With regard to the remaining fish found on our seaboard we are disposed to be quite brief. The _mackerel_ we esteem, and have had rare sport in taking them, but we look upon them as the exclusive property of our merchants. The _halibut_ we admire, but fear, for he reminds us of one of the most fatiguing piscatorial adventures we ever experienced, when we hooked a thirty-pounder in the Atlantic, one hundred miles off Nantucket. As to the _cod_, we have only to say that we have caught them off Nahant by the hundred, and never wish to catch any more; like the _mackerel_, we consider them the exclusive property of the mercantile fraternity. With the _king fish_ and _drum_ we are wholly unacquainted. The _tom cod_ and _conner_ or _blue perch_ we despise, and our antipathy to snakes has always caused us to avoid the eel. Of the _sea basse_ and _paugee_, if we knew what to say, we would indite a long paragraph, for we esteem them both. As to the _shad_ and _sea sturgeon_, we shall dismiss them with an angler’s scorn, for they know not what it is to take the hook. And now that we have reached the bottom of our last page (devoted to the finny tribes), we are reminded of the very peculiar but sweet and valuable fish, which are ever found only at the bottom of the sea—the _flounder and flat-fish_. Many a time and oft have we taken them both with the hook and spear, and we can pay them no higher compliment than by mentioning the fact that they are particular favorites with the distinguished painter, _William S. Mount, Esq._, of Long Island. OUR MASTER IN LANDSCAPE. “His departure has left a vacuity which amazes and alarms us. It is as if the voyager on the Hudson were to look to the great range of the Catskills, at the foot of which Cole, with a reverential fondness, had fixed his abode, and were to see that the grandest of its summits had disappeared, had sunk into the plain from our sight. I might use a bolder similitude; it is as if we were to look over the heavens on a starlight evening and find that one of the greater planets, Hesperus or Jupiter, had been blotted from the sky.” Funeral Oration by William Cullen Bryant. Upon the romantic life of the greatest of American landscape painters it is not our province to discourse, for that task has been assigned to a gifted poet and friend of the departed—the Reverend Louis L. Noble;—nor do we purpose to expatiate upon his beautiful character as a man, and his genius as an artist; for that labor of love has already been accomplished by the eminent poet from whom we have borrowed our motto. The only idea that we have in view, is simply to describe the truly Epic productions of the late Thomas Cole (in whose studio, which looked out upon the Catskill Mountains, we have spent many pleasant hours), for the edification of those of our readers who have never had an opportunity of examining them.