I should think this place must be the ‘head centre’ of the entire beaver population of Oregon; in some of the patches of open water, there certainly was not room to jam in even a tiny beaver cottage of the humblest pretensions, although the open space occupied by the town was many acres in extent. The trees, although a good half-mile from the water, were felled in all directions, as if busy emigrants had been making a clearing. The branches, lopped from the fallen trees, had been dragged by these busy animals along the well-beaten roads, that led in all directions, from the timber to the rushes, through which roads were also cut, to gain an easy access to the water. The branches, many of them large and heavy, are dragged by the beavers—backing along the roads, two or three often assisting in tugging a single branch—until the water is reached; then they seize it with their chisel-like teeth, and using their powerful tails, both as rudders and screw-propellers, float it out, to be employed in building their dome-shaped residences. But of this more at length, when referring to the habits of the beaver. Wildfowl too are here, in great variety and abundance. For the first time I see the breeding-ground of the Rough-billed Pelican (_Pelecanus erythrorynchus_). Their nests were on the ground, amidst the rushes, but unluckily I did not succeed in finding an egg. The nest is simply a confused heap of rushes, with a lot of down and feathers in the centre. On the water these huge birds swim as easily, buoyantly, and gracefully as swans; and in fishing, do not swoop down from a height, as does the brown pelican, but thrust their heads under water, and regularly spoon up small fish with their immense pouched beaks.