230 THE MOUNTAINS OF CALIFORNIA 



pore of his body, and eating his flesh is like chew 

 ing gum. 



One never tires of this bright chip of nature, 

 this brave little voice crying in the wilderness, of 

 observing his many works and ways, and listening 

 to his curious language. His musical, piny gossip 

 is as savory to the ear as balsam to the palate ; 

 and, though he has not exactly the gift of song, 

 some of his notes are as sweet as those of a linnet 

 almost flute-like in softness, while others prick 

 and tingle like thistles. He is the mocking-bird of 

 squirrels, pouring forth mixed chatter and song 

 like a perennial fountain; barking like a dog, 

 screaming like a hawk, chirping like a blackbird 

 or a sparrow; while in bluff, audacious noisiness 

 he is a very jay. 



In descending the trunk of a tree with the inten 

 tion of alighting on the ground, he preserves a 

 cautious silence, mindful, perhaps, of foxes and 

 wildcats ; but while rocking safely at home in the 

 pine-tops there is no end to his capers and noise ; 

 and woe to the gray squirrel or chipmunk that 

 ventures to set foot on his favorite tree ! No 

 matter how slyly they trace the furrows of the 

 bark, they are speedily discovered, and kicked 

 down-stairs with comic vehemence, while a torrent 

 of angry notes comes rushing from his whiskered 

 lips that sounds remarkably like swearing. He 

 will even attempt at times to drive away dogs and 

 men, especially if he has had no previous know 

 ledge of them. Seeing a man for the first time, he 

 approaches nearer and nearer, until within a few 

 feet ; then, with an angry outburst, he makes a 



