to a barn, in a remote
field, where wheat was stored. How did he know there was wheat
there? In attempting to return, the adventurous creature was
frequently run down and caught in the deep snow.

His home is in the trunk of some old birch or maple, with an
entrance far up amid the branches. In the spring he builds himself a
summer-house of small leafy twigs in the top of a neighboring beech,
where the young are reared and much of the time is passed. But the
safer retreat in the maple is not abandoned, and both old and young
resort thither in the fall, or when danger threatens. Whether this
temporary residence amid the branches is for elegance or pleasure,
or for sanitary reasons or domestic convenience, the naturalist has
forgotten to mention.

The elegant creature, so cleanly in its habits, so graceful in its
carriage, so nimble and daring in its movements, excites feelings of
admiration akin to those awakened by the birds and the fairer forms
of nature. His passage through the trees is almost a flight. Indeed,
the flying squirrel has little or no advantage over him, and in
speed and nimbleness cannot compare with him at all. If he miss his
footing and fall, he is sure to catch on the next branch; if the
connection be broken, he leaps recklessly for the nearest spray or
limb, and secures his hold, even if it be by the aid of his teeth.

His career of frolic and festivity begins in the fall, after the
birds have left us and the holiday spirit of nature has commenced to
subside. How absorbing the pastime of the sportsman who goes to the
woods in the still October morning in quest of him! You step
lightly across the threshold of the forest, and sit down upon the
first log or rock to await the signals. It is so still that the ear
suddenly seems to have acquired new powers, and there is no movement
to confuse the eye. Presently you hear the rustling of a branch, and
see it sway or spring as the squirrel leaps from or to it; or else
you hear a disturbance in the dry leaves, and mark one running upon
the ground. He has probably seen the intruder, and, not liking his
stealthy movements, desires to avoid a nearer acquaintance. Now he
mounts a stump to see if the way is clear, then pauses a moment at
the foot of a tree to take his bearings, his tail, as he skims
along, undulating behind him, and adding to the easy grace and
dignity of his movements. Or else you are first advised of his
proximity by the dropping of a false