account of their resemblance both in shape
and size. Our Croqueuoix is a scentless
animal.

Now the leading human Croquenoix-catchers
of the place—for foxes, owls, hawks, and
weasels doubtless frequently prey upon them
—are French woodmen and English schoolboys.
The latter, tolerably sharp observers,
say that there is a difference between the
creatures they find on the south side of the
Channel, and those which they left behind in
the woods of Kent and Devonshire. The
great point of the Croquenoix, in the estimation
of schoolboy fanciers, is its tail, on the
length and beauty of which depends its value.
Every other feature is sure to be pretty, but
the tail itself is exceedingly fragile and
precarious. If you lay hold of a Croquenoix by
the tail while he is wide awake and in a state
of alarm, he will make his escape most
unexpectedly, by leaving the member (or its
skin with the fur) in your hand. And a
Croquenoix is not like a lizard; he cannot
reproduce the loss. The disfigurement is
never afterwards repaired. Therefore, the
importance attached to the tail. The boys
are the authority that there is a marked
difference between the tails of French and
English Croquenoix. Therefore, they are
probably, if not two distinct species, at least
two decided and permanent varieties.

The Croquenoix makes a round little nest
of dried leaves, moss, and dead grass, and
places it on the ground, or on the branch of
a low bush. Here he sleeps all winter in
solitary repose;—every individual having a
nest to himself—waking now and then on
mild days, to munch a morsel of his nutty
store. In confinement, Croquenoix live
happily enough in company, but the accustomed
materials of their native habitation must be
supplied to them for bedding; hair, wool, and
what we might think warm and comfortable
proving injurious to their health. It is odd
that, although their home is amongst the
trees upon the branches, and in a chalk-
bottomed forest where there is not a single
permanent pond or brook, they are nevertheless
very thirsty creatures, and are exceedingly
fond of washing their face and hands.
Except during rainy weather, the dew on the
leaves must be the only available water they
can find. The staple of their diet is nuts;
almonds are particularly delighted in; but
they now and then enjoy a green hazel-leaf,
or a slice of ripe fruit. Wild cherries (merises)
abound in the forest; and the stones of these,
which you find on the ground, often bear
evidence of having had their kernels emptied
by Croquenoix. The little beast, in spite of
his name, is not so foolish as to crack his
nuts; that would give him unnecessary
trouble. He makes just one little hole in the
shell, about as big as a pin's head, and
through that he extracts, or laps out, the
kernel with his tongue. By the way, he laps
his drink like a dog or cat; and if he is very
tame, or very thirsty (I would not say which),
when you handle him, he will gently lick the
moisture of perspiration from off your hand.
Of course, he knows a good nut from a bad
one, as soon as he touches it, without further
ado.

Croquenoix readily breed in captivity,
producing from five to eight at a birth. They
come into the world blind and naked, and
must not be disturbed too early in the nest,
or the mother will prove infanticide. Otherwise,
her affection for them is extreme; to
secure a nest of young ones insures the
securing of their parent. She will run squeaking
down the branch of a tree into your very
hand, with the delicate bristles of her tail
erect, her eyes flashing tiny sparks of fire; in
short, the miniature of a raging lioness. And
her bite, though it won't do much more than
draw blood, like a pin-prick, is sharp enough
to make you cry out "oh!" and laugh at the
same time. When the little ones make their
appearance out of doors at last, and play
about with their dam at night—for their
general habits are completely nocturnal—
and whisk their delicate feather-like tails,
and twinkle their round black bead-like eyes,
they are very taking little animals. And, as
in other members of their tribe, those
brilliant eyes are so convex and short-sighted,
that you may watch them close at hand without
their being aware of it, if you will only
keep yourself quiet and silent.

The Regents' Park Gardens might easily
add another pleasing novelty to their
established treasures, by planting a large glass
case, like those in the reptile house, with
turf, and a living hazel-copse, and then filling
it with a colony of Croquenoix all by
themselves. The whole thing could be finished
and inhabited in a week, and would only cost
a very few pounds. But it is certainly some
objection to its value as an exhibition, that the
public would gaze on a throng of merely
sleeping beauties, whose waking exploits
would be reserved to entertain the keeper
who visited them on going his rounds in the
dark.

Croqueuoix must be kept in strict confinement,
or they will hop off for a ramble, and
forget to return. Still, they are used to a
settled home, and like to have an apartment
which they can call their own. We have
shut our Croquenoix out of their bed-chamber,
and they have opened the door with their own
little hands, to force their way back again in
spite of us. I say "hands," because "fore-
paws" would not convey the use that is
made of them. One poor fellow, being tired
of a truant excursion in my bed-room, crept
under the carpet for a quiet day's rest, and
was unfortunately crushed there. A woodman,
to whom we had given a general order,
brought us in a large party of Croquenoix.
Next morning, three of them had escaped
from their cage. One bold fellow was perched
on the rod which supports the window-