This year, 1839, he returned to America to spend the rest of his life, purchased a home on the banks of the Hudson in upper New York, which he called "Minnie's Land," the Scotch word for mother, this being the name by which he generally addressed his wife, to whom he left the whole of it at his death.
He was now sixty, but his work was not done. He immediately began to bring out his "Birds of America" in seven octavo volumes, with the figures reduced and lithographed. He exhibited in New York his wonderful collection of drawings, several thousands of birds and animals, all the size of life, by his own hands.
In 1843, taking his son Victor, he started on an expedition to the Yellowstone River, to collect animals and drawings for another great work, the "Quadrupeds of North America." After nearly a year he returned, and began his book. In two years the first volume was ready; but after this he could do no more. The rest of the great work was finished by his sons after his death.
In 1848 the quick, active mind failed. His wife read to him, led him like a child, and at the last fed him. One, at least, had never failed him, since the day when she gave the money she earned to send him to Europe to win renown.
On Thursday morning, January 27, 1851, the eyes dulled for so long once more showed their former lustre and beauty. Audubon did not speak, but he seemed to know that the time had come for the last journey. He reached out his arms, clasped the hands of his wife and children, and died.
Four days later, surrounded by distinguished friends, he was buried in Trinity Church cemetery, where his sons now rest beside him. A singularly guileless, sweet-natured man, who willed to do all this great work when a boy, and achieved it when a man, because he had willed it.
Well says General James Grant Wilson, in the life of Audubon so admirably prepared by his wife, "Long after the bronze statue of the naturalist, that we hope soon to see erected in the Central Park, shall have been wasted and worn beyond recognition by the winds and rains of Heaven, while the towering and snow-covered peak of the Rocky Mountains known as Mount Audubon shall rear its lofty head among the clouds, while the little wren chirps about our homes and the robin and reed-bird sing in the green meadows, while the melody of the mocking-bird is heard in the cypress swamps of Louisiana, or the shrill scream of the eagle on the frozen shores of the Northern seas, the name of John James Audubon, the gifted artist, the ardent lover of nature, and the admirable writer, will live in the hearts of his grateful countrymen."