pastures, no cheerful flocks nor herds, no valleys or corn, no olive yards, nor vines blushing with grapes. All is a lonesome desert, a picture of desolation, diversified only by sandy plains, naked rocks, and barren mountains. In this country, no spacious inn, no hospitable cottage receives the weary traveller: at night the sand is his couch, the heavens his covering, the provision and water he carries his only support, his camels his only protectors. When the Arabian traveller has prepared his frugal meal, using the dung of camels, which he finds in the sand instead of wood, he ascends the highest hill near him, and earnestly invites all his brethren, the sons of the faithful, to come and partake with him, though probably not a soul is within a hundred miles.

Of all animals peculiar to Arabia, there are none so useful to the natives as the camel or dromedary—by them they are considered as sacred; with them they can convey heavy burthens through deserts almost impassible—on them they are secure by flight from the attacks of the most formidable enemy—their milk is for them both food and drink, and when they have a sufficiency of that article, they are satisfied, and desire nothing more.

By the description given us of this animal by a very respectable gentleman, who with his crew, were so unfortunate as to suffer shipwreck on the inhospitable coast of Arabia, and were made prisoners by the Arabs, and whose account thereof we recommend to the public as a work of real merit, and