All that the most indefatigable industry could accomplish was done by Mr. Johnes, to replace the losses he had sustained; but the Welsh manuscripts, and many other valuable works and specimens of art here destroyed, no labour or money could restore. The actual pecuniary loss suffered by Mr. Johnes, over and above the 20,000_l._ he was insured, amounted to between 50 and 60,000_l._; but, like the destruction of the labours of Lord Mansfield and Dr. Priestley, no estimate can be put on the loss the proprietor and the world experienced, in thus rendering abortive forty years of study, research, and expenditure on literary valuables. Prior to the decease of Mr. Johnes, who did not long survive his loss, the exterior of the building was nearly restored to its former appearance; but the interior arrangement was considerably altered. He likewise again established a most sumptuous collection of books, &c. part of which, the Pesaro library, was on its way from Italy, having been purchased by Mr. Johnes prior to the conflagration: it comprises many very valuable books in the Spanish, French, and particularly the Italian language, rare editions of the classics, and almost all the productions of the Aldine press. A minute description of the interior of Havod, prior to the fire, is given by Mr. Malkin, which is now particularly interesting. Unfortunately no catalogue of the books and manuscripts was ever taken, Mr. Johnes not having completed his collection. THE GENIUS OF HAVOD. Formal slaves of art, avaunt! This is Nature’s secret haunt: The Genius of the landscape, I Guard it, with a jealous eye— Guard it, that no footstep rude Upon her privacy intrude. Here, with mystic maze, her throne Is girt, accessible to none: But to the highly-honour’d few To whom I deign to lend my clue; And chief to him, who in this grove, Devotes his life to share her love: From whom she seeks no charms to hide, For whom she throws her veil aside, Instructing him to spread abroad Scenes for Salvator—or for Claude. Far, oh far hence, let Brown and Eames Zig-zag their walks, and torture streams! But let them not my dells profane, Or violate my Naiad train: Nor let their arrogance invade My meanest Dryad’s secret shade, And with fantastic knots disgrace The native honours of the place— Making the vet’ran oak give way, Some spruce exotic to display: Their petty labours he defy’d, Who Taste and Nature would divide! ANON.