. 481, 483, 494; ii. 160, 171.

--, Timber, i. 483.

--, White, i. 501; ii. 40, 67.

Wolf Island, ii. 323.

-- pit, ii. 499.

Wood, George W., i. 119.

Woodchuck, i. 458.

Woodcock, i. 494, 495.

Woodcroft, i. 129, 132, 168, 248, 270.

Wood-duck, ii. 168, 174, 384.

Woodpecker, i. 331, 339, 401, 462, 470, 506; ii. 496.

--, Downy, i. 418.

--, Golden-winged, i. 433, 471; ii. 41, 42.

--, Green, i. 310.

--, Hairy, i. 431.

--, Ivory-billed, ii. 379.

--, Pileated, ii. 170, 476.

--, Red-bellied, i. 471.

--, Red-cheeked, ii. 53, 138.

--, Red-headed, i. 471, 508; ii. 7.

--, Red-patched, ii. 51.

--, Red-shafted, i. 510, 532; ii. 7, 8, 24, 53, 65, 67, 72, 167.

--, Three-toed, i. 371, 418.

--, Variegated, i. 286.

Woodruff's Lake, ii. 338.

Wood's Bluffs, i. 485.

-- Hills, i. 486.

Woodstock, i. 252; ii. 389, 392.

Woodville, i. 58.

Wreckers, ii. 246, 349, 351.

Wreckers of Florida, ii. 345.

Wren, i. 272.

--, Golden-crested, i. 434.

--, House, i. 471, 475, 477, 496, 504; ii. 7.

--, Marsh, i. 476.

--, Rock, ii. 97, 117, 122, 138, 159.

--, Ruby-crowned, i. 381, 385, 402.

--, Short-billed Marsh, ii. 90, 107.

--, Winter, i. 357, 410; ii. 433.

Wrexham, i. 250.

Yankton River, i. 501.

Yazoo River, ii. 260.

Yellow-bird, Summer, ii. 7.

Yellow-legs, ii. 176.

Yellow-shanks, i. 475.

Yellow-throat, Maryland, i. 431, 471; ii. 7.

Yellowstone River, i. 56, 451, 453, 529; ii. 4, 9, 16, 18, 28, 29, 37, 48, 53, 57, 65, 69, 89, 96, 98-101, 104, 114, 125, 126, 180.

York, i. 238, 240, 242, 243, 260, 268, 284, 285.

-- Minster, i. 239, 242.

-- museum, i. 240.

-- Philosophical Society, i. 242.

Yucca, ii. 165.

Zanesville, ii. 218.

Zonotrichia, i. 391.

Zonotrichia querula, i. 472.

Zo?logical gardens, i. 271, 281, 300, 302, 341.

Zo?logical Journal, London, i. 303.

Zo?logical Society of London, i. 257, 282, 284, 297; ii. 505.

Zostera Marina, ii. 377.


The Diplomas given are:

La Société Linnéenne de Paris. 6 Novembre, 1823.

Lyceum of Natural History, New York. January 13, 1824.

Société d'Histoire Naturelle de Paris. 5 Decembre, 1828.

American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Massachusetts. November 10, 1830.

Royal Society of Edinburgh. March 5. 1831.

Royal Jennerian Society, London. July 15, 1836.

Literary and Historical Society of Quebec. November 19, 1836.

Western Academy of Natural Sciences, St. Louis, Mo. April 17, 1843.

Natural History Society of Montreal. March 29, 1847.


[1] "We halted for dinner at a village which we suppose to have belonged to the Ricaras. It is situated in a low plain on the river, and consists of about eighty lodges of an octagon form, neatly covered with earth, placed as close to each other as possible, and picketed round." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.)

"The village of the Rikaras, Arickaras, or Rikarees, for the name is variously written, is between the 46th and 47th parallels of north latitude, and 1,430 miles above the mouth of the Missouri.... It was divided into two portions, about eighty yards apart, being inhabited by two distinct bands. The whole extended about three quarters of a mile along the river bank, and was composed of conical lodges, that looked like so many small hillocks, being wooden frames intertwined with osier, and covered with earth." ("Astoria," W. Irving.)

"From the hills we had a fine prospect over the bend of the river, on which the villages of the Arikkaras are situated. The two villages of this tribe are on the west bank, very near each other, but separated by a small stream. They consist of a great number of clay huts, round at top, with a square entrance in front, and the whole surrounded with a fence of stakes, which were much decayed and in many places thrown down." ("Travels in North America," p. 166, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.)

[2] "General Ashley of Missouri, a man whose courage and achievements in the prosecution of his enterprises had rendered him famous in the Far West in conjunction with Mr. [Andrew?] Henry, of the Missouri Trading Co., established a post on the banks of the Yellowstone River in 1822." ("Capt. Bonneville," W. Irving.)

[3] "We reached the mouth of Le Boulet, or Cannon Ball River. This stream rises in the Black Mts. and falls into the Missouri; its channel is about 140 feet wide, though the water is now confined within 40; its name is derived from the numbers of perfectly round stones on the shore and in the bluffs just above." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.)

"We came to an aperture in the chain of hills, from which this river, which was very high, issues. On the north side of the mouth there was a steep, yellow clay wall; and on the southern, a flat, covered with poplars and willows. This river has its name from the singular regular sandstone balls which are found in its banks, and in those of the Missouri in its vicinity. They are of various sizes, from that of a musket ball to that of a large bomb, and lie irregularly on the bank, or in the strata, from which they often project to half their thickness; when the river has washed away the earth they then fall down, and are found in great numbers on the bank. Many of them are rather elliptical, others are more flattened, others flat on one side and convex on the other. Of the perfectly spherical balls, I observed some two feet in diameter. A mile above the mouth of Cannon Ball River I saw no more of them." ("Travels in North America," p. 167, Maximilian, Prince of Wied.)

[4] Present name of the stream which falls into the Missouri from the east, about five miles below Fort Rice; Chewah or Fish River of Lewis and Clark; Shewash River of Maximilian. Audubon is now approaching Bismarck, the capital of North Dakota.-E. C.

[5] Charles Primeau was born at St. Louis, Mo., entered the American Fur Company as clerk, and continued in that service many years. Later he helped to form an opposition company under the name of Harvey, Primeau, & Co., which did business for a few years, until, like most of the smaller concerns, it was absorbed by the American Fur Co. He then went back to his former employers, and afterward was engaged by the U.S. Government as Indian interpreter, long holding this position. In 1896 he was living in the vicinity of Fort Yates.-E. C.

[6] The "Assiniboin" was the steamer on which Maximilian, Prince of Wied, travelled down the Missouri in 1833.

[7] This is an interesting note of the early French name on the Missouri of the persons about a boat whom we should call "stevedores," or "roustabouts." The French word charette, or charrette, occurs also as a personal name, and it will be remembered that there was a town of La Charette on the Lower Missouri.-E. C.

[8] Heart River, the stream which falls into the Missouri near the town of Mandan, about opposite Bismarck, N. Dak. Here the river is now bridged by the Northern Pacific Railroad, which crosses the Missouri from Bismarck, and follows up Heart River for some distance.-E. C.

[9] "Fort Clark came in sight, with a background of the blue prairie hills, and with the gay American banner waving from the flag-staff.... The fort is built on a smaller scale, on a plan similar to that of all the other trading posts or forts of the company. Immediately behind the fort there were, in the prairie, seventy leather tents of the Crows." (Prince of Wied, p. 171.)

Fort Clark stood on the right bank of the Missouri, and thus across the river from the original Fort Mandan built by Lewis and Clark in the fall of 1804. Maximilian has much to say of it and of Mr. Kipp.

[10] This Fox was probably the cross variety of the Long-tailed Prairie Fox, Vulpes macrourus of Baird, Stansbury's Exped. Great Salt Lake, June, 1852, p. 309; Vulpes utah of Aud. and Bach. Quad. N. Am. iii., 1853, p. 255, pl. 151 (originally published by them in Proc. Acad. Philad., July, 1852, p. 114).-E. C.

[11] No doubt the Mammillaria vivipara, a small globose species, quite different from the common Opuntia or prickly pear of the Missouri region.-E. C.

[12] The individual so designated was an important functionary in these villages, whose authority corresponded with that of our "chief of police," and was seldom if ever disputed.-E. C.

[13] "It rises to the west of the Black Mts., across the northern extremity of which it finds a narrow, rapid passage along high perpendicular banks, then seeks the Missouri in a northeasterly direction, through a broken country with highlands bare of timber, and the low grounds particularly supplied with cottonwood, elm, small ash, box, alder, and an undergrowth of willow, red-wood, red-berry, and choke-cherry.... It enters the Missouri with a bold current, and is 134 yards wide, but its greatest depth is two feet and a half, which, joined to its rapidity and its sand-bars, makes the navigation difficult except for canoes." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893, pp. 267, 268.)

"We came to a green spot at the mouth of the Little Missouri, which is reckoned to be 1670 miles from the mouth of the great Missouri. The chain of blue hills, with the same singular forms as we had seen before, appeared on the other side of this river." ("Travels in North America," Prince of Wied, p. 182.)

[14] At this time the account of the Prince of Wied had not been published in English; that translation appeared December, 1843, two years after the German edition.

[15] This is the Little Knife, or Upper Knife River, to be carefully distinguished from that Knife River at the mouth of which were the Minnetaree villages. It falls into the Missouri from the north, in Mountraille Co., 55 miles above the mouth of the Little Missouri. This is probably the stream named Goat-pen Creek by Lewis and Clark: see p. 274 of the edition of 1893.-E. C.

[16] Or White Earth River of some maps, a comparatively small stream, eighteen and one half miles above the mouth of Little Knife River.-E. C.

[17] Present name of the stream which flows into the Missouri from the north, in Buford Co. This is the last considerable affluent below the mouth of the Yellowstone, and the one which Lewis and Clark called White Earth River, by mistake. See last note.-E. C.

[18] Maximilian, Prince of Wied.

[19] This is a synonym of Spermophilus tridecem-lineatus, the Thirteen-lined, or Federation Sphermophile, the variety that is found about Fort Union being S. t. pallidus.-E. C.

[20] Charles Larpenteur, whose MS. autobiography I possess.-E. C.

[21] This is the first intimation we have of the discovery of the Missouri Titlark, which Audubon dedicated to Mr. Sprague under the name of Alauda spragueii, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 334, pl. 486. It is now well known as Anthus (Neocorys) spraguei.-E. C.

[22] Here is the original indication of the curious Flicker of the Upper Missouri region, which Audubon named Picus ayresii, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 348, pl. 494, after W. O. Ayres. It is the Colaptes hybridus of Baird, and the C. aurato-mexicanus of Hartlaub; in which the specific characters of the Golden-winged and Red-shafted Flickers are mixed and obscured in every conceivable degree. We presently find Audubon puzzled by the curious birds, whose peculiarities have never been satisfactorily explained.-E. C.

[23] The fact that the Antilocapra americana does shed its horns was not satisfactorily established till several years after 1843. It was first brought to the notice of naturalists by Dr. C. A. Canfield of California, April 10, 1858, and soon afterward became generally known. (See Proc. Zo?l. Soc. Lond. 1865, p. 718, and 1866, p. 105.) Thereupon it became evident that, as Audubon says, these animals are not true Antelopes, and the family Antilocaprid? was established for their reception. On the whole subject see article in Encycl. Amer. i., 1883, pp. 237-242, figs. 1-5.-E. C.

[24] That the account given by Audubon is not exaggerated may be seen from the two accounts following; the first from Lewis and Clark, the second from the Prince of Wied:-

"The ancient Maha village had once consisted of 300 cabins, but was burnt about four years ago (1800), soon after the small-pox had destroyed four hundred men, and a proportion of women and children.... The accounts we have had of the effects of the small-pox are most distressing; ... when these warriors saw their strength wasting before a malady which they could not resist, their frenzy was extreme; they burnt their village, and many of them put to death their wives and children, to save them from so cruel an affliction, and that they might go together to some better country."

"New Orleans, June 6, 1838. We have from the trading posts on the western frontier of Missouri the most frightful accounts of the ravages of small-pox among the Indians.... The number of victims within a few months is estimated at 30,000, and the pestilence is still spreading.... The small-pox was communicated to the Indians by a person who was on board the steamboat which went last summer to the mouth of the Yellowstone, to convey both the government presents for the Indians, and the goods for the barter trade of the fur-dealers.... The officers gave notice of it to the Indians, and exerted themselves to the utmost to prevent any intercourse between them and the vessel; but this was a vain attempt.... The disease first broke out about the 15th of June, 1837, in the village of the Mandans, from which it spread in all directions with unexampled fury.... Among the remotest tribes of the Assiniboins from fifty to one hundred died daily.... The ravages of the disorder were most frightful among the Mandans. That once powerful tribe was exterminated, with the exception of thirty persons. Their neighbors, the Gros Ventres and the Riccarees, were out on a hunting excursion at the time the disorder broke out, so that it did not reach them till a month later; yet half the tribe were destroyed by October 1. Very few of those who were attacked recovered.... Many put an end to their lives with knives or muskets, or by precipitating themselves from the summit of the rock near the settlement. The prairie all around is a vast field of death, covered with unburied corpses. The Gros Ventres and the Riccarees, lately amounting to 4,000 souls, were reduced to less than one half. The Assiniboins, 9,000 in number, are nearly exterminated. They, as well as the Crows and Blackfeet, endeavored to fly in all directions; but the disease pursued them.... The accounts of the Blackfeet are awful. The inmates of above 1,000 of their tents are already swept away. No language can picture the scene of desolation which the country presents. The above does not complete the terrible intelligence which we receive.... According to the most recent accounts, the number of Indians who have been swept away by the small-pox, on the Western frontier of the United States, amounts to more than 60,000."

[25] Quiscalus brewerii of Audubon, B. of Am. vii., 1844, p. 345, pl. 492, now known as Scolecophagus cyanocephalus. It was new to our fauna when thus dedicated by Audubon to his friend Dr. Thomas M. Brewer of Boston, but had already been described by Wagler from Mexico as Psarocolius cyanocephalus. It is an abundant bird in the West, where it replaces its near ally, Scolecophagus carolinus.-E. C.

[26] This is no doubt the Lepus artemisia of Bachman, Journ. Philad. Acad. viii., 1839, p. 94, later described and figured by Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. ii., 1851, p. 272, pl. 88. It is now generally rated as a subspecies of the common Cottontail, L. sylvaticus. Compare also L. nuttalli, Aud. and Bach. ii., 1851, p. 300, pl. 94.-E. C.

[27] This is the same hybrid Woodpecker which has been already noted on p. 14.-E. C.

[28] That is, the Chestnut-collared Longspur, Calcarius ornatus, which Mr. Bell was mistaken in supposing to breed in holes of the Ground Squirrels, or Spermophiles, as it nests on the open ground, like Sprague's Lark, McCown's Longspur, and most other small birds of the Western plains. But the surmise regarding the nesting of Say's Flycatcher is correct. This is a near relative of the common Pewit Flycatcher, S. ph?be, and its nesting places are similar.-E. C.

[29] This passage shows that Audubon observed individuals of the hybrid Woodpecker which he considered identical with Colaptes cafer, and also others which he regarded as belonging to the supposed new species-his C. ayresii.-E. C.

[30] The usual title or designation of the chief trader or person in charge of any establishment of a fur company.-E. C.

[31] "The black-tailed deer never runs at full speed, but bounds with every foot from the ground at the same time, like the mule-deer." ("Lewis and Clark," ed. 1893.)

[32] The above is a very good example of the way these Woodpeckers vary in color, presenting a case which, as Audubon justly observes, is a "puzzle to all the naturalists in the world." See note, p. 14.-E. C.

[33] Vulpes utah of Aud. and Bach., Quad. N. Am. iii., 1853, p. 255, pl. 151, or V. macrourus of Baird, as already noted. This is the Western variety of the common Red Fox, now usually called Vulpes fulvus macrourus.-E. C.

[34] Among the "birds shot yesterday," July 26, when Audubon was too full of his Buffalo hunt to notice them in his Journal, were two, a male and a female, killed by Mr. Bell, which turned out to be new to science. For these were no other than Baird's Bunting, Emberiza bairdii of Audubon, B. Amer, vii., 1844, p. 359, pl. 500. Audubon there says it was "during one of our Buffalo hunts, on the 26th July, 1843," and adds: "I have named this species after my young friend Spencer F. Baird, of Carlisle, Pennsylvania." Special interest attaches to this case; for the bird was not only the first one ever dedicated to Baird, but the last one ever named, described, and figured by Audubon; and the plate of it completes the series of exactly 500 plates which the octavo edition of the "Birds of America" contains. This bird became the Centronyx bairdii of Baird, the Passerculus bairdi of Coues, and the Ammodramus bairdi of some other ornithologists. See "Birds of the Colorado Valley," i., 1878, p. 630. One of Audubon's specimens shot this day is catalogued in Baird's Birds of N. Am., 1858, p. 441.-E. C.

[35] See Bell's account of the trip, page 176.

[36] Nuttall's Poor-will, now known as Phal?noptilus nuttalli, which has a two-syllabled note, rendered "oh-will" in the text beyond.-E. C.

[37] A parflèche is a hide, usually a Buffalo bull's, denuded of hair, dressed and stretched to the desired shape. All articles made from this hide are also called parflèche, such as wallets, pouches, etc.

[38] Niobrara River; for which, and for others here named, see the previous note, date of May 20.

[39] On the south side of the Missouri, in present Nebraska, a short distance above the mouth of the Big Sioux. This small stream is Roloje Creek of Lewis and Clark, Ayoway River of Nicollet, appearing by error as "Norway" and "Nioway" Creek on General Land Office maps.-E. C.

[40] J. H. K. Burgwin. See a previous note, date of May 10.

[41] Of Maine; in 1843 a second lieutenant of the First Dragoons. He rose during the Civil War to be lieutenant-colonel of the Fourth Cavalry, and Brevet Major-General of Volunteers; died Jan. 7, 1873.

[42] Branta hutchinsi.

[43] Audubon's daughter-in-law, Mrs. V. G. Audubon, writes: "He returned on the 6th of November, 1843. It was a bright day, and the whole family, with his old friend Captain Cummings, were on the piazza waiting for the carriage to come from Harlem [then the only way of reaching New York by rail] There were two roads, and hearing wheels, some ran one way and some another, each hoping to be the first to see him; but he had left the carriage at the top of the hill, and came on foot straight down the steepest part, so that those who remained on the piazza had his first kiss. He kissed his sons as well as the ladies of the party. He had on a green blanket coat with fur collar and cuffs; his hair and beard were very long, and he made a fine and striking appearance. In this dress his son John painted his portrait."

[44] See page 126.

[45] These extracts, as well as the descriptions by Mr. Denig and Mr. Culbertson, of Forts Union and McKenzie, which follow, are in Audubon's writing, at the end of one of the Missouri River journals, and are given as descriptions of the life and habitations of those early western pioneers and fur-traders.

[46] One episode has been added,-"My Style of drawing Birds,"-and three have been omitted, that on Bewick being in the "Journal of England and France," and the others not of general interest.

[47] This was in 1810 or 1811.

[48] This was written in 1835.

[49] Vincent Nolte, in "Fifty Years in Both Hemispheres," gives an account of his meeting on this occasion with Audubon, part of which is as follows: "About ten o'clock I arrived at a small inn, close by the falls of the Juniata River. The landlady showed me into a room and said I perhaps would not mind taking my meal with a strange gentleman, who was already there. This personage struck me as an odd fish. He was sitting at a table before the fire, with a Madras handkerchief wound around his head, exactly in the style of the French mariners of a seaport town.... He showed himself to be an original throughout, but admitted he was a Frenchman by birth, and a native of La Rochelle. However, he had come in his early youth to Louisiana, had grown up in the sea-service, and had gradually become a thorough American. This man, who afterwards won for himself so great a name in natural history, particularly in ornithology, was Audubon." It is needless to say that the personal history of Audubon as here given is entirely erroneous; but as the meeting was in 1811, and the book written from memory in 1854, Mr. Nolte must be pardoned for his misstatements, which were doubtless unintentional.

[50] This was on the journey made by Audubon and his partner, Ferdinand Rozier, from Louisville to St. Genevieve, then in Upper Louisiana. They left Louisville in the autumn of 1810, and Audubon returned in the spring of 1811.

[51] This incident occurred during Audubon's return trip to St. Geneviève in the early spring of 1812.

[52] Sylvia parus, Hemlock Warbler; Ornith. Biog. vol. ii. page 205.

[53] Audubon and Mr. Irish met many times afterwards, the last being, I believe, in Philadelphia, on the eve of Audubon's departure for his Missouri River trip.

[54] Then Philadelphia.

[55] The name given by the wreckers and smugglers to the "Marion."

[56] Plate cclxxxi., ed. 1827-1839; plate ccclxviii., ed. 1843.

[57] The "Moose Hunt" was communicated to me by my young friend, Thomas Lincoln, of Dennysville in Maine.

[58] The last Episode in vol. ii. of the "Ornithological Biographies."

[59] "On the 16th [June, 1778], before sunrise, I departed in the most secret manner, and arrived at Boonesborough on the 20th, after a journey of 160 miles, during which I had but one meal." (Letter of Daniel Boone, who was then forty-three.)

[60] This bird [the White Ibis], to procure the Cray-fish, walks with remarkable care to the mounds of mud which the latter throws up while forming its hole, and breaks up the upper part of the fabric, dropping the fragments into the deep cavity that has been made by the animal. Then the Ibis retires a single step, and patiently waits the result. The Cray-fish, incommoded by the load of earth, instantly sets to work anew, and at last reaches the entrance of its burrow; but the moment it comes in sight the Ibis seizes it with his bill. (The White Ibis, Ibis Alba, Plate CCXXII., Ornith. Biog., vol. iii., p. 176).

[61] Audubon's drawings have been criticised for their flatness. Of this, Cuvier says: "It is difficult to give a true picture of a bird with the same effect of perspective as a landscape, and the lack of this is no defect in a work on Natural History. Naturalists prefer the real color of objects to those accidental tints which are the result of the varied reflections of light necessary to complete picturesque representations, but foreign and even injurious to scientific truth."

[62] This was in 1838; they have since been destroyed by fire, or, at least, the greater number.

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