THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION. 27 



packing, boxing, agencies, freights, &c., being borne by the Institution, with the 

 exception of the local conveyance of single parcels by express, or otherwise, within 

 the United States. 



Ii]e Bu, 



On the 24th of January, 1805, a fire occurred at the Institution, which caused 

 the destruction of the upper part of the main building, and the towers. The loss 

 to the Institution was as follows: 1. The official, scientific, and miscellaneous cor- 

 respondence, record books, and manuscripts in the Secretary's office. 2. The large 

 collection of apparatus. 3. The personal effects of Smithson. 4. A large stock 

 of tools and instruments. 5. All the duplicate copies of Smithsonian Reports on 

 hand for distribution. 6. The wood-cuts of illustrations used in the Smithsonian 

 publications. 



Besides these, Mr. Stanley lost his gallery of Indian portraits, which had been 

 deposited in the Institution for a number of years; and a large quantity of private 

 property was destroyed belonging to persons connected with the Institution. 



The fire, however, caused no interruption in the business of the Institution; 

 the library, museum, and laboratory were uninjured; all its operations were carried 

 on as usual, and plans were immediately adopted for the reconstruction with fire- 

 proof materials of the parts of the building which had been damaged or destroyed. 



Il]e 6ii^oi|i)S3. 



The grounds around the building were laid out by the distinguished horticul- 

 turist and landscape gardener, Downing, but he died while engaged in the prose- 

 cution of his plans. 



We are indebted to the editor of the "Rural New Yorker," for the following 

 remarks relative to this subject, and for the representation of the marble monu- 

 ment erected to his memory: — 



" When the sad tidings of the death of Andrew Jackson Downing were announced, 

 many hearts were stricken, and many countenances saddened. Every lover of rural 

 life and rural taste felt that a friend, a brother, and a leader had fallen. The homes 

 of hundreds, from the foundation stone to the gable point, spoke of the departed — 

 even the trees and flowers of the garden told a talc of sadness. The furniture in 

 our parlors, the books in our libraries, spoke too plainly to our wounded hearts 

 of the loved and lost. Scarcely a city or village in our country but presented 

 some monument of his skill and taste, something io remind the people how great 

 and irreparable was their loss — cottages whose simple yet elegant adornings taught 

 how truly taste may be independent of wealth; windows tempting the eye from 

 loveliness within, to the glorious prospect without; stately trees that seemed to 

 guard like sentinels the sacred precincts of home, and village churches whose walls 



