TO THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



about the barns and grain-fields. He is most abun- 

 dant in old bark-peelings, and low, dilapidated hem- 

 locks, from which he makes excursions to the fields 

 and orchards, spinning along the tops of the fences, 

 which afford, not only convenient lines of communi- 

 cation, but a safe retreat if danger threatens. He 

 loves to linger about the orchard ; and, sitting upright 

 on the topmost stone in the wall, or on the tallest 

 stake in the fence, chipping up an apple for the seeds, 

 his tail conforming to the curve of his back, his paws 

 shifting and turning the apple, he is a pretty sight, 

 and his bright, pert appearance atones for all the mis- 

 chief he does. At home, in the woods, he t is the most 

 frolicsome and loquacious. The appearance of any- 

 thing unusual, if, after contemplating it a moment, he 

 concludes it not dangerous, excites his unbounded 

 mirth and ridicule, and he snickers and chatters, 

 hardly able to contain himself; now darting up the 

 trunk of a tree and squealing in derision, then hop- 

 ping into position on a limb and dancing to the 

 music of his own cackle, and all for your special 

 benefit. 



There is something very human in this apparent 

 mirth and mockery of the squirrels. It seems to be 

 a sort of ironical laughter, and implies self-conscious 

 pride and exultation in the laughter. " What a ridic- 

 ulous thing you are, to be sure ! " he seems to say ; 

 *' how clumsy and awkward, and what a poor show 

 for a tail! Look at me, look at me!" and he 

 capers about in his best style. Again, he would seem 



