The ostrich was called the camel-bird by the ancients, and the term is very apt and expressive; for as it is a native like the camel of the desert, so is it expressly fitted for the locality it occupies. Of lofty stature, with high limbs and an elongated neck, it lifts its towering head, and gazes over the vast expanse around, marking its foes while yet at a distance. Its large eyes are unincommoded by the lurid glare of the torrid sun, for, like those of the camel, they are overhung by a beetling brow, and protected by long and thickly-set eyelashes. The limbs are not only long, but extremely robust,but the thick muscular thighs are unincumbered by feathers; and rather resemble those of some powerful quadruped than of a bird.

Like that of the camel, the foot of the ostrich consists only of two toes, connected together at the base by a thick membrane, and well padded beneath. Of these two toes the innermost is by far the largest, and is furnished with a hooflike stout claw; the outer toe is clawless. The camel has a firm but elastic pad upon the breast, on which he reposes on the sand. In the ostrich the breast-bone is simply shield-like, and destitute of a keel, and it is covered with a naked callous pad or elastic cushion, with a hard rough surface, on which the bird rests while reposing. The upper half of the neck is only scantily covered with down, but the feathers of the rest of the body are light and flowing, and form a screen against the heat, without being oppressive. The small wings are furnished with beautiful waving plumes, and two black plumeless shaft-like porcupine's quills, and light plumes, form the tail.

Like the camel, the ostrich is patient under thirst, and, indeed, perhaps seldom drinks, and is capable of bearing extraordinary fatigue; it traverses the desert for leagues at full speed, and distances the

In Northern Arabia and Syria, the chase of the ostrich on horseback is seldom attempted, but in the more southern deserts, and over the northern portion of Africa, the ostrich is often coursed by mounted hunters, and the pursuit is one of extreme toil, both for man and horse; did the bird take a direct line, the chase would be hopeless, but on the contrary, it usually wheels round in circles of greater or less extent, thereby enabling some one of the hunters to intercept it, by dashing across its path, and at the same time, throwing his djerid or firing his gun. On starting from his foes, the ostrich in its flight spurns the sand and pebbles like a shower, behind it, and thus annoys the dog or the hunter who may press upon, or take it by surprise. Sometimes the chase is continued for two or three days, till the bird is fairly wearied out with hunger and exertion, and then, finding escape impossible, it endeavours to conceal itself, but this attempt amounts to no more than taking to some thicket, or burying its head in the foliage of some bush, to which, by a little address, its pursuers advance with their weapons, and so dispatch their victim.

The ostrich is often killed by persons lurking in ambush near its nest, and great numbers in Arabia and the Syrian desert are thus destroyed. It is for the sake of the feathers only that the bird is killed in Arabia. The Shererat Arabs often sell the entire skin with the plumage upon it, at Damascus, for about ten Spanish dollars; but no use is made of the skin itself. Many ostrich feathers are also sold at Aleppo, where many ostriches are brought which have been killed at the distance of three or four days' journey to the east. In 1811, the feathers of an ostrich sold in the latter city, at prices varying from 50s. to 6l., and the finest single feathers are usually worth 1s. or 2s.

M.

THE GOVERNMENT OF THE THOUGHTS.

THERE is a prevailing desire in the minds of some young people to be freed from the restraints of authority-an impatience for that period to arrive when they shall be at liberty to direct their own actions. It is not, perhaps, very uncom

mon for them to imagine that they should be more willing even to do right; that it would be easier, and far more agreeable, if it were no longer a matter of restraint, but of choice.

To any who may have entertained such ideas, I would propose a method by which they may already ascertain their powers of self-government; and direct them to a sphere of action, which, whatever their present circumstances may be, is subject to no external control-where parents, tutors, friends, have no dominion—where | they are already emancipated from every outward restraint. Here, then, they may try their strength, and prove their skill; and if they fail here, it is but reasonable to conclude that they would be, at least, equally unsuccessful if entrusted with the direction of themselves in other respects. But in what way, it may be asked, are persons, whose time, pursuits, habits, whose very recreations are in a measure regulated by others, at liberty to command themselves? There are, indeed, several ways in which this question might be profitably answered; but we shall at present confine ourselves to one, and reply-Thought is free. Here is an almost boundless field, over which the youngest and most strictly guarded possesses unlimited dominion. Here the eye of the most watchful parent cannot penetrate. At the very moment that a child is gratifying a parent's feelings by some act of obedience, the thoughts may be so employed as would incur his severest displeasure. There is but one eye that discerns "the thoughts and intents of the heart;" and a lively recollection of that eye being ever present, beholding and recording all that passes within, would, indeed, supersede all other considerations. Here, then, let the ambitious spirit, impatient of control, and confident of his strength to resist temptation and avoid danger, begin to exercise his self-command. And here let the modest and ingenuous, who cheerfully submit to wholesome restraint and parental guidance, give double diligence in guarding and regulating that to which parental authority cannot extend.

All self-government begins here-he who cannot command his thoughts, must not hope to control his actions. The smallest attention to our own minds, must convince us that the thoughts_require restraint. If left to pursue their own course, they will assuredly take a wrong one.

Three different descriptions

of thought might be mentioned, closely, indeed, connected with each other, but which generally, perhaps, occur in the following order :-Idle thoughts, vain thoughts, and wicked thoughts.

Idle thoughts are those which ramble wantonly about the mind, ranging from one object to another, just as they will, without any effort to divert them into a useful channel. It might afford a profitable illustration of our meaning, if the train of thought passing through the mind of a young lady (for instance), while sitting for an hour alone at her worktable, could be taken down as it occurs. Perhaps she would herself be startled to peruse the motley record. Or should she be disposed to plead, in their excuse, that there was nothing wrong, only silly, let her remember who has said that "the thought of foolishness is sin." It is not said the thought of wickedness, but the thought of foolishness. And it is sin, first, because it wastes time and talents which might be profitably employed, and for which we must render an account. It is not sufficient that the hands are occupied; the mind may be idle whilst they are busy, and the greater part of sin and misery that appear in the world might be traced to indolence of mind. Thought is the chief prerogative of our being; the great means of ennobling and reforming it it makes the grand distinction between the man and the brute. And yet, would it be paying too high a compliment to the capacities of the linnet or the lapdog (who we may suppose to be the aforesaid young lady's companions at her worktable), to presume that the train of ideas, sensations, or whatever they may be called, passing through their brains at the same time, would be at least as well worthy of note as those of their mistress? I would gladly amuse my readers with the alternate cogitations of the lap-dog, the linnet, and the lady; but being unwilling to hazard a conjecture with regard to the two former, I leave them to furnish those of the latter for themselves.

The thought of foolishness is also sin, on account of its consequences. If "Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do," it is no less true of idle thoughts. They are the first means he employs to ensnare us: of them we are not afraid, and, therefore, are easily led on the next step, which is short and easy indeed.

By vain thoughts, we may understand

-those airy visions of future happiness (as improbable as they are indeed undesirable), which, it is to be feared, are by many not only admitted, but encouraged. If any young persons should yield to this kind of mental indulgence, under the idea of its being a harmless amusement, it can only be for want of observation on their own minds, or for want of sufficient experience of its consequences. Its effects on the mind are much the same as those of intemperance on the body, enfeebling its powers, rendering every present occupation insipid, every duty dry, and creating a distaste for all mental improvement; at the same time that it cherishes the love of self, and blunts every benevolent and generous sentiment. Nor is it too much to say, that an habitual indulgence of these scheming anticipations is absolutely incompatible with religious improvement. The mind, whose favourite employment is forming plans and wishes for possessing the pleasures, honours, riches, vanities of this world, cannot be seeking "first, the kingdom of God" cannot be "hungering and thirsting after righteousness" cannot have "fixed its affections on things above." Well, then, might David exclaim, "I hate vain thoughts, but thy law do I love.” He knew that to love both was impossible, for he sets them in direct opposition to

each other.

It is not necessary to describe, and we hope not needful to warn our readers against the last-mentioned kind. Indeed, if the two former be carefully guarded against, and dismissed from the mind as soon as they enter, there will be little danger that wicked thoughts should gain admission. But let none hope to escape even from these, if licence be given to the others. The distance and difference between vain and wicked thoughts, are much less than may be imagined; it is but another step, a step soon and easily, and often unconsciously taken. Who, then, will dispute that "the thought of foolishness is sin!" Who but has need to "watch and pray that they enter not into this temptation!"

If a habit of indulging vain and sinful thoughts be so injurious to the moral and intellectual powers, how healthful, how desirable is a well-regulated mind, which has acquired command over itself, and the right regulation of its thoughts, so as to be able to call them off instantly from unprofitable wanderings, and fix them on

the only time for forming this habit; if neglected then, it will, in after life, only be by painful, laborious efforts, that the mind can be brought to reflection and meditation, and will be ever liable to be diverted by every trifle that presents itself to the senses. All mental superiority originates with habit of thinking. A child, indeed, like a machine, may be made to perform certain functions by external means, but it is only when he begins to think that he rises to the dignity of a rational being. Are we at a loss for subjects of improving and interesting thought? Oh, look around! regard the heavens above and the earth beneath. The wonders and beauties of nature are of themselves inexhaustible sources of delightful contemplation. That must be a low, frivolous mind, in which a glance at the starry heavens excites no interest, no curiosity, no admiration, no reverence for the great Creator. Many of our employments (and this remark especially applies to female employments) are, happily, of such a nature as to leave the mind at liberty. Let no one imagine that she is not responsible for the manner in which that liberty is used. While the useful needle is performing its humble functions, what a noble privilege it is that the mind may be engaged in the grandest pursuits that can occupy an intelligent being!

Why is it that so many who acknowledge generally the supreme importance of religion, yet from year to year neglect that great salvation? It is for want of thought. Idle and vain thoughts are the "weeds which spring up and choke" every good impression, and prevent all desirable reflection. Oh, we should be ashamed to mention the trifles that, it is to be feared, occupy hours and years of eager, anxious thought, and cause such subjects as death, heaven, and eternity, to appear dull, insipid, and unimportant! Let our young readers inquire for themselves, to what themes their thoughts most gladly and naturally recur. And happy, happy they who, after such an investigation, can sincerely exclaim, "Oh how I love thy law; it is my meditation all the day!"

Let none be discouraged from attempting to acquire the right regulation of their thoughts, by the difficulties they may have to encounter. Habit will render that easy and delightful, which, at first, appears dry and difficult. The mind will gradually become enlarged and ennobled, will feel disgusted at the trifles which

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SHACOPAY; OR, SCENES AT THE FALLS. MAJESTIC is the flowing river, beautiful the tranquil lake, and sublime the roaring ocean; but the waterfall has a character of its own. The smoothness of its upper surface, the crystal brightness of its descending flood, the snowy foam of its agitated waters, and the resounding

thunder of its awful voice render it

arresting and impressive. In the mighty cataract, the majestic, the terrific, the beautiful, and the sublime are most harmoniously blended. Fair are the Falls of Stock Gill Force, Lowdore Cascade, Scale Force, and Devil's Bridge; and yet more so those of Bruar and Braan, Tum

mel, Fender, Foyers and Aberfeldy, Grey Mare's Tail, and the Falls of the Clyde; but these equal not in grandeur

the falls of more distant lands. The hand of the Most High poureth out the floods, mighty is the roar of the falling cataract; but "the Lord on high is mightier than the noise of many waters."

The river Gotha, in Sweden, has splendid falls, and in Alpine districts they abound, lifting up their resounding voices in dreariness and solitude. The fall of the Staub-bach, in the valley of Lauterbrunnen, is 900 feet; that of Evanson is more, and the fall of Orea still greater. The cataract of the Mender is grand in the extreme, and so is the Marble Cascade, three miles from Terni. The fall called the Nun of Arpena, near Tivoli, is said to be more than 1000 feet. The cataract of Gavarny, in the Pyrenees, is estimated at 1100 feet; and Raikan Foss, in Norway, reckoning the two falls as one cataract, is still greater. A deafening flood, falling from a height of more than 1100 feet, is as a cataract from the skies. How varied is nature in her beauties and her sublimities! The valleys are adorned with flowing streams, and the mountains with waterfalls; the fertile plain is arrayed with loveliness,

Shacópay, the Chippeway, richly clad, has come forth from his bark-covered lodge: his battles are emblazoned on his flowing robe. He holds in his hands his pipe and his war-club, and the quills in his head-dress stand for the scalps he has

taken from his foes the Sioux. It is the dog feast in the Chippeway village, at the Falls of St. Anthony, on the Upper Mississippi, more than 2000 miles from its mouth, and Shacopay and his companions are dancing by the side of the river. The Falls of St. Anthony are not deep, but the flowing river, the sparkling waters, the romantic prospect, and the dancing Chippeways, altogether form an imposing bluffs! and how picturesque the pointed scene. How commanding are the river

rocks!

revel here for hours untired. Truly the The eye and the heart might red man has an alluring lodge in the desert, a pleasant home in the wilder

ness!

Shacópay is making the portage around the Falls of St. Anthony. Some hundreds

of Chippeways are hauling up their bark the river above the Falls. cances near the rugged rocks, to get to Shacópay

could tell some wild tales about the there found a watery grave. She was place. Ardent was the love of one who the wife of an Indian chief; but when another was preferred to herself, she wandered away, with her two children; her heart was all but broken. Again she returned to the Falls of St. Anthony, with her little ones, and placing them beside her in a canoe, pushed out into the stream above the descending waters. Poor outcast from the lodge of affection, thou art bent on a reckless course! she approached the Falls, she began to sing her death-song. Swift and still swifter glided on the boat, freighted with sorrow and doomed to destruction, till it reached the roaring cataract, down which it shot like an arrow, and the Indian mother and her children were seen no

As

Shacópay is a wanderer; he is on the Missouri, that empties itself into the Mississippi. The Great Falls of the Missouri are very grand and beautiful, in one part plunging over a precipice ninety feet deep. Shacópay, in his boat, is nearing some of the rapids in the

river. The water was smooth and slow, and now it is rough and swift. The canoe is at last in an irresistible current that rapidly bears it onward: danger is at hand! Is there fear in the eye of Shacópay? Is there aught of apprehension in his heart? Fixed and earnest is his attention, but his countenance is serene. There is to the self-possessed and fearless a sort of sublimity in danger. See with what force and velocity the boat darts onward! Already the peril is gone by the rapids are passed, and the canoe is calmly gliding on the smooth water below them. On the bank of the Upper Missouri is the grave of "Black Bird," the chief of the Omahas. This chief was buried sitting on the back of his favourite war-horse, while the animal was alive. This mode of interment is one of the barbarous customs of the red

Shacópay has, in his time, visited the Slave Lake and the Rocky Mountains; and he has, also, in his light canoe, cleft the waters of the Knife River, the Yellow Stone, the Platte, the Arkansas, and the Red River. He is now on the Ohio. There are not many cataracts on the Ohio, but the fall is very picturesque, near which the canoe of Shacópay is lying on the water. The Ohio is a noble river, and romantic and beautiful are the prospects which adorn it. Rich level lands, receding hills, and abrupt bluffs are visible on every hand, and the charm of variety is spread around. Art and industry have their full share in the scenes presented to the eye; here are farms, villages, and towns, and there the swift, panting steamboats tear their onward way through the waters. On the Ohio side of the river New England habits prevail, while on the side of Kentucky those of the Virginian planter are conspicuous. Both the Ohio and the Mississippi, before they meet, spread themselves out as it were into narrow seas, to rival one another. Shacópay is returning to his canoe, with the skin of a bear that he has encountered and killed. Quick is the eye, bold is the heart, and heavy is the armed hand of Shacópay.

beauty. On the dizzy brink of one of the Trenton Falls stood a maiden fair, in all the heedless confidence of youth, looking down on the tumbling torrent. In a moment her feet slipped, and in another she was buried in the whelming waters. Shacópay is near on St. Peter's River, at the foot of a romantic fall. The scene is a fair one. Indians are swimming in the flowing cataract; some are catching white fish, with their scoopness, a little below the falls, while further down the river a herd of buffaloes are crossing the stream. Fort Snelling may be seen from the pointed rock, and hills and beautiful grass-covered bluffs. Shacópay has had many an encounter on the banks of St. Peter's with the Dahcótas. There, while the shrill war-whoop was sounding, has he handled the scalpingknife and the spear. When will the red man and the white man lay aside the weapons of war?

Shacópay, in his bark canoe on the river Wisconsin, is contending against a band of competitors. An Indian regatta, or canoe-race, is an exciting scene, and now a hundred light boats are swiftly flying through the yielding waters. Shacópay, with sinewy arm and great address, has shot a-head of the whole flotilla. He has reached the Fall, where one part of the river, pouring down from a river rock, opposes his further progress. Bright are the sparkling waters, and loud the roar of the descending flood. At a little distance a party of Winnebagoes are shooting wild ducks, and a wounded deer has taken to the river, in the hope of escape from his pursuers. It is in vain! already a dozen canoes are continuing the chase, and soon the antlered fugitive will fall into the hands of his enemies. The brutes of the forest, knowing man to be their mortal enemy, fly at his approach, and hide themselves from his presence in the solitary recesses of the wilderness.