276 



RECREATION. 



the squirrels get their faces into a dis- 

 reputable mess with the viscid gum which 

 exudes from the cones, their whiskers, 

 mouth and chin being often a caked mass 

 of resinous gum. 



The charge made against red squirrels 

 that they rob the nests of birds is only too 

 well founded, but it goes much against 

 the grain to kill these sprightly little crea- 

 tures, often the only sign of life in mile 

 after mile of gloomy forest. 



I was once the witness of a curious ex- 

 hibition of animal instinct in a squirrel of 

 this species. I was walking alongside a 

 swiftly running mining ditch when I no- 

 ticed what looked like a small red animal 

 with an enormous head staggering down 

 the opposite bank. It slowly entered the 

 water and swam across to my side. On 

 running up to investigate I found it was a 

 female squirrel with a young one about 

 two thirds grown wrapped around her 

 head. My sudden appearance caused a 



disruption. The young squirrel actually 

 ran up my leg in its terror and hung 

 palpitating to my thigh. Realizing after a 

 second or 2 that I was not a tree, it ran 

 down and, jumping into the ditch, swam 

 back to the other side. What puzzled me 

 was how the mother could swim with two- 

 thirds her own weight on her head and 

 how she ever induced the young one to 

 assume that position. 



The seasonal changes of pelage are 

 similar to those of the Eastern chickaree, 

 from a brownish, fulvous summer coat with 

 distinct black lateral stripe to a foxy red 

 winter dress without the black stripe on 

 flanks. The under parts are always white 

 or grayish and never suffused with buff 

 as in the coast species, douglassi. 



The voice of Richardson's squirrel does 

 not differ appreciably from that of the 

 Eastern species, in this respect being at 

 variance with Douglas' squirrel, which has 

 some different and more musical notes. 



THE SMILE OF SUNSET. 



M. W. MINER. 



The wind is whistling softly thro' the pine 

 trees, 

 Where the yellowhammer taps and taps 

 away ; 

 And I hear the saucy whistle of the go- 

 downs, 

 Who come to rob my camp when I'm 

 away. 



Now the robins are all singing in the fir 

 trees. 

 That's a coyote's wail I hear not far 

 awav ; 

 A ray of light has flashed across the Saw- 

 tooths 

 Where the sun is softly bidding us good 

 day. 



Oh, I wish that it would smile on us for- 

 ever, 

 And never hide behind the hills to sleep ! 

 There are other smiles that we are always 

 wanting, 

 But, like the sunshine, they are not to 

 keep. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY 



SAILS FULL. 



A. SNELLGROVE. 



Highly commended in Recreation's 5th Annual Photo 

 Competition. Made with Cycle Poco Camera. 



