which he raises higher than his head, and under which he shelters himself from the sun and wind. Partaking less of the nature of a quadruped than animals in general, he sits, if at ease, almost erect; but when listening, he straightens himself, and lowers his tail to an horizontal position, in order to support his body and prepare for sudden action. When favourably situated, his activity is incredible, and his sudden turns are too quick for the sight to follow. One might almost fancy him a bird, from his extraordinary lightness; and, like the feathered tribes, he dwells on the highest trees, and traverses the forest by leaping from one bough to another. He likewise erects his little citadel on the top of some high tree, and while he supports his family with grain and seeds, he sips the dew from the spreading leaves, and descends not to the earth unless the forest is agitated by a storm. He is never found in the open fields, nor on the plains. He rarely approaches our habitations, and seldom remains among the brushwood. When necessitated to cross a lake or river, he employs the bark of a tree for a ship, and uses his tail to catch the wind. Some writers assert that in Lapland, whole parties are often seen thus voyaging across the lakes, each mounted on a piece of bark, with his tail unfurled to the breeze. Ever alert and active, this little quadruped does not

sleep, like the dormouse, during winter, nor does he give himself much repose at night; but if the woodman sounds his axe near the tree where his little citadel is placed, or any intruder prow! around, he never fails to keep as much as possible on the opposite side of every branch, that he may fly to, in order to obtain its shelter between himself and his pursuer. Hence it is extremely difficult to reach the wary little fugitive with any kind of missile. During the summer, he is occupied in anticipating the privations of winter by what would be termed among ourselves a prudent appropriation of the superfluities of summer. For this purpose, he selects some hollow in the earth, or in an aged tree, where he stows his nuts and acorns: when the cold weather sets in, or a rough wind shakes the autumn fruits to the ground, he repairs to his little hoard. Nay, he has been observed to possess an undeviating knowledge where these magazines are situated, even after the snow has reduced almost every thing to one common level. He may then be seen scratching off the snowy surface with his little hairy feet, and working his way in a direct line towards the object of his search. But as it is probable that his memory may occasionally fail with respect to the exact spot where he deposited every acorn, the industrious little fellow no doubt loses a few every

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year; these spring up, and frequently restore the honours of the forest, when the woodman's hatchet has levelled its finest trees. Thus is Britain indebted for many a lordly oak or elm, to the industry and forgetfulness of a squirrel.

Actions like these are so nearly allied to memory and association, that it seems difficult to ascertain whether they are blind impulses or results of reason.

Yet as the instinct of accumulation is invariably discovered in the squirrel tribe, I am rather inclined to refer it to the former than to the latter cause; more especially as it is equally evinced in the tame squirrel, which, after being captured in the nest, and removed from parental example and instruction, still continues to hoard up his nuts. If you offer him plain food, he thankfully receives it; if you give him such as is more agreeable, he neither drops nor carelessly throws away the former, but endeavours to conceal the one before he receives the other.

Those who are much abroad in the fine nights of summer, may hear the shrill voices of these active little foresters on the topmost boughs. Then is their season for sport and play; they also gather provisions, and delight in the banquet that maternal nature has spread abroad. Like many of their relatives, they cast their hair towards the

end of winter, and re-appear in summer clothed with new and richer fur. Cleanly to a proverb, they comb and dress themselves with their paws and teeth, and have no unpleasant scent. Their affection for, and care of their young, is remarkable; and the male partakes with his mate in providing for them. This trait of character, though common to the monogamous tribes, and generally attributable to no higher source than that of instinct, naturally excites a favourable opinion of creatures, whose actions partake of what among ourselves is the result of right feeling.

The common squirrel is very generally diffused, but should rather be considered as aboriginal in the northern, than in the temperate regions; for so abundant are they in Siberia, that immense numbers of their skins are annually imported from that country. Why so few of this interesting family should affect our portion of the globe, which seems peculiarly favourable to their nature and development, while in America the forests under parallel degrees of latitude, resound with their shrill voices, is a problem we have no means of solving.

Different species abound in the warmer regions of the earth; but however varying in locality or size, they assimilate in disposition with their British relative, the common squirrel. They are all

gay, vivacious creatures, that delight in running through the deep pine forests, and exotic groves of their respective habitats, living on high trees, and often fixing their pensile cradles on the topmost boughs.

Concerning the polecat, martin, and weasel, which are seen occasionally in our woods, or hiding among heaps of rubbish, I have been able to ascertain few particulars of interest. Cuvier has arranged them, in common with others of the weasel tribe, among carnivorous quadrupeds, since the physical character of the teeth evinces that they are destined to seek their principal aliment from flesh, though a slight departure from the carnivorous form indicates a corresponding approach to the substitution of a vegetable diet. Their disposition, nevertheless, is extremely cruel; but from inferiority in size and power, they are capable only of an inferior degree of mischief.

The first (mustela putorius) is a complete free