MOORLAND IDYLLS. 



When spring returns the squirrel emerges, 

 a sadder and decidedly a thinner beast. But 

 there are now no nuts, no seeds, no grains ; 

 so he takes, against his will, to the young 

 bark and tender shoots of the trees around 

 him. About the same time, too, the 

 squirrel's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of 

 love ; the young of last year's brood begin 

 to mate themselves. And a pretty sight the 

 mating is, indeed. I was strolling one day 

 through the Nower at Dorking a lightly 

 wooded park when I saw by chance one of 

 the daintiest little idylls of real life I have 

 ever yet been lucky enough to witness. A 

 tiny female squirrel emerged all at once from 

 a hole in an oak-tree, hotly pursued close 

 behind by two ardent suitors. Round and 

 round the trunk they ran, now up, now 

 down, all regardless of my presence ; the 

 little lady once and again pretending to let 

 one or other of her wooers overtake her, 

 then pausing and looking back at him with 

 her roguish black eyes, and finally darting 

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