ing patch of animated blackness. His free, regular
footprints are all about, showing where he has run hither and thither,
with no apparent purpose except to manifest his joy in life.

His red-haired cousin comes to a lofty opening in a hollow tree and
looks out with an expression of disappointment on his face. He does not
like the snow-covered landscape spread out so artistically before him.
It makes him tired, and he has not enough energy to scold an intruder,
as he would in the comfortable days of summer. No amount of coaxing or
tapping will tempt him from his lofty watch-tower, or win more
recognition than a silent look of weary discontent. Another cousin, the
chipmunk, no longer displays his daintily-striped coat. Oblivious in his
burrow, he is sleeping away the days, and waiting for a more congenial
season.

But the black squirrel, now among the branches of an elm, is twitching
from one rigid attitude to another, electrified by the crisp atmosphere
and the inspiration of the snow. Again he is leaping over the white
surface to clamber up the repellent bark of a tall hickory. Among the
larger limbs he disappears. As he never attempts to hide, he must have
retired into his own dwelling to partake of the store laid by in the
season of plenty. Hickory nuts are his favourite food, and the hard
shells seem but an appetizing relish. He knows the value of frugality,
and gathers them before they are ripe, throwing down the shrivelled and
unfilled, that the boys may not annoy him with stones and sticks. In
winter he is the happiest of all the woodland family. He does not yield
to the drowsy, numbing influence of the cold, nor to the depression of a
season of scanty fare, but bounds along from tree to tree, inspired by
the subtle spirit of winter and revelling in the joy of being alive.

S. T. WOOD

THE SQUIRREL

Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm
That age or injury has hollow'd deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth
To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun,
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play.
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird,
Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush,
And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud,
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm,
And anger insignificantly fierce.

COWPER

SOLDIER, REST

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
S