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This makes an aggregate of one hundred and sixteen species. To these may be added the following varieties, to wit:
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.
For the Analectic Magazine.
ON SEEING A PICTURE OF NEWSTRAD PARK, BELONGING TO A SEAT LATE THS PROPERTY OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD BYRON.* 1813.
FROM 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!
Degenerate Gordon! not like thee
Have prov'd thy nobler ancestry.
Nor rambling taste, nor thirst of gain,
From them had wrung their lov'd domain,
Naught lur'd them from their native hall,
But fatal honour's sternest call.
Their only signal to depart,
The beating of a loyal heart;
That, when Culloden's crimson'd bed
Heav'd with the dying and the dead,
Follow'd its guiding beams afar,
Till set in blood the STUART STAR:
While heaven and earth combin'd to sign
The ruin of that royal line!
Since sold by his lordship.
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 Virtute 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 claim,
Guilt's lawless traffick lost for thee
The treasures of futurity!
Yet might it be-thy self-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 guardian Angel still,
Who, when temptation's fiends assail'd,
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!
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 sustain'd 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."...Moore.