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 Stood high upon the list of each society, Whose zeal and watchfulness the sacred fire Of science, agriculture, art, and learning, Keep on our country's altars bright and burning.

At Eastburn's Rooms he met, at two each day, With men of taste and judgment like his own, And played "first fiddle" in that orchestra Of literary worthies—and the tone Of his mind's music by the listeners caught, Is traced among them still in language and in thought.

He once made the Lyceum a choice present Of muscle-shells picked up at Rockaway; And Mitchill gave a classical and pleasant Discourse about them in the streets that day, Naming the shells, and hard to put in verse 'twas "Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas."

He was a trustee of a Savings Bank, And lectured soundly every evil-doer, Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank, And sixpence every Sunday to the poor; He was a wit, in the pun-making line— Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine.