eautiful and gentle of all the fur-coated folk of our
woods. With his coat of white and pale golden brown and his great black,
lustrous eyes, and his timid, trusting ways, he is altogether lovable.

He spends the late summer and early autumn in his tangle-hung home, but in
winter he generally selects a snug hollow log, or some cavity in the
earth. Here he makes a round nest of fine grass and upon a couch of
thistledown he sleeps in peace, now and then waking to partake of the
little hoard of nuts which he has gathered, or he may even dare to frolic
about upon the snow in the cold winter moonlight, leaving behind him no
trace, save the fairy tracery of his tiny footprints.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring prattle!
ROBERT BURNS.

WINTER HOLES

The decayed hollows which we have mentioned as so often productive of
little owls have their possibilities by no means exhausted by one visit.
The disturbed owl may take himself elsewhere, after being so
unceremoniously disturbed; but there are roving, tramp-like characters,
with dispositions taking them here and there through the winter nights, to
whom, at break of day, a hole is ever a sought-for haven.

So do not put your hand too recklessly into an owl hole, for a hiss and a
sudden nip may show that an opossum has taken up his quarters there. If
you must, pull him out by his squirming, naked tail, but do not carry him
home, as he makes a poor pet, and between hen-house traps and irate
farmers, he has good reason, in this part of the country at least, to be
short tempered.

Of course the birds'-nests are all deserted now, but do not be too sure of
the woodpeckers' holes. The little downy and his larger cousin, the hairy
woodpecker, often spend the winter nights snug within deep cavities which
they have hollowed out, each bird for itself. I have never known a pair to
share one of these shelters.

Sometimes, in pulling off the loose bark from a decayed stump, several
dry, flattened scales will fall out upon the snow among the debris of wood
and dead leaves. Hold them close in the warm palm of your hand for a time
and the dried bits will quiver, the sides partly separate, and beh