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This makes an aggregate of one hundred and sixteen species. To these may be added the following varieties, to wit:

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which, added to the number of the species, makes one hundred and twenty-five.

To this enumeration I beg leave to add, that it by no means contains the whole. So far from it, that I know as a sportsman many kinds which have not yet been examined by me as a naturalist.

And, as I am on the subject, I will just mention that I have made great progress in describing and classifying the cetaceous animals of this region. The crustaceous are also posted up to a very valuable amount. And the testaceous are collected and displayed before me, to the amount of sixty species for scientific enumeration.

I ought not to close my letter without making my hearty acknowledgments to Samuel Akerly and Samuel G. Mott, Esqs. for the prompt and zealous aid they have afforded me. Nor can I omit to make equally respectful mention of Mr. John Scudder, the proprietor of the Museum in New-York, for the liberality with which he has permitted me to inspect his collection.

I beg you to accept the assurance, Mr. Editor, of my high esteem and regard.

SAMUEL L. MitchILL,

POETRY.

For the Analectic Magasine.

STANZAS,

ON SEEING A PICTURE OF NEWTEAD PARK, BELONGING TO A SEAT LATE T 29

PROPERTY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD BYRON.* 1813.

Froi scenes like these, that far and wide,
Rise and expand in sylvan pride,
Where fickle man might find in range
From hill to vale, congenial change ;
From scenes whose very hues impart
Good and gay cheerfulness of heart,
Could e'er their reckless owner roam,
With guilt and gloom to find a home?
To wander, like the exil'd ghost,
From heavenly fields forever lost,
Doom'd, with Elysium yet in view,
His wayward rovings to pursue,
Where tosses doubt's tumultuous sea
Thy shatter'd wreck, depravity!

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Son of the Muse-celestial guide!
Wont to inspire far purer pride-
Son of the Muse, had gold the power
To win from thee thy classic bower,
Of Byron should it e'er be told,
His birthright barter'd was for gold!

Alas! for thou hast sold yet more
Than fragile dome, or earth-born store ;
And Virtue mourns, in early day,
A brighter birthright cast away:
What time delirious passion's bowl,
Dissolv'd thy priceless pearl, the soul !"
O crown'd by heav'n with youth and health,
And mental hoards, and worldly wealth,
Vain the best patrimony's aid ;-
Thy debt on high has ne'er been paid.
Thy means, perverted from the aim
That had discharg'd the loftiest claimr,
Guilt's lawless traffick lost for thee
The treasures of futurity!
Yet might it be-thyself-thy song
Are causelessly accus'd of wrong;
That tell-tale Fame, though still believ'd,
Has still as constantly deceiv'd;
And thy free soul, unleagued with ill,
Retains its guar Angel still,
Who, when temptation's fiends assaild,
Has wrestled for thee, and prevailed:-

- the burning blush suffuse,
The bitterest tear bedim the Muse;
To find it false, were cause to rue,
Unequall'd, save--to find it true!

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Yet must the mind misgive thy lot,
That lingers on this pictur'd spot ;
Gazes its many beauties o'er,
And still returns to number more.
Musing what bliss t'were here to find
A solace for the wearied mind.
When, long sustaind the various parts
Of public trust, in arms or arts,
Blessing and blest, how fitly here
Might pause from toil a British Peer!

* " The pearl of the soul may be melted away.".. Muore.

Be welcom'd by the well-known shade,
Where many a truant prank he play'd;
And taste the fruit and pluck the flower,
Creations of his earlier hour.

From courts and camps, in groves like those, Thy hero, Blenheim! found repose. To breathe the calm that such inspire, Would awful Chatham's self retire, And sacred ever be the shade, Where, matchless Burke! thy form was laid, When, pond'ring all thy country's woes, The genius of Prescience rose, And spread such visions to thy sight, As check'd the spirit's hastening flight, And stopp'd of age the coming night ; Bidding, as erst in Ajalon, The mental sun not yet go down !

Beside that bright and tranquil stream How pleasant to recline and dream! Listening the while its gentle sound Not even fairy ear might wound, Nor passing Zephyr dare molest The sacred quiet of its breast, Io gay translucency complete, Yet mild as bright--0 emblem meet! The very heaven assign'd the just, That haunt of beatific trust, Where no defilement enters e'er, Seems scarce more fair, more calm, more clear Byron! from this and could'st thou pass ? Perchance because its faithful glass To thy inquiring glauce has shown Features, the contrast of its own. For other images might find Access to that distemper'd mind. The dark wa lashing 'gainst the shore, The wild cascade's eternal roar, What scorns, or what maintains control, Suits the stern habit of thy soul.

Where opez yon vista to disclose
Deep blushing how th' horizon glows,
"Twere sweet to watch the sun descend,
Like patriarch or like patriot's end.
The radiance of whose parting light
Cleams far ath wart the grave's long biglit,
And glances to that distant shore,
Where suns arise, to set no more.

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