"MINNIE'S LAND" AS IT APPEARS TO-DAY FROM THE RIVER FRONT, POCKETED BY THE RETAINING WALL OF RIVERSIDE DRIVE.
Before we glance at the half-submerged relic of Audubon's old house as it stands today in upper New York,[187] we shall follow the same writer in a visit which he made to "Minnie's Land" in the summer of 1842 but did not describe until eleven years later;[188] we will only add that at this time Audubon was in his fifty-eighth year, and not over sixty, as this writer surmised. After passing beyond the outposts of the city of that day, and turning into a rustic road which led directly to the river, his walk
soon brought a secluded country house into view,—a house not entirely adapted to the nature of the scenery, yet simple and unpretending in its architecture, and beautifully embowered amid elms and oaks. Several graceful fawns and noble elk were stalking in the shade of the trees, apparently unconscious of the presence of a few dogs, and not caring for the numerous turkeys, geese, and other domestic animals that gabbled and screamed among them....
"Is the master at home?" I asked of the pretty maid-servant who answered my tap at the door, and who after informing me that he was, led me into a room on the left side of the broad hall. It was not, however, a parlor, or any ordinary reception-room that I entered, but evidently a room for work. In one corner stood a painter's easel, with a half-finished sketch of a beaver on paper; in the other lay the skin of an American panther. The antlers of elks hung upon the walls, stuffed birds of every description of gay plumage ornamented the mantle-piece; and exquisite drawings of field-mice, orioles, and woodpeckers were scattered promiscuously in other parts of the room, across one end of which a long rude table was stretched to hold artist materials, scraps of drawing paper and immense folio volumes filled with the delicious paintings of birds taken in their haunts.
The master, who soon appeared,
was a tall, thin man, with a high arched and serene forehead, and a bright penetrating gray eye; his white locks fell in clusters upon his shoulders, but were the only signs of age, for his form was erect, and his step as light as that of a deer. The expression of his face was sharp, but noble and commanding, and there was something in it, partly derived from the aquiline nose and partly from the shutting of the mouth, which made you think of the imperial eagle.
His greeting, as he entered, was at once frank and cordial, and showed you the sincere and true man. "How kind it is," he said with a slight French accent, and in a pensive tone, "to come and see me; and how wise, too, to leave that crazy city!" He then shook me warmly by the hand. "Do you know," he continued, "how I wonder that men can consent to swelter and fret their lives away amid those hot bricks and pestilent vapors, when the woods and fields are all so near?"
When writing in 1845, Godwin gave further intimations of the naturalist's appearance: "His forehead [was] high, arched, and unclouded; the hairs of the brow prominent, particularly at the root of the nose, which was long and aquiline; chin prominent, and mouth characterized by energy and determination. The eyes were deep-gray, set deeply in the head, and as restless as the glance of an eagle."