In this country the squirrel does not multiply to an extent that would render it a scourge and a nuisance where it abounds. It may do some damage by gnawing young shoots and buds of the trees, and the woodman may therefore be compelled to wage war against it, but the farmer does not reckon it in the list of his enemies, and upon the whole the squirrel lives its life unmolested. This is not so in the Western States of America, where the squirrel is among the most troublesome of the farmer’s foes, causing terrible depredations among his crops. The variety there is not attired in the warm brown coat of its British cousin, but is striped black and grey like a tabby cat, and is a good deal larger than the English variety, with a magnificently large and bushy tail. So numerous are they in some parts, that upwards of a hundred thousand have been killed in the course of a year on a single estate.

Nature has been extremely bountiful to the squirrel in the matter of his allowance of tail, no other quadruped approaching him in this respect. The tail of the kangaroo may be as long in proportion, but from the hair being short and smooth it makes but little show, and is altogether lacking in the dignity of that of the squirrel; it is, too, extremely deficient in grace, being held out stiffly in rear, while the squirrel manages his as gracefully as a grand dame of the court of Louis XIV. managed her train. It is greatly to the credit of the squirrel that, adorned as he is by this exceptionally fine and bushy appendage, he does not, like the peacock, the turkey, and the bird of paradise, put on side in consequence; but except for the pains he takes in cleaning it and keeping it in the best possible condition, he seems to place no store on this his chief personal adornment. It is not quite clear what was the object of nature in thus endowing the squirrel, as we have been taught every organ has its special functions, and if one is abnormally enlarged it is because such enlargement was either essential to the safety of the individual, acted as a protection against his foes, or enabled him more easily to procure his food. But it is not very clear that any of these objects are served by the tail of the squirrel. He has few enemies, and although undoubtedly a long tail adds to the quickness with which an animal can turn, the squirrel has less occasion for extraordinary speed in this respect than have many other creatures who need it to elude the pursuit of their foes. But given the length of tail, its bushiness is probably an advantage to the squirrel, as it adds so very greatly to its bulk as to much reduce its specific gravity, and thus enables it to drop from bough to bough with almost the lightness of a descending feather. In point of speed, the squirrel is for its size probably the swiftest of quadrupeds, its movements being so rapid that the eye can hardly follow them, and for a short distance it would need a very swift dog to overtake it. With so many advantages in the way of speed, activity, and grace, in addition to those of its very handsome appearance, it is surprising that the demeanour of the squirrel affords no indication whatever that it has a particularly good idea of itself.

It is brimful of life, fun, and overflowing vitality; it delights in testing its powers, and exercises itself to the fullest for the mere pleasure of the thing. Kittens and puppies similarly amuse and enjoy themselves, but no other animal maintains through life the same love of hard exercise for its own sake as does the squirrel. Although so gay and sprightly, the squirrel is—unlike some bipeds of similar disposition—an excellent husband, faithful, domesticated and constant. He and his wife pair not for a season only, but generally for life. After choosing a suitable home in the hollow of a tree, they snugly establish themselves there, bring up their families, store it with nuts and grain for the winter, line it with dry moss, and convert it into one of the most cosy of abodes.

The squirrel is gifted with a large share of curiosity; he takes a lively interest in all that is going on around him, and appears to be particularly interested in man. When walking or driving through districts in the United States where the squirrel abounds, scores of these little creatures will leap up on to fallen trunks of trees, rails, or other vantage points by the side of the track, and watch the coming passenger, and will not move until he is within a few paces of them, unless, indeed, he is armed with a gun, in which case they, as well as birds, soon come to understand that he is dangerous. The squirrel, like the rat, is excellent eating, although even where he abounds many persons have as great a prejudice against eating it as the ordinary English farmer would have against that real delicacy, a rat pie. Hunters, however, who shoot it for its skin highly appreciate its flesh, their only regret being that there is not more of it. The squirrel should never be kept in captivity; it is as gross an act of cruelty to confine it as it is to cage a skylark. If it is a punishment to man to be kept in a cell, how great must be the pain to a creature so restless, so full of life and activity, so happy and joyous in its freedom, as the squirrel. The result, as might be expected, is that, however well its wants may be attended to, in the great majority of cases it speedily pines and dies. If kept at all, it should be in a roomy aviary, enclosing shrubs and parts of trees of a sufficient size to enable it to indulge to some extent in its natural habits.