The flying squirrel is a native of our woods, and exceeds in beauty, to my mind, any of the tribe.  Its colour is the softest, most delicate tint of grey; the fur thick and short, and as silken as velvet; the eyes like all the squirrel kind, are large, full, and soft the whiskers and long hair about the nose black; the membrane that assists this little animal in its flight is white and delicately soft in texture, like the fur of the chinchilla; it forms a ridge of fur between the fore and hind legs; the tail is like an elegant broad grey feather.  I was agreeably surprised by the appearance of this exquisite little creature; the pictures I had seen giving it a most inelegant and batlike look, almost disgusting.  The young ones are easily tamed, and are very playful and affectionate when under confinement.

[Illustration:  Flying Squirrel]

How my little friend Emily would delight in such a pet!  Tell her if ever I should return to dear old England, I will try to procure one for her; but at present she must be contented with the stuffed specimens of the black, red, and striped squirrels which I enclose in my parcel.  I wish I could offer you any present more valuable, but our arts and manufactures being entirely British, with the exception of the Indians’ toys, I should find it a difficult matter to send you any thing worth your attention; therefore I am obliged to have recourse to the natural productions of our woods as tokens of remembrance to our friends at home, for it is ever thus we speak of the land of our birth.

You wish to know if I am happy and contented in my situation, or if my heart pines after my native land.  I will answer you candidly, and say that, as far as regards matters of taste, early association, and all those holy ties of kindred, and old affections that make “home” in all countries, and among all nations in the world, a hallowed spot, I must ever give the preference to Britain.

On the other hand, a sense of the duties I have chosen, and a feeling of conformity to one’s situation, lessen the regret I might be inclined to indulge in.  Besides, there are new and delightful ties that bind me to Canada:  I have enjoyed much domestic happiness since I came hither;—­and is it not the birthplace of my dear child?  Have I not here first tasted the rapturous delight arising from maternal feelings?  When my eye rests on my smiling darling, or I feel his warm breath upon my cheek, I would not exchange the joy that fills my breast for any pleasure the world could offer me.  “But this feeling is not confined to the solitude of your Canadian forests, my dear friend,” you will say.  I know it; but here there is nothing to interfere with your little nursling.  You are not tempted by the pleasures of a gay world to forget your duties as a mother; there is nothing to supplant him in your heart; his presence endears every place; and you learn to love the spot that gave him birth, and to think with complacency upon the country, because it is his country; and in looking forward to his future welfare you naturally become doubly interested in the place that is one day to be his.