In building, the beaver trusts to the water for the conveyance of most of its materials, but it carries roots, stones, sod, and mud, by holding these between its chin and fore-paws. It floats its wood wherever it wishes to have it by swimming behind it. Not only this, but this wonderful builder is shrewd enough to cut down trees with its strong, chisel-like teeth. It selects those near the stream bank, and is sufficiently skilled in woodcraft to make the tree fall toward the stream, by cutting into it most deeply on the water-ward side. The beaver works almost entirely at night; but whether under the direction of some one skilled beaver architect, or whether like the ants and bees,[52] all work guided by a common instinct that produces harmonious labor, is not known. Quite as wonderful as the dam building is the canal making. This work they undertake in order to facilitate the moving of food and building material. Canals are described by Wells which are three feet wide, over two hundred feet long, and which carry from eighteen inches to two feet of water. In the huts in winter the mother beaver suckles and rears her young ones. When the family in one cabin becomes too large the young beavers move off and build a home of their own, not too far from the original dwelling, to share the advantages of the same dam. Frequently remains of old beaver dams are found in fields now grassy or under cultivation, but which were formerly ponds or wide curves in the beds of streams. While to the casual glance these may appear to be natural ridges, their regular sweep, equal strength in all parts, and their material prove them to be the work of this ancient family of builders. FOOTNOTES: [52] See Nature Readers, 1 and 2, Lessons on Bees and Ants. LESSON XXIV. AN OPOSSUM HUNT. “Within the twilight come forth tender snatches Of birds’ song from beneath their darkened eaves; But now a noise of poor ground dwellers matches This dimness; neither loves, nor joys, nor grieves. A piping slight and shrill, and coarse dull chirpings, fill The ear, that all day’s stronger, finer music leaves.” --LOWELL. “If you want to find out anything about ’possums, go to Uncle D’rius; he knows all about them”--this was the universal opinion in F---- and one day, when my mind was greatly exercised about opossums, I repaired for information to “Uncle D’rius.” I found that mine of didelphian wisdom seated at his front door, with his hands on his knees. “Uncle Darius,” I said, “I want you to tell me all about opossums.” The old negro rubbed his gray head: “’Possums!” he cried, his bleared eyes lighting at his favorite theme, “’possums! ’possum am ’bout de bes’ thing in des y’ere worl’, w’en h’it am roasted!” “But tell me something about them _alive_,” I urged.