Audubon and His Journals, Volume 1Audubon, John James
History
Audubon and His Journals, Volume 1
Audubon, John James
Audubon, John James, 1785-1851 -- Diaries; Birds -- North America; Naturalists -- United States -- Diaries
_April 23, Monday._ The weather looked more like approaching winter
than spring; indeed snow fell at short intervals, and it rained, and
was extremely cold and misty. Notwithstanding the disagreeable
temperature, I have walked a good deal. I delivered my letters as
early as propriety would allow, but found no one in; at least I was
told so, for beyond that I cannot say with any degree of accuracy I
fear. The Rev. Mr. Turner called with the curator of the Museum, to
whom I showed some drawings. After my dinner, eaten _solus_, I went
out again; the Minster is undoubtedly the finest piece of ancient
architecture I have seen since I was in France, if my recollection
serves me. I walked round and round it for a long time, examining its
height, form, composition, and details, until my neck ached. The
details are wonderful indeed,--all cut of the same stone that forms
the mass outwardly. Leaving it and going without caring about my
course, I found myself in front of an ancient castle,[123] standing on
a mound, covered with dark ivy, fissured by time and menacing its
neighborhood with an appearance of all tumbling down at no remote
period. I turned east and came to a pretty little stream called the
Ouse, over which I threw several pebbles by way of exercise. On the
west bank I found a fine walk, planted with the only trees of size I
have seen in this country; it extended about half a mile. Looking up
the stream a bridge of fine stone is seen, and on the opposite shores
many steam mills were in operation. I followed down this mighty stream
till the road gave out, and, the grass being very wet and the rain
falling heavily, I returned to my rooms. York is much cleaner than
Newcastle, and I remarked more Quakers; but alas! how far both these
towns are below fair Edinburgh. The houses here are low, covered with
tiles, and sombre-looking. No birds have I seen except Jackdaws and
Rooks. To my surprise my host waited upon me at supper; when he enters
my room I think of Scroggins' ghost. I have spent my evening reading
"Blackwood's Magazine."
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