Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History BookOpen Original Text our cause it is just,
And this be our motto--"_In God is our trust_"--
And the Star-Spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.
~1780=1851.~
[Illustration: ~Scene in Louisiana.~]
JOHN JAMES AUDUBON was born near New Orleans and educated in France
where he studied painting under David. While still a young man, his
father put him in charge of a country estate in Pennsylvania.
Afterwards he engaged in mercantile persuits in Philadelphia,
Louisville, New Orleans, and Henderson, Kentucky, but unsuccessfully;
for he knew and cared much more about the birds, flowers, and beasts
around him than about the kinds and prices of goods that his
neighbors needed.
His great literary and artistic work is "The Birds of America,"
consisting of five volumes of Ornithological Biographies and four
volumes of exquisite portraits of birds, life-size, in natural colors,
and surrounded by the plants which each one most likes. "Quadrupeds of
America" was prepared mainly by his sons and Rev. John Bachman of
South Carolina. These works gave him a European reputation. He died at
Minniesland, now Audubon Park, New York City.
His style in writing is pure, vivid, and so clear as to place before
us the very thing or event described. The accounts of his travels and
of the adventures he met with in his search for his birds and animals
are very natural and picturesque; and they show also his own fine
nature and attractive character.
A biography arranged from his diary by Mrs. Audubon was published in
New York, 1868. See also Samuel Smiles' "Brief Biographies." The State
Library of North Carolina possesses a set of Audubon's invaluable
works, of which there are only eight sets in America.
THE MOCKING-BIRD.
It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned
with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful
flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and the fields
are adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange
ornaments the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds
interlace their climbing stems around the white-flowered Stuartia,
and, mounting still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees
around, accompanied with innumerable vines, that here and there
festoon the dense foliage of the magnificent woods, lending to the
vernal breeze a slight portion of the perfume of their clustered
flowers; where a genial warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where
berries and fruits of all descriptions are met with at every step; in
a word, kind reader, it is where Nature seems to have paused, as she
passed over the earth, and, opening her stores, to have strewed with
unsparing hand the diversified seeds from which have sprung all the
beautiful and splendid forms which I should in vain attempt to
describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixed his abode, there
only that its wondrous song should be heard.
But where is that favored land? It is in that great continent to whose
distant shores Europe has sent forth her adventurous sons, to wrest
for themselves a habitation from the wild inhabitants of the forest,
and to convert the neglected soil into fields of exuberant fertility.
It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the
greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the
love-song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he
flies round his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly!
His tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance,
describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one,
his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his
and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his
love, and, again bouncing upwards, opens his bill and pours forth his
melody, full of exultation at the conquest which he has made.
They are not the soft sounds of the flute or of the hautboy that I
hear, but the sweeter notes of Nature's own music. The mellowness of
the song, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its
compass, the great brilliancy of execution, are unrivalled. There is
probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical
qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's
self. Yes, reader, all!
No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been
sealed, than, as if his breast was about to be rent with delight, he
again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than
before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye to
assure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these
love-scenes, visible only to the ardent lover of nature, are over, he
dances through the air, full of animation and delight, and as if to
convince his lovely mate that to enrich her hopes he has much more
love in store, he that moment begins anew and imitates all the notes
which Nature has imparted to the other songsters of the grove.
THE HUMMING-BIRD.
No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season,
and caused millions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to
his genial beams, than the little Humming-Bird is seen advancing on
fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a
curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that
otherwise would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and
decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with
sparkling eyes, into their innermost recesses, while the ethereal
motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool
the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a
delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to
repose. Then is the moment for the Humming-Bird to secure them. Its
long delicate bill enters the cup of the flower, and the protruded
double-tubed tongue, delicately sensible, and imbued with a glutinous
saliva, touches each insect in succession, and draws it from its
lurking place, to be instantly swallowed. All this is done in a
moment, and the bird, as it leaves the flower, sips so small a portion
of its liquid honey, that the theft, we may suppose, is looked upon
with a grateful feeling by the flower, which is thus kindly relieved
from the attacks of her destroyers. . . . . . . . Its gorgeous throat
in beauty and brilliancy baffles all competition. Now it glows with a
fiery hue, and again it is changed to the deepest velvety black. The
upper parts of its delicate body are of resplendent changing green;
and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity
hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam
of light, upwards, downwards, to the right, and to the left.
THOMAS HART BENTON.
~1782=1858.~
THOMAS HART BENTON was born in Hillsboro, North Carolina, and was
partly educated at the State University. He left before graduation,
however, and removed with his wi Previous Next |