"That's a good-for-nothing skipper;" "That's a harmless yellow-bird;" "That's the flicker of the sunshine, When the alder-leaves are stirred;" "That's the shadow of a cloudlet;" "That's a squirrel come to drink;" "That--look out for him, my darlings!-- He's a fierce and hungry mink;" "That's the ripple on the water, When the winds the wavelets stir;" "That--snap quick, my little hearties!-- That's a luscious grasshopper." [Illustration] So the clever Mistress Salmo Gives her counsel, day by day,-- Teaching all the troutly virtues, All life's lessons, grave and gay. Well she knows the flashing terror Of King Fisher's sudden fall! Well she knows the lurking danger Of the barb'd hook, keen and small! Well she tries to warn her pupils Of all evils, low and high! But, alas! the vain young triflers Sometimes disobey--and die! What was that which passed so quickly, With a slender shade behind? What is that which stirs the alders When no ripple tells of wind? What sends Mistress Salmo darting Underneath the stones in fear?-- Crying, "Hide yourselves, my darlings! Our worst enemy is near!" "I am bound to understand it," Says one self-proud speckle-side; "When I see the danger's real, Then, if need be, I can hide." So he waits alone and watches, Sees the shadow pass again, Sees a fly drop on the water,-- Dashes at it, might and main. "Missed it! Well," he says, "I never! That's the worst jump made to-day! Here another comes--now for it!" Splash! He's in the air--to stay! When the alders cease to tremble, Silence comes and sun-glints shine, Mistress Salmo Fontinalis Calls the roll,--just thirty-nine! [Footnote A: Brook-trout.] [Illustration] HOW THE WEATHER IS FORETOLD. BY JAMES H. FLINT. In former times, the chief herald of the weather was the almanac, which ambitiously prophesied a whole year of cold and heat, wet and dry, dividing up the kinds of weather quite impartially, if not always correctly. But the almanac, good as it was now and then, and the weather-wise farmers, correct as sometimes they might have been, were not always able to impart exact information to the country; and they have been thrown quite into the shade of late, by one who is popularly known under the somewhat disrespectful title of "Old Prob," or "Old Probabilities." He has become the Herald of the Weather to the sailor, near the rocky, dangerous coasts; to the farmer, watching his crops, and waiting for good days to store them; to the traveler, anxious to pursue his journey under fair skies; and to the girls and boys who want to know, before they start to the woods for a picnic, what are the "probabilities" as to rain.