eam he had had on
the Towhead last night; while I told them the story of Audubon, whose
name will ever be associated with Henderson.

The great naturalist was in business at Louisville, early in the
century; but in 1812, he failed in this venture, and moved to
Henderson, where his neighbors thought him a trifle daft,--and
certainly he was a ne'er-do-well, wandering around the woods, with
hair hanging down on his shoulders, a far-away look in his eyes, and
communing with the birds. In 1818, the botanist Rafinesque, on the
first of his several tramps down the Ohio valley,--he had a
favorite saying, that the only way for a botanist to travel, was to
walk,--stopped over at Henderson to visit this crazy fellow of whom
he had heard. Rafinesque had a hope that Audubon might buy some of his
colored drawings; but when he saw the wonderful pictures which
Audubon had made, he acknowledged that his own were inferior--a sore
confession for Rafinesque, who was an egotist of the first water.
Audubon had but humble quarters, for it was hard work in those days
for him to keep the wolf from the door; nevertheless, he entertained
the distinguished traveler, whom he was himself destined to far
eclipse. One night, a bat flew into Rafinesque's bedroom, and in
driving it out he used his host's fine Cremona as a club, thus making
kindling-wood of it. Two years later, still steeped in poverty,
Audubon left Henderson. It was 1826 before he became known to the
world of science, when little of his life was left in which to enjoy
the fame at last awarded him.

We had lunch on Henderson Island, three miles down, and for warmth
walked briskly about on the strand, among the willow clumps. It rained
again, after we had taken our seats in the boat, and the head-wind
which sprang up was not unwelcome, for it necessitated a right lively
pull to make headway. W---- and the Boy, in the stern-sheets, were
not uncomfortable when swathed to the chin in the blankets which
ordinarily serve us as cushions.

Ten miles below Henderson, was a little fleet of houseboats, lying
in a thicket of willows along the Indiana beach. We stopped at one of
them, and bought a small catfish for dinner. The fishermen seemed
a happy company, in this isolated spot. The women were engaged in
household work, but the men were spending the afternoon collected in
the cabin of one of their number, who had recently arrived from
Green River. While waiting for the fish to be caught in a