always select a fracture of a rock, as near as possible to water. The male and female both labor to construct this nest, which is large and deep, and lined with moss and downy feathers. The female lays from two to four eggs, upon which she sits with unwearied patience for forty-three days, receiving sustenance from the male during the whole time. The young birds are at first gray; but their feathers attain their splendid white color after the third moulting.

There are several species of pelican, of which the white, or common, bears the scientific name of Pelicanus onocrotalus. They are found either in flocks, or singly, principally in Asia, Africa and South America, and sometimes in the south of Europe.

HINTS TO TALKERS.

Aye free aff hand your story tell."-BURNS.

It is of no small importance to one who has to push his way in the world, that he should be able to express himself, on all occasions, in so ready and brief a manner, as to run no risk of tiring the individuals upon whom he may be more or less dependent for the means of his advancement. There

is unfortunately some difficulty in attaining a proper medium between a fluency of speech, which is apt to lead to an excessive and tiresome copiousness, and that langour and difficulty of expression, which equally tires, without giving nearly the same quantity of talk. The former fault is more generally an accompaniment of youth than of age, while the latter is most frequently found in old people. All such peculiarities are no doubt in a great measure involuntary, as being intimately dependent on the talents and character of individuals; yet that they are susceptible of correction, and may be partly avoided, if we are on our guard against them, is also very certain.

An undue loquacity most frequently arises from a precipitancy of temper, and from being too full of one's self. If persons afflicted from the former source were to check themselves into a sobriety of ideas, and cast about a little before speaking, for the most straight-forward and simply demonstrative phraseology, wherein to express what they had to say, they would soon cure themselves: if those who err from vanity could only contrive, under beneficial advice, to pump a little of themselves out of themselves-if they would only be so good as to observe that others have ideas to express, and perhaps a little desire of showing them off, as well as they they would also, we have no doubt, speedily lessen their malady. But, upon the whole, there is less annoyance experienced from this source than from the tedious twaddle, as it is called, of the duller kind of intellects; and a cure in the latter case is much more desperate. Yet there would be much less tiresome talk, and also less tiresome writing, if a few things were guarded against. A great deal, as every adroit talker and every experienced writer knows, lies in fixing an interest at the beginning: only take care not to alarm at the offset by the prospect of a long story, and you may afterwards continue to speak or scribble as long, almost, as you choose. Every one may have remarked how distressing it is in church to hear the preacher lay out his discourse into heads-so much to be said on this point, so much on that-next, an application of the whole, and, finally, a few words (that is, as many as can be spoken in ten minutes)

of exhortation. The idea of so many distinct parts in the composition causes it to look wearifully long from the very first, so that many lukewarm persons, who might otherwise have listened and caught some flying edification, think of nothing but how-in what posture-by what every-day subject of reflection within themselves-they may most easily pass the time. Neither preacher nor writer should ever say that he has any thing to say at all: he should begin with the subject itself, and never stop till it is exhausted. Two hours of attention may thus be obtained from many, who, if informed at the beginning that one was to be required for the purpose, would have refused to listen for a minute. So thoroughly does this hold good, that we have found ourselves deterred from proceeding with a story, on a shift taking place in the person of the narrator, or a distinct paper or document being introduced. A reader, indeed, should never know but that the article he is reading may end on the next page: the author is never sure of him till after he has been inveigled half way on.

The slow garrulity of old age, even to those who are most disposed to reverence gray hairs, is sometimes dreadful. For a young and busy man of quick ideas to find himself suddenly arrested by a venerable friend, who has some trifling but intricate piece of business to transact, or some document to read, or some long and personal story to tell, is one of the most striking distresses that can arise in the wide amphitheatre of human misery. The very unpacking of the spectacles is enough to make one sink and die. First, there is the important face, primming itself for the developement of some superficial, but to it most mysterious and important circumstance. Then the hand is put into the pocket, and not the spectacles, but the spectacle-case, drawn forth. The clasp is deliberately undone; the spectacles pulled out. You think the optical instrument is to be immediately put on. Not at all It is laid down on the table, till the clasp is done again, and the case returned to the pocket. Then the spectacles are taken up-then a handkerchief is taken out to wipe thein-then the process of wiping is carefully and slowly gone through-then the handkerchief is returned-and, finally-Oh protracted misery!-they are raised to the nose, where they are, perhaps, fully adjusted, about ten minutes after being drawn from the pocket; that is to say, if they have not been delayed much longer in consequence of a fresh burst of preliminary explanation and preparatory fiddle-faddle. Oh, if these respectable old gentlemen would but consider how much unfledged youth has to do before he be equally well feathered with themselves-how fast his intellect naturally runs-how irksome to be thus chained to the dray, when he would like to bound forward with the chariot-they would be heartsmitten with their cruelty, and from pity correct a fault to which everv other kind of cure might be applied in vain.

THE COTTAGER'S SABBATH.

Ah! why should the thought of a world that is flying,
Encumber the pleasure of seasons like these?
Or, why should the Sabbath be sullied with sighing,
While Faith the bright things of Eternity sees!

Now let us repose from our care and our sorrow,
Let all that is anxious and sad pass away;
The rough cares of life lay aside till to-morrow,
But let us be tranquil and happy to-day.

PERSEVERANCE IN DIFFICULTIES.

We select the following from the delightful pages of "the Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficulties," published by the Society for the Diffusion of Use

ful Knowledge, as "a most extraordinary instance of literary industry and perseverance;" and to urge upon our young friends the importance of never giving way to trifles, either in their literary pursuits, or in the acquisition of any branch of science or art, to which their taste might lead them.

The Rev. William Davy, A. B. was born in 1743, near Chudleigh in Devonshire, England, where his father resided on a small farm, his own freehold. From a very early age he gave proofs of a mechanical genius, and when only eight years old, he cut out with a knife and put together the parts of a small mill, after the model of one that was then building in the neighborhood, the progress made in constructing which he used to observe narrowly every day, while he proceeded with equal regularity in the completion of his own little work. When the large mill was finished, it was found not to work exactly as it ought to have done, and the defect at first eluded the detection even of the builder. It is said, that while they were endeavoring to ascertain what was wrong, the young self-taught architect made his appearance, and observing that his mill went perfectly well, pointed out after an examination of a few minutes, both the defect and the remedy.

Being intended for the Church, he was placed at the Exeter Grammar School; and here he distinguished himself by his proficiency in classical learning, while he still retained his early attachment to mechanical pursuits, and exercised his talents in the construction of several curious and ingenious articles. At the age of eighteen he entered at Oxford where he took the degree of A. B. at the usual time. It was during his residence at the University that he conceived the idea of compiling a system of divinity, to consist of selections from the best writers, and began to collect, in a common place book, such passages as he thought would suit his purpose. On leaving college, he was ordained to the curacy of Moreton, in the diocese of Exeter, and not long after he removed to the adjoining curacy of Lustleigh, with a salary of forty pounds a year. In the year 1786, he published, by subscription, six volumes of sermons by way of introduction to his intended work; but this proved an unfortunate speculation, many of the subscribers forgetting to pay for their copies, and he remained in consequence, indebted to his printer above a hundred pounds. This bad success, however, did not discourage him: he pursued his literary researches and completed the work. But when his manuscript was finished, he found that from its extent, it would cost two thousand pounds to get it printed. In these circumstances, he again contemplated publication by subscription, and issued his proposals accordingly; but the names he collected were too few to induce any bookseller to risk the expense of an impression of the work. Determined not to be defrauded of the honors of authorship, Mr. Davy now resolved to become a printer himself. So, having constructed his own press, and purchased from a printer, at Exeter, a quantity of worn and cast-off types, he commenced operations, having no one to assist him except his female servant, and having of course to perform alternately the offices of compositor and pressman. Yet in this manner did the ingenious and persevering man, sustained by the anticipation of the literary fame awaiting him, proceed until he had printed off forty copies of the first three hundred pages, his press only permitting him to do a single page at a time Confident that he

had now produced so ample a specimen of the work as would be certain to secure for it the general patronage of the learned, he here suspended his labors for awhile; and having forwarded copies to the Royal Society, the universities, certain of the bishops, and the editors of the principal reviews, waited with eager expectation for the notice and assistance which he conceived himself sure of receiving from some of these quarters. He waited, however, in vain; the looked-for encouragement came not. Still, although thus a second time disappointed, he was not to be driven from his purpose, but returned with unabated courage to his neglected labors. He no doubt thought that posterity would repair the injustice of his contemporaries.

In one respect, however, he determined to alter his plan. His presents to the bishops, critics, and learned bodies, had cost him twenty-six of his forty copies; and for the completion of these, so thanklessly received, he naturally enough resolved that he would give himself no farther trouble, but limit the impression of the remainder of the work, so as merely to complete the fourteen copies which he had reserved, in this way saving both his labor and his paper. And he had at last, after thirteen years of unremitting toil, the gratification of bringing his extraordinary undertaking to a conclusion. The book, when finished, the reader will be astonished to learn, extended to no fewer than twenty-six volumes 8vo., of nearly five hundred pages each! In a like spirit of independence he next bound all the fourteen copies with his own hands; after which he proceeded in person to London, and deposited one in each of the principal public libraries there. We may smile at so preposterous a dedication of the labors of a life-time as this; but, at least, the power of extraordinary perseverance was not wanting here, nor the capability of being excited to arduous exertion, and long sustained under it, by those motives that act most strongly upon the noblest natures the consciousness of honorable pursuit, and a trust in the verdict of posterity. It is true this temper of mind might have been more wisely exercised; and the patience, ingenuity, and toil, which were expended upon a performance of no great use in itself, bestowed upon something better fitted to benefit both the zealous laborer and his fellow-men. Yet this consideration does not entitle us to refuse our admiration to so rare an example of the unwearied and inflexible prosecution of an object, in the absence of all those vulgar encouragements which are generally believed and felt to be so indispensable.

The loved, the loving-they who dreamn
So happily! so hopefully!
Then harsh thy kindest call may seem,
And shrinkingly-reluctantly,
The summoned may obey.

But I have drank enough of life,
(The cup assign'd to me
Dashed with a little sweet at best,
So scantily! so scantily!)
To know full well that all the rest,
More bitterly-more bitterly
Drugged to the last will be.

And I may live to pain some heart
That kindly cares for me,

To pain, but not to bless. O Death;
Come quietly-come lovingly
And shut mine eyes and steal my breath,
Then willingly-oh! willingly
I'll go away with thee.

TORTOISE-SHEL L.

The following singularly barbarous process for obtaining the tortoise-shell is abstracted from an Indian newspaper, called the Singapore Chronicle:-This highly-prized aquatic production, when caught by the Eastern islanders, is suspended over a fire, kindled immediately after its capture, until such time as the effect of the heat loosens the shell to such a degree that it can be removed with the greatest-ease. The animal, now stripped and defenceless, is set at liberty, to re-enter its native element. If caught in the ensuing season, or at any subsequent period, it is asserted that the unhappy animal is subjected to a second ordeal of fire, rewarding its capturers this time, however, with a very thin shell. This, if true, shows more policy and skill than tenderness in the method thus adopted by the islanders; it is a questionless proof, too, of tenacity of life in the animal, and must further be accounted a very singlar fact in natural history.

THE PASHA.

However familiar this title may be to European ears, its real meaning and derivation are scarcely familiar even to the "erudite few." The word itself is compounded of the Persian "pai shaw," or the shah's foot, and is a standing memorial of the designations which, according to Xenophon, Cyrus bestowed on his officers of state, calling them his feet, hands, eyes, and ears. Those entrusted with domestic affairs were styled the eyes;" the secret emissary was termed " the ear; the tax-gatherer "the hands; the warrior" the foot; " and the judge, as mouth-piece of the law, the "tongue of equity." Of so remote an institution as this is the name of the present Turkish Pashas, who in their several capacities of Governor, General, and Vizier or Minişter, are appositely styled the “ feet of their master."

Who under pressing temptation to lie, adheres to truth, nor betrays to the profane a sacred trust. has wisdom and virtue.

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At length it comes among the forest oaks,
With sobbing ebbs, and uproar gathering high;
The scared, hoarse raven on its cradle croaks,
And stockdove flocks in hurried terrors fly,
While the blue hawk hangs o'er them in the sky.-
The hedger hastens from the storm begun,
To seek a shelter that may keep him dry;
And foresters low bent, the wind to shun,
Scarce hear amid the strife the poacher's muttering gun.

The ploughman hears its humming rage begin,
And hies for shelter from his naked toil;
Buttoning his doublet closer to his chin,
He bends and scampers o'er the elting soil,
While clouds above him in wild fury boil,
And winds drive heavily the beating rain;
He turns his back to catch his breath awhile,
Then ekes his speed and faces it again,
To seek the shepherd's hut beside the rushy plain.

The boy, that scareth from the spiry wheat
The melancholy crow-in hurry weaves,
Beneath an ivied tree, his sheltering seat,
Of rushy flags and sedges tied in sheaves,
Or from the field a shock of stubble thieves.
There he doth dithering sit, and entertain
His eyes with marking the storm driven leaves;
Oft spying nests where he spring eggs had ta'en,
And wishing in his heart 't was summer time again.
CLARE'S Shepherd's Calender.

In the "Raven's Almanacke for 1609," by Thomas Decker, there is a quaint description" Of Autumne, or the fall of the leafe "the season which

continues into this month-"Autumne, the Barber of the yeare, that sheares bushes, hedges, and trees; the ragged prodigall that consumes al and leaves himself nothing; the arrantest beggar amongst al the foure quarters, and the most diseased, as being alwaies troubled with the falling sicknesse; this murderer of the Spring, this theef to Summer, and bad companion to Winter; seemes to come in according to his old custome, when the Sun sits like Justice with a pair of scales in his hand, weying no more houres to the day then he does to the night, as he did before in his vernall progresse, when he rode on a Ram; but this bald-pated Autumnus wil be seen walking up and down groves, medows, fields, woods, parks and pastures, blasting of fruites, and beating leaves from their trees, when common high-wayes shall be strewed with boughes in mockery of Summer and in triumph of her death; and when the doores of Usurers shall be strewed with greene hearbs, to doe honour to poor Brides that have no dowrie (but their honestie) to their marriage: when the world lookes like olde Chaos, and that Plentie is turned into Penurie, and beautie into uglinesse: when Men ride (the second time) to Bathe-and when unthriftes fly amongst Hen-sparrowes, yet bring home all the feathers they carried out: Then say that Autumne raignes, then

is the true fall of the leafe, because the world and the yeare turne over a new leafe."

From these amusing conceits we turn for better thoughts to the following instructive passages by Dr. Drake in his "Evenings in Autumn:"

No period of the year is better entitled to the appellation of The Season of Philosophic Enthusiasm, than the close of Autumn. There is in the aspect of every thing which surrounds us, 'as the sun is sinking below the horizon, on a fine evening of October (or November), all that can hush the troubled passions to repose, yet all which, at the same time, is calculated to elevate the mind, and awaken the imagination. The gently agitated and refreshing state of the atmosphere, though at intervals broken in upon by the fitful and protracted moaning of the voiceful wind; the deep brown shadows which are gradually enveloping the many colored woods, and diffusing over the extended landscape a solemn and not unpleasing obscurity; the faint and farewell music of the latest warblers, and the waning splendor of the western sky, almost insensibly dispose the intellectual man to serious and sublime associations. It is then we people the retiring scene with more than earthly forms; it is then we love

to listen to the hollow sighs
Through the half leafless wood that breathes the gale.
For at such hours the shadowy phantom pale
Oft seems to fleet before the Poet's eyes;
Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies
As of night wanderers who their woes bewail.

Charlotte Smith.

It is scarcely possible not to prostrate ourselves with deep humility before the throne of that Almighty being who wields, directs, and limits the career of an element which, if let loose on this firm globe, would winnow it to dust.

When we behold the birds that wing their way through this immeasurable void, through what vast tracts and undiscovered paths they seek their distant food; with what love and gratitude should we not reflect, that if he in mercy has become their pilot and their guide, how much more will he prove to us a sure and never failing protector.

And when we turn our eyes from earth, its falling leaves and fading aspect, its gathering gloom and treacherous meteors, to that great and glorious vault where burn the steady lamps of heaven, or where, shooting into interminable space, flow streams of inextinguishable lustre, we are almost instinctively reminded, that here our days are numbered, that on this low planet brief is the time the oldest being lives, and that, passing from this transitory state, we are destined to pursue our course in regions of ever-during light, in worlds of neverchanging beauty.

CONSTANTINOPLE IN 1831.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF AN OFFICER.

The changes effected both in the dress and manners of the inhabitants of Constantinople, and in the style of the city itself, since I last visited it in 1818, were to me most surprising and unexpected. Certainly the greatest portion of the imposing appearance of the Turks has been lost by the recent reform in their costume, which formerly was rich, elegant, and varied; but under this present Frank or European garb, they have become an ill-dressed, slovenly, nay, even in most cases, a ridiculously mean-looking race. The crimson stuffed cap, surmounted by a blue spread tassel, descends low on

the eyebrows, and how deeply must its enemies sigh after the proud and fanciful turban! The younger and less respectable Turks who have adopted the new costume, put on short round Jackets with upright collars, buttoned to the chin, and, according to the season, wear very loose calico or woollen Cossac trousers. The older and more respectable classes make use of loose long surtout coats, with stiff strait collars; waistcoats, loose trousers, and tie black shoes, complete the dress; and sometimes a dirty white neckcloth is tied uncomfortably about their throats. To conceal, however, this cruel abolition of a beautiful national dress, a military cloth cloak is worn by the Effendis, which conceals the horrors of their present habiliments. So altered are the gentry of the new costume, that I should say their next step would be to turn Christians. The European dress was never intended for a Mohamedan, or even an Asiatic.

It is astonishing the effect dress has on the habits of the human race. Thus the Turks became more dignified and slothful than by nature they were intended to have been, because they could neither manage on foot the arrangement of their heaps of clothes, nor walk with comfort in their slippers. Since the tails of their coats have been clipped, certainly they move about with more activity. The sword is much more rapid in the work of conversion than the tongue. The Sultan uses the former weapon without any remorse; and it must be confessed, after all, that the Turks are a dastardly people, easily intimidated, submissive, and cringing.

This has become apparent since the destruction of the Janisaries. Military costume is the fashionable dress of the day; whilst all copying from the Sultan, wear their beards of the same length as his, and pull their caps equally low over their foreheads. The national color for the army is blue. I never saw a better behaved body of men than the new troops, trained and regimented on the European principle; they are always ready to give assistance to foreigners when required.

The city of Constantinople is much improved by being kept very clean, by the erection of new bazaars, by the embellishment of the old ones, and by the guardianship of a very vigilant police. The streets are now free from all rubbish and offensive objects; no notice is taken of foreigners; and even European females, without the slightest change of costume, may walk through every part unmolested, and almost unobserved.

Last Friday we went to see the Sultan on his weekly visit to a mosque, to hear divine service. It was on the Pera side of the Bosphorus. About five thousand infantry, with a powerful band, were drawn out in one line from the entrance of the place of worship, to receive him. They must have been part of a select corps, since the men were very well dressed, and remarkably good-looking, stout and tall. They handled their arms well, and were steady. We were placed under the veranda of a coffee-house, close to which the Sultan passed. His Majesty was preceded by six led horses, saddled and bridled in the European manner, with richly embroidered shabracks; then came double files of mounted pages, dressed in various colored jackets, and white trousers, officers of the household, aidesde-camp, and other military attendants; and lastly, the favorite Meer Allace, or General of the Guards, Hoosain Pacha. To these succeeded the Sultan, immediately followed by a personal guard of infantry, composed of remarkably fine handsome