There is no sympathy so sweet as that born of experience. Noble-hearted Audubon! God had indeed "smiled on him." Hereafter he was to walk in the sunlight of that smile. He was to work, of course, for there is no approbation for idleness, but he was to know want no more. March 17, 1827, he issued the prospectus of his book, which was to cost him over one hundred thousand dollars. Here was courage, but he had been fighting obstacles all his life, and he believed he could succeed. In this he said, "The author has not contented himself, as others have done, with single profile views, but in very many instances has grouped his figures so as to represent the originals at their natural avocations, and has placed them on branches of trees, decorated with foliage, blossoms, and fruits, or amidst plants of numerous species. Some are seen pursuing their prey through the air, searching for food amongst the leaves and herbage, sitting in their nests, or feeding their young; whilst others, of a different nature, swim, wade, or glide in or over their allotted element." Leaving Edinburgh, Audubon visited Newcastle, Leeds, York, Shrewsbury, and Manchester, securing a few subscribers to his work, at one thousand dollars each. It seemed difficult enough to spend a lifetime in preparing the book, without being obliged to perform the irksome and trying task of selling it; but fame asks Herculean labors of its votaries. Often he was pained by ill-mannered refusals. How few are like Longfellow, who could say "no" so kindly, that it almost seemed like "yes." Audubon tells, in his journal, of an interview with the great banker Rothschild. On opening the letter brought by the naturalist, the baron said, "This is only a letter of introduction, and I expect from its contents that you are the publisher of some book or other, and need my subscription." No man can be truly great who knows how to be uncivil! "Sir," he added, "I never sign my name to any subscription list, but you may send in your work and I will pay for a copy of it. I am busy, I wish you good-morning." When the book was sent, the baron exclaimed, "What, two hundred pounds for birds! Why, sir, I will give you five pounds, and not a farthing more!" This offer was "declined with thanks," and the book taken back to the publishers.