in a quarter of an hour, in a spot near which not one had been previously visible. These birds possess the senses of sight and smell in a singularly powerful degree.

6. Some old travelers have affirmed that the plumage of the condor cannot be pierced by a musket-ball. This absurdity is scarcely worthy of contradiction; but it is nevertheless true that the bird has a singular tenacity of life, and that it is seldom killed by fire-arms, unless when shot in some vital part.

7. Its plumage, particularly on the wings, is very strong and thick. The natives, therefore, seldom attempt to shoot the condor. They usually catch it by traps or by the lasso, or kill it by stones thrown from slings.

8. A curious method of capturing the condor alive is practiced in one province. A fresh cowhide, with some fragments of flesh adhering to it, is spread out on one of the level heights, and an Indian, provided with ropes, creeps beneath it, while some others station themselves in ambush near the spot, ready to assist him. Presently, a condor, attracted by the smell of the flesh, darts down upon the cowhide, and then the Indian, who is concealed under it, seizes the bird by the legs, and binds them fast in the skin, as if in a bag. The captured condor flaps its wings, and makes ineffectual attempts to fly, but is speedily secured, and carried in triumph to the nearest village. Live condors are frequently sold in the markets of Chili and Peru, where a very fine one may be purchased for a dollar and a half. Dr. J. von Tschudi.

LET me move slowly through the street,

Filled with an ever-shifting train,

Amid the sound of steps that beat

The murmuring walks, like autumn rain.

2. How fast the flitting figures come!

The mild, the fierce, the stony face: Some, bright with thoughtless smiles, and some, Where secret tears have left their trace!

3. They pass to toil, to strife, to rest; To halls in which the feast is spread; To chambers where the funeral guest

In silence sits beside the dead.

4. And some, to happy homes, repair,
Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,
With mute caresses, shall declare

The tenderness they cannot speak.

5. And some, who walk in calmness here,
Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
Its flower, its light, is seen no more.

6. Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,
And dreams of greatness in thine eye,
Go'st thou to build an early name,
Or, early in the task, to die?

7. Keen son of trade, with eager brow,
Who is now fluttering in thy snare?
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now?
Or melt the glittering spires in air?

8. Who of this crowd to-night shall tread
The dance, till daylight gleams again?
Who, sorrow o'er the untimely dead?
Who, writhe in throes of mortal pain?

9. Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold, dark hours, - how slow the light; And some, who flaunt amid the throng,

Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.

10. Each where his tasks or pleasures call,
They pass, and heed each other not;
There is who heeds, who holds them all

In His large love and boundless thought.

11. These struggling tides of life, that seem
In wayward, aimless course to tend,
Are eddies of the mighty stream

That rolls to its appointed end.

THE stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character, must not confine his observations to the metropolis. He must go forth into the country; he must sojourn in villages and hamlets; he must visit castles, villas, farm-houses, cottages; he must wander through parks and gardens, along hedges and green lanes; he must loiter about country churches, attend wakes and fairs and other rural festivals; and cope with the people in all their conditions, and in all their habits and humors.

2. In some countries, the large cities absorb the wealth and fashion of the nation; they are the only fixed abodes of elegant and intelligent society, and the country is inhabited, almost entirely, by boorish peasantry. In England, on the contrary, the metropolis is a mere gathering place, or general rendezvous, of the polite classes, where they devote a small portion of the year to a hurry of gayety and dissipation, and, having indulged this carnival, return, again, to the apparently more congenial habits of rural life.

3. The various orders of society are, therefore, diffused over the whole surface of the kingdom; and the most re

tired neighborhoods afford specimens of the different ranks. The English, in fact, are strongly gifted with the rural feeling. They possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature, and a keen relish for the pleasures and enjoyments of the country. This passion seems inherent in them.

4. Even the inhabitants of cities, born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets, enter with facility into rural habits, and evince a turn for rural occupation. The merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis, where he often displays as much pride and zeal in the cultivation of his flower garden, and the maturing of his fruits, as he does in the conduct of his business and the success of his commercial enterprises.

5. Even those less fortunate individuals, who are doomed to pass their life in the midst of din and traffic, contrive to have something that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature. In the most dark and dingy quarters of the city, the drawing-room window resembles, frequently, a bank of flowers; every spot capable of vegetation has its grass-plot and flower-bed; and every square, its mimic park, laid out with picturesque taste, and gleaming with refreshing verdure.

6. It is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings. He breaks loose, gladly, from the cold formalities and negative civilities of town; throws off his habits of shy reserve, and becomes joyous and freehearted. He manages to collect around him all the conveniences and elegances of polite life, and to banish its restraint.

7. His country-seat abounds with every requisite, either for studious retirement, tasteful gratification, or rural exercise. Books, paintings, music, horses, dogs, and sporting implements of all kinds, are at hand. He puts no constraint either upon his guests or himself, but, in the

true spirit of hospitality, provides the means of enjoyment and leaves every one to partake according to his inclination.

8. The taste of the English in the cultivation of land, and in landscape gardening, is unrivaled. They have studied nature intently, and discover an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms and harmonious combinations. Those charms, which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes, are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life. They seem to have caught her coy and furtive glances, and spread them, like witchery, about their rural abodes.

9. Nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery. - Vast lawns that extend like sheets of vivid green, with, here and there, clumps of gigantic trees, heaping up rich piles of foliage. The solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades, with the deer trooping in silent herds across them; the hare, bounding away to the covert; or the pheasant suddenly bursting upon the wing. The brook, taught to wind in the most natural meanderings, or expand into a glassy lake — the sequestered pool, reflecting the quivering trees, with the yellow leaf sleeping upon its bosom, and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters; while some rustic temple or sylvan statue, grown green and dark with age, gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion.

10. These are but a few of the features of park scenery; but what most delights me is the creative talent with which the English decorate the unostentatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation, the most unpromising and scanty portion of land, in the hands of an Englishman of taste, becomes a little paradise. With a nicely discriminating eye, he seizes at once upon its capabilities, and pictures in his mind the future landscape. The sterile spot grows into loveliness under his