But very soon the thinking child finds that things which roll so easily are apt to roll into the wrong corner, and to get out of his way when he wants them most; while he always knows where to find the others, which stay where they are left.

Thus he learns, and thus we all learn, to drop streaked, speckled globes of falsehood, and to hold fast. the white blocks of truth.

- Adapted.

Definitions. Ivory, white substance obtained from elephants' tusks. It is used for the white keys of a piano. Cubes, figures with six equal faces. Spheres, bodies round like balls. Crimson, red.

Talent, ability.

If you were building a house, which would be most useful for your walls, blocks shaped like cubes or blocks shaped like spheres? Why? As we build our lives day by day, which will serve us best, globes of falsehood or cubes of truth? If we let the edges of our cubes be worn away, and their purity stained, what will they grow to look like? Do we want this to happen?

To be memorized:

For the structure that we raise,

Time is with materials filled;

Our to-days and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

- Longfellow.

STORIES FROM THE BEST AUTHORS.

15. THE CAPTURE OF THE WHALE.

James Fenimore Cooper, who belongs to the first half of the nineteenth century, was the first great American story-writer, though not the greatest. Cooper's tales are mostly of Indian life and sea life, and are laid in the days of Washington. "The Spy," "The Pilot," and "The Last of the Mohicans" are the best liked of his works.

"Tom," cried Barnstable, starting," there is the blow of a whale!"

Ay, ay, sir!" returned the cockswain; "here is his spout, not half a mile to seaward."

"The fellow takes it coolly, too.

get an offing."

He's in no hurry to

""Tis a fin-back!" exclaimed the Lieutenant. "He will soon make headway, and be off."

"No, sir; 't is a right-whale," answered Tom. "I saw his spout. He threw up a pair of as pretty rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at."

Barnstable laughed, and exclaimed in joyous tones, "Give strong way, my hearties! Let us have a stroke of a harpoon at the impudent rascal."

The men shouted, and the whale-boat sprang forward like a courser for the goal.

Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the monster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself with throwing the water in two spouts high into the air, occasionally flourishing his tail with graceful but terrific force until the hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of him, when he suddenly cast his head downwards, and reared his immense body above the water, waving his tail violently, and producing a whizzing noise like the rushing of winds. After this exhibition of his terrible strength, the monster sank again into the sea and slowly disappeared.

"Which way did he head, Tom?" cried Barnstable the moment the whale was out of sight.

"Pretty much up and down, sir," returned the cockswain, whose eye was gradually brightening with the excitement of the sport. "He'll soon run his nose against the bottom if he stands long on that course, and will be glad to get another snuff of pure air. Send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and I promise we shall not be out of his track."

In a few minutes the water broke near them, and another spout was cast into the air, when the huge animal rushed for half his length in the same direc

tion, and fell on the sea with a sound and foam equal to that which is produced by the launching of a vessel for the first time. After this the whale rolled heavily, and seemed to rest from further efforts.

His slightest movements were closely watched by Barnstable and his cockswain; and, when he was in a state of rest, a few long strokes sent the boat directly up to the whale, with its bows pointing toward one of the fins which was exposed to view. The cockswain poised his harpoon, and then darted it from him with a violence that buried the iron in the body of their foe.

Long Tom shouted, "I've touched the fellow's life! It must be more than two foot of blubber that stops my iron from reaching the life of any whale that ever swum the ocean."

"I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of using the bayonet," said his commander. "Feel your line, Master Coffin. Can we haul alongside of our enemy? I like not the course he is steering, as he tows us from the schooner."

"Tis the creatur's way, sir," said the cockswain. "You know they need the air in their nostrils when they run, the same as a man. But lay hold, boys, and let us haul up to him."

The seamen now seized their whale-line, and slowly drew their boat to within a few feet of the tail of the fish, whose progress became less rapid as he grew weak with the loss of blood. From a state of perfect rest the terrible monster then threw its tail on high as when in sport, till all was hid from view by a pyramid of foam that was deeply dyed with blood. The roarings of the fish were like the bellowings of a herd of bulls; and to one who was ignorant of the fact, it would have appeared as if a thousand monsters were engaged in deadly combat behind the bloody mist.

Gradually these efforts subsided, and the discolored water again settled down to the long swell of the ocean; the fish was exhausted. As life departed, the enormous black mass rolled to one side; and, when the white and glistening skin of the belly became apparent, the seamen well knew that their victory was achieved.

Pronunciations.

Definitions.

Mo hï'can; cock'swain (kok'sn); läunch'ing.

- Cockswain, the steerer of a boat. Spout, a column of water thrown up by the whale. Offing, deep sea, distant from the shore. Harpoon, a spear for striking fish. Courser, race - horse. Goal, stopping place. Fathom, six feet. Starboard, toward the right. Poised, balanced. Tows, drags. Combat, warfare. Subsided, stopped. Achieved, won.

What is meant by "throwing up a pair of rainbows"?

HERO STORIES.

16. PATRIOT HEROES.

Articulation. was as fine; threatened | to go; pound | of |

flour.

Do you know a patriot hero? If you know a man who would not cheat his country, or his county, or his town, or his school district, you know a patriot.

In the army of General Washington there was a man who, though he was never a general, and never fought a battle, was yet as fine a hero in his patriotism as if he had led the army. His name was Christopher Ludwick, and he was only a baker. He lived in Philadelphia at the time of the Revolution, about which you surely have heard a great deal.

Soldiers for the war were plenty, but there was no money to buy guns for them. A meeting was called to see what could be done. The Governor asked the people at this meeting to put their hands into their own pockets and raise the money. Some replied that

enough could not be raised in that way. Upon this a plain-looking German, who spoke English poorly, rose and said, "Mr. President, I am only a poor ginger-bread baker, but put my name down for one thousand dollars." This sturdy German was Christopher Ludwick. His speech aroused the patriotism of the whole company, and all the money needed was quickly raised.

At one time Christopher joined his neighbors to defend Philadelphia. Their living was poor, and some of them threatened to go home. Ludwick ran up and dropped on his knees before them: "Brother soldiers," he cried, "listen for a moment to Christopher Ludwick. When we hear the cry of fire in Philadelphia, on the hill at a distance from us, we fly there with our buckets, to keep it from our houses. So let us keep the great fire of the British army from our town. In a few days you shall have good bread and enough of it." The men remained, and he set up a bakery and supplied the camp with excellent bread.

Afterward, Congress appointed him to superintend all the baking for the army of the United States, and he was told that he was expected to furnish one pound of good bread for every pound of flour. This would have made him rich, for a pound of flour will make much more than a pound of bread. Ludwick replied, "No, gentlemen, I will not accept the office on any such terms. Christopher Ludwick does not want to get rich by the war. I will furnish one hundred and thirty-five pounds of good bread for every hundred pounds of flour you will put into my hands."

Washington used to call him "My honest friend, Ludwick." When the war was over and he returned home, he found his house robbed of everything it had contained, but he used to point to a certificate, written by General Washington, which told that Christopher