Let us then examine the produce of these societies, let us inquire how far the art of the savage extends, and where the talents of the beaver is limited. To break down a branch, to use it as a staff, to build a hut and cover it with leaves for shelter, to collect moss or hay, and to make a bed of them, are acts common to the animal and to the savage. To rub a stone so as to render it an edged instrument for cutting or stripping the bark of trees, for sharpening arrows, for flaying an animal, in order to make a covering of its skin; to make bow-strings of its sinews, to fix those sinews to a thorn or bone, and use them as needles and thread, these are acts which may all be performed by a man in a state of solitude, and without assistance from others, since they depend solely on his conformation, and only suppose him to have the use of his hands. But, to cut down, and transport a large tree, to raise a mole, or build a village, are, on the contrary, operations which necessarily suppose common labours and concerted views; these are the only performances which result from immature society in savage nations; while the operations of the beavers are the fruits of a perfected society among those animals; for it is to be observed, that they never attempt to build but in countries where they are in no danger of having their tranquillity interrupted. There are beavers in Languedoc, in the islands of the Rhone, and many in the northern provinces of Europe; but as all those countries are inhabited, or at least frequented by men, the beavers there, as well as all other animals, are dispersed, forlorn, and timid creatures. There they have never been known to assemble, or undertake any common work: whereas in desert regions, where human society was formed later, where some few vestiges of savages alone could be traced, beavers were every where seen united, forming societies, and constructing works which were the admiration of every beholder. Of this I shall endeavour to quote such testimonies as are most judicious and least liable to censure, and shall only consider as certain those facts which are confirmed by common consent. Less inclined to indulge admiration, perhaps, than some writers, I shall not hesitate to doubt, and even to criticise, whatever may seem too improbable to demand our belief.