of his studies, so largely pursued in the solitude of the field or forest. Both in Cambridge and Philadelphia, his circle of acquaintance was quite small; even his intimates in Philadelphia declaring that they knew not the place of his residence—his intercourse with them was largely in their homes. Of a contemplative mind, his manner was often abstracted, yet with those of like interests he was companionable and communicative. His head was large and bald, his forehead broad, his features small; he was fair of feature, and often pale from application to his work; and stout and slightly stooped of frame, but above middle height. The story of his explorations proves him to have been of an active temperament. A persistent worker, his enthusiasm was unlimited. "To me," he said, "hardships and privations are cheaply purchased, if I may but roam over the wild domain of primeval nature. . . . My chief converse has been in the wilderness with the spontaneous productions of nature; and the study of these subjects and their contemplation have been to me a source of constant delight." Several anecdotes are related, which illustrate his ardor. On one of his early excursions to the Carolina coast, he was badly bitten by mosquitoes; but, absorbed in his investigations, was unconscious of the presence of the insects until, upon approaching a dwelling, he was thought to be afflicted with small-pox, and well-nigh driven away. When rounding Cape Horn, with the vessel beset by wind and icebergs, he vainly pleaded with the captain to be set on shore if only for a few hours, that he might examine the vegetation of that little-known coast.[1]
Nuttall will chiefly be remembered as a man of science. His work was painstaking, and he made solid contributions
- ↑ Dana, Two Years Before the Mast, quoted by Durand.
