of. This is looking a little into the under-current, the every-day self-denial, the late waking at night of the weary wife, helping to support the outward dignity and appearance of her large family of children.

Uncle. Every body must pay the price of pride; this weary wife you speak of, I suppose, is some poor man's wife, who is working her fingers off, in the vain endeavor to make her family appear as richly clad, as that of some, wealthy neighbor. Come, Anne, what philanthropic emprise have you afloat?

Anne. None; you are like every other man, and interrupt me, and gather up the corners of your mouth, winking so significantly, if any one is near, as much as to say: "Let the woman talk-she is harmless." It was no poor man's wife at all; far from it. I think the families of such are the most independent, often the best informed, and decidedly the happiest class our country can boast of. It was of a race, a strong vein of which runs through the whole extent of our land; it is composed of the sons of the rich, who are poor themselves.

Uncle. Its their own fault then; let them make money as probably their fathers and grand-fathers have done before them.

Anne. They can not, I apprehend.

Uncle. Why?

Anne. "Why?"--because the children of the rich are too often indulged in idleness; I might say their lullaby-songs breathe it; their childhood sports foster it; their fathers' tables and dainty viands continue its easy growth. The youth of the rich enter manhood with idleness stamped upon their very natures; then comes the cruelty; then begins the suffering. Man hood has brought a yearning for a position in th world. The father, often grudgingly, gives a capital for business, and says, as you do now: "Go to work, and make your own way in the world. The world is large and the picking good;" and with this "Godspeed," life is begun.

Uncle. Well, what more do you want?

Anne. I want all those hours of idleness, wherein were nurtured effeminate dispositions, all those dainty viands that have sapped the energies of the son, all those nameless appliances of refinement, which have grown to be the very necessaries of life, and which have strengthened their hold upon his nature with hi strength, to be charged in the grand Day-Book and Ledger account, to the father, as his share of provid ing for the future misery of many a young merchant

Uncle. Well, Anne, you have made out a pretty clear case, and I'm half inclined to think you are right; but surely, in nine cases out of ten, it is the fault of individuals alone, which causes the unhappiness in the domestic world. There is but a slight difference between the rich man and the poor, if each lives within his means, irrespective of circumstances.

Anne. You are willing, then, to acknowledge what I was saying to James, had some truth in it, and that there is an under-current of deep distress, oftentimes, where, to a casual observer, everything is bright and cheerful, and that this distress is frequently occasioned by assuming and endeavoring to maintain a "FALSE POSITION."

QUESTIONS.-1. What is the subject of this dialogue? 2. What results are likely to follow the practice of trying to live above one's means? 3. What is the moral of the piece?

What rule for the rising inflection on why, p. 150!

LESSON LIX.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. CON STER NA' TION, terror; astonishment. 2. DE TAIL', relate; narrate. 3. HAR POON' ER, one who throws th harpoon, or whale-dart. 4. ExX PLOR' ING, searching; voyages fo discovery. 5. SQUAD' RON, several ships in company. 6. NAR' RA TIVE, account; description. 7. FLOUN' DER ING, flinging itself forcibly along. 8. Ex' TRI CATE, to clear; to disentangle. 9. AN NOY' ANCE, Something vexatious. 10. CON TOR' TIONS, twistings_of the body; writhings. 11. THROES, pangs; severe pains. 12. BETOK' EN ING, showing; indicating. 13. DYE ING, staining; coloring. 14. PER TI NA CIOUS, stubbornly persevering. 15. TUR BU LENCE tumult; confusion. 16. BAITS, attacks; harasses. 17. IN STINO' TIVE, coming from instinct; natural. 18. UN RE LENT ING, cruel

ENEMIES OF THE WHALE.

H. T. CHEEVER.

1. The only natural enemies the whale is known to have, are the sword-fish, thrasher, and killer. This latter is itself a species of whale, that has sharp teeth, and is exceedingly swift in the water, and will bite and worry a whale until quite dead. When one of them gets among a gam, or school of whales, he spreads great consternation, and the timid creatures fly every way, like deer chased by the hounds, and fall an easy prey to whale-boats that may be near enough to avail themselves of the opportunity.

2. I have heard a captain detail, with interest, a scene of this kind, in which the killers and harpooners were together against the poor whale, and the killers actually succeeded in pulling under and making off with a prize which the whalemen thought themselves sure of. In the United States exploring squadron, on board the Peacock, as we learn from the narrative of Commander Wilkes, they witnessed a sea-fight between a whale and one of these enemies. The sea was quite smooth, and offered the best possible view of the combat.

3. First, at a distance from the ship, a whale was seen floundering in a most extraordinary way, lashing the smooth sea into a perfect foam, and endeavoring, apparently, to extricate himself from some annoyance. As he approached the ship, the struggle continuing, and becoming more violent, it was perceived that a fish, about twenty feet long, held him by the jaw: his spoutings, contortions, and throes, all betokening the agony of the huge monster.

4. The whale now threw himself at full length upon the water, with open mouth: his pursuer still hanging to his under jaw, the blood issuing from the wound dyeing the sea for a long distance round. But all his flounderings were of no avail; his pertinacious enemy still maintained his hold, and was evidently getting the advantage of him. Much alarm seemed to be felt by

the many other whales about. Such was the turbu lence with which they passed, that a good view could not be had of them, to make out more nearly the description.

5. These fish attack a whale in the same way that a dog baits a bull, and worry him to death. They are endowed with immense strength, armed with strong, sharp teeth, and generally seize the whale by the lower jaw. It is said the only part they eat of them is the tongue. The sword-fish and thrasher have been also seen to attack the whale together; the sword-fish driving his tremendous weapon into the body from beneath upward, and the thrasher fastened to his back, and giving him terrific blows with his flail.

6. The thrasher having no power to strike through the water, it has been observed by all who have witnessed these strange combats, that it seems to be the instinctive war policy of the sword-fish to make his attack from below: thus causing the whale to rise above the surface, which, under the goad of the cruel sword of the enemy, he has been known to do, to a great hight: the unrelenting thrasher meanwhile holding on like a leech, and dealing his blows unsparingly through the air, with all the force of his lengthy frame.

QUESTIONS.-1. What are the natural enemies of the whale? 2.

Can you describe the killer? 3. What effect does the presence of the killer produce among a school of whales? 4. Can you describe the sea-fight mentioned in Wilkes' narrative? 5. How do the sword-fish and the thrasher attack the whale?

LESSON LX.

SPELL AND DEFINE.-1. TRACK' LESS, without track. 2. SUB SIDE', become calm. 3. UN RUF' FLED, undisturbed; smooth. 4. MIR'RORED, reflected as in a mirror. 5. NA' TIVE, pertaining to the place of birth. 6. OF YORE, of old time; long ago.

Avoid saying sence for since, tempes for tempests, is so'er for is o'er, one smore for once more, &c.

MY NATIVE BAY.

1. My native bay is calm and bright.
As e'er it was of yore,

When in the days of hope and love,
I stood upon its shore;

The sky is glowing, soft and blue,
As once in youth it smiled,
When summer seas and summer skies
Were always bright and mild.

2. The sky-how oft hath darkness dwelt
Since then upon its breast!
The sea-how oft have tempests broke
Its gentle dream of rest!

So, oft hath darker woe come o'er
Calm self-enjoying thought;
And passion's storms a wilder scene
Within my bosom wrought.

3. Now, after years of absence, passed
In wretchedness and pain,

I come and find those seas and skies
All calm and bright again.

The darkness and the storm from both
Have trackless passed away;

And gentle, as in youth, once more
Thou seem'st, my native bay!

4. O! that like thee, when toil is o'er,
And all my griefs are past,

This troubled bosom might subside
peace and joy at last!

Το

And while it lay all calm like thee,

In pure, unruffled sleep,

O! might a Heaven as bright as this,

Be mirrored in its deep!

ANON.

QUESTIONS.-1. What reflections arise in the mind of the speaker on beholding his native bay? 2. What wish, in the last stanza? What pause after sky and sea, 2d stanza? See p. 43. different modulation, should the last stanza be read?

With what