We have been told that an incident of migration of Squirrels of a very remarkable kind occurred a good many years ago, caused by lack of mast and other food, in New York State. When the creatures arrived at the Niagara river, their apparent destination being Canada, they seemed to hesitate before attempting to cross the swift running stream. The current is very rapid, exceeding seven miles an hour. They finally ventured in the water, however, and with tails spread for sails, succeeded in making the opposite shore, but more than a mile below the point of entrance. They are better swimmers than one would fancy them to be, as they have much strength and endurance. We remember when a boy seeing some mischievous urchins repeatedly throw a tame Squirrel into deep water for the cruel pleasure of watching it swim ashore. The "sport" was soon stopped, however, by a passerby, who administered a rebuke that could hardly be forgotten. Squirrels are frequently domesticated and become as tame as any household tabby. Unfortunately Dogs and Cats seem to show a relentless enmity toward them, as they do toward all rodents. The Squirrel is willing to be friendly, and no doubt would gladly affiliate with them, but the instinct of the canine and the feline impels them to exterminate it. We once gave shelter and food to a strange Cat and was rewarded by seeing it fiercely attack and kill a beautiful white Rabbit which until then had had the run of the yard and never before been molested. Until we shall be able to teach the beasts of the field something of our sentimental humanitarianism we can scarcely expect to see examples of cruelty wholly disappear. [Illustration: From col. Chi. Acad. Sciences. GRAY SQUIRREL. 5/9 Life-size.] AH ME! I killed a Robin--the little thing, With scarlet breast on a glossy wing, That comes in the apple tree to sing. I flung a stone as he twittered there, I only meant to give him a scare, But off it went--and hit him square. A little flutter--a little cry-- Then on the ground I saw him lie. I didn't think he was going to die. But as I watched him I soon could see He never would sing for you or me Any more in the apple tree. Never more in the morning light, Never more in the sunshine bright, Trilling his song in gay delight. And I'm thinking, every summer day, How never, never, I can repay The little life that I took away. --SYDNEY DAYRE, in The Youth's Companion. THE PECTORAL SANDPIPER.