The year following, we find Audubon far down among the bayous of Florida, still engaged in collecting materials for his work; yet still, apparently, with no definite purpose of publication. Of the next ten or twelve years of his life, we have no particular accounts. But we understand that he has left behind him an autobiography, which will doubtless be made public, and which we venture to predict, will exceed in interest and adventure the lion-king Cumming's African exploits, springing as Audubon's did from high devotion to science, instead of the mere animal instinct of destruction. All this while his great work was growing. But in a single night the result of the labor of years was destroyed by a pair of rats, who selected a box containing two hundred drawings, with more than a thousand figures, as a place in which to rear their plundering brood. "The burning heat," says he, "which rushed through my brain was too great to be endured without affecting the whole of my nervous system. I slept not for several nights, and the days passed like days of oblivion, until the dormant powers being aroused into action through the strength of my constitution, I took up my gun, my note-book, and my pencils, and went forward to the woods as gayly as though nothing had happened." In three years his portfolios were again full. In 1824, Audubon found himself at Philadelphia, on his way to the great lakes. Here he was introduced to Lucien Bonaparte, who seems to have induced him to determine upon the publication of his work. A year and a half of happy toil ensued, enlivened by a new object. He had loved and wooed Nature for her own dear self; but now he began to feel presentiments that his bride would raise him to a throne among the immortals. In 1826 he set sail for England. His first feeling was that of despondency. What was he, whose acquirements had been won by the solitary wanderings of more than a quarter of a century, amid lonely forest solitudes; what could he be in comparison with those who had been trained and taught by intercourse with civilized life? But these feelings were of brief duration. The wonderful backwoodsman was warmly welcomed by the best and wisest men of Europe. Cuvier was his admirer, Alexander von Humboldt became his cherished friend and correspondent. "The hearts of all," wrote Wilson, "warmed toward Audubon, who were capable of conceiving the difficulties, dangers, and sacrifices that must have been encountered, endured, and overcome, before genius could have embodied these, the glory of its innumerable triumphs."