but, if the water is deep, it is able to leap from five to ten feet above the surface, for it starts from the bottom, rises very quickly in the water, and by this rapid motion gets such headway, that it is carried out of the water and up into the air.

Sometimes many hundred salmon collect together in the pool at the foot of a fall. When the fall is very high they do not try to leap it, but wait until a tide raises the water below the fall, and thus makes the leap less for them.

When the river rises, and salmon begin to leap, it is very interesting to watch them. The younger and smaller salmon do not yet know so well how to take the leap. They often jump straight up into the air, and so, of course, fall back into the water below the fall. The older and larger salmon leap in a curve toward the top of the fall, and, if they succeed in reaching the edge, they dart swiftly up the river.

It is said that the salmon, after taking these leaps, rest for several hours in the first still part of the river that they reach. The

salmon are often bruised and hurt in their long journeys up the rivers; for, when the currents are swift, and the water is muddy so that they can not see well, they are driven against sharp rocks, and the nose and head are often rubbed white by contact with rough objects in the water.

- MRS. TENNEY.

Tell the story of the life of a salmon. What dangers threaten it? Compare fish with birds and cattle as to advantages in life. Do fish have an easier life than birds and cattle?

jour' ney
săl mon (săm ăn)

bråck' Ish

ǎt tăch' ing

head' way
bruised

THE BROOK.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally

And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and

men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me as I travel,

With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

- ALFRED TENNYSON.

What is the brook's boast? Is it true? How can a brook chatter? Where does the brook come from? Where does it go?

häunts
thôrps

bĭck' er
trè' bles

mål' low gray' ling

THE NETTLE GATHERER.

Very early in the spring, when the fresh grass was just appearing, a poor little girl with a basket on her arm went out to search for nettles.

Near the stone wall of the churchyard was a bright green spot, where grew a large bunch of nettles. The largest stung little Karine's fingers. "Thank you for nothing!" said she; "but, whether you like it or not, you must all be put into my basket."

Little Karine blew on her smarting finger, and the wind blew, too. As Karine was standing there listening to the song of the birds, and warming herself in the sun, she saw a beautiful butterfly.

"O, the first I have seen this year! What sort of summer shall I have? Let me see your colors. Black and bright red mean sor