In this way he approaches a flock of ostriches. In spite of this disguise, however, they will sometimes take flight as he draws near, long before he has joined them. It is then no use. attempting to follow, for they can run faster than the fleetest horse. The hunter knows what to do: he knows that the birds have no sagacity or wisdom, and that as soon as their fears have subsided they will return, and come near him again. Sometimes the ostriches will keep on running for hours together, but instead of running straight on in one direction, and thus away from danger, they will run in circles for miles round, so that the hunter has only to wait until the poor bird is tired out, and then he has it in his power.

When the ostrich is hardly pressed, what do you think is its last chance of escape? Why, it makes a hole in the sand and buries its head in it, thinking, because it can see no enemy, that no enemy can see it. You need hardly to be told that it soon becomes a prey to the hunter. Some boys and girls are not much wiser than ostriches in this respect: they forget that eyes are watching them which they often cannot see.

If a hunter has patience and skill, he may do a good day's work when he has got near enough to the flock. He is armed with a bow and arrows, that he may shoot them without making a noise. If he is very clever, he may shoot many birds before they become alarmed and take to flight. Should there be any one of the birds he wants in particular for the sake of its feathers, he tries to get near enough to kill it with a club or stick, so that the feathers may not be damaged by the bleeding from a wound."

Sometimes the hunter loses his life in his search for this bird, The Arabs call the ostrich the camel-bird, from the shape of its neck and body, and because it can live a long time without water in its desert home. When the hunter ventures far into the trackless desert, he often loses his way, and being without food or water, and unable to return, he perishes from hunger and thirst.

Wild ostriches are now becoming scarce in many parts of Africa. Their young ones are neglected and allowed to perish. The nest of the ostrich is simply a hole in the sand, and contains about ten or twelve eggs. These are exposed to the dangers of the desert, and often forsaken by the mother-bird.

In the southern part of Africa, farmers have very successfully tried to turn the wild ostrich into a domestic bird. Large farms of them are fed and protected, like horses, sheep, and cattle. Men who have lived in our colonies there have been as successful in rearing them as people have who rear geese and turkeys in this country. These African ostrich-farms are now becoming a great source of profit to their owners, and they will continue so, no doubt, as long as ladies will wear the feathers of these birds. No skill or art can produce feathers that are so beautiful, or that last so long. It is much better, then, to rear these birds on farms, where the feathers are obtained every year, than to hunt and kill them in the desert.

The village doctor came home one wet night, and left his umbrella in the stand behind the door. His walking-stick stood beside it, and as the cold, wet umbrella leaned against it, the two began to quarrel.

I wish you would come home dry and clean, like other people,' said the walking-stick. 'You always go out in stormy weather, and come back so cold and wet that one can scarcely bear to live with you. You seem to delight in making people uncomfortable, and in giving them bad

colds.'

Here the walking-stick gave a sneeze, which made all the things in the stand shake together, and sent the umbrella rolling over. 'That's right!' shouted several other sticks, which had been embraced by the wet umbrella in its fall. 'Give it to him; he has given us all the shivers, which we shall not get over for an hour.'

'Fair play, fair play, gentlemen!' said the umbrella, when he had picked himself up and got back to his place in the stand; 'let me have a chance to defend myself. I cannot argue with

you all, but I think I am a match for your champion here, the walking-stick. When I have done with him, if you are not then satisfied, I will take you one at a time.'

'And now,' said he, turning to the walkingstick, 'I should like to know what use you are in the world. You are a fine-weather friend. You go out for your own pleasure, and leave all the work for me. My master could easily spare you, without being any the worse for it. You are a proud, conceited, useless thing, and I am glad of this opportunity of telling you so to your face.'

'Don't talk to me about serving my master,' replied the walking-stick. 'Who goes with him on dark nights, and through lonely, dangerous places? Who saved him from the attack of a savage dog only a week ago? Who kept him from falling on the ice last winter? I find out the for him when he cannot see. way The very sound of my step cheers him, and he trusts in my strength. Don't talk to me of service; I am a better friend to him than ever you were.'

'Who cost most?' asked the umbrella. 'Did not the doctor give a guinea for me a few weeks ago? And I heard him say that I was a good, strong, useful umbrella, and would be a great comfort to him. Besides, I heard the other day that you had cost him nothing at all. I know which of us he values most!'

'It is true I cost him nothing, but you needn't throw that in my teeth,' rejoined the walkingstick. 'I was given to my master by a very dear friend of his. He would not sell me for my weight in gold. About a month ago he lost me; the bellman was sent round the village to

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