Worn out in body and spirit, overburdened with anxieties, saddened by the condition of his country, it is no matter of surprise that my father could not throw off a heavy cold which attacked him early in 1862. On the evening of Tuesday, February 18, he was playing on his violin some of the Scotch airs of which he was so fond, when suddenly putting down the instrument he said he had so much fever he would retire. Before morning delirium set in, and for two days and nights he wandered in spirit over the many lands where once in health and strength the happy boy, the joyous youth, the earnest man had traveled in body. Especially was the Californian trip present in his fevered mind, and incidents and scenes were once more vividly before him, until on the twenty-first he fell asleep never to awaken here, and, as the stormy night closed in, almost at the same hour as that on which his father died, he too took the last journey and entered into that unknown land, and was "forever free from storm and stress." His forty-nine years of life had been very full ones, he had touched the extremes of joy and sorrow, he had known failure and success; like his father he had never done anything indifferently. His enthusiasm carried him over many difficulties, his sympathy and generosity endeared him to every one and, when the end of the busy life came, there was left a vacant place, never to be filled, in the hearts of those who knew and loved him. MARIA R. AUDUBON SALEM, NEW YORK, March 2, 1905. AUDUBON'S WESTERN JOURNAL 1849-1850 CHAPTER I NEW YORK TO TEXAS A year of quiet at my happy home had passed since my return from my last voyage to England, when "the fever" as it was called began to rage in New York, and as I sat, convalescent from a fever of a different kind at the time, of more danger than my present trip, I listened to the tales of speedily accumulated fortunes. At first I heard them with complete scepticism, again with less, until in some degree faith in the tales began to be awakened in my mind, and at last I thought it might possibly come to pass that I should go to California; but still it was very vague, and I scarcely dwelt on the idea of so long a trip except as a dream. However, I mentioned it to two or three of my friends asking what they thought, and answers came, as is always the case on occasions when advice is asked, so various, that I was bewildered, and finally I felt I must come to those in my own home to aid me in my decision. But even here I was thrown back upon my own judgment. My noble father could give me no advice now, but in 1845, when I was in Texas, he had written to me: "Push on to California, you will find new animals and birds at every change in the formation of the country, and birds from Central America will delight you."