THE HISTORY OF AN OLD FRIEND. 133 



out is the strong eel-grass woven, and the clay that covers the 

 walls is patted down with many a thwack from his paw until it is 

 as smooth as a plaster wall. At length winter comes and bridges 

 the lake, and makes an easy access to the house for the wolf and 

 the bear. How is the Muskrat to save himself from their snuffing 

 nose and strong claws ? The careful student of nature swims the 

 first freezing night by the side of his house, and ever and anon 

 with his tail spatters the water over the dome, until finally the 

 house is massed in ice so thick that none but the summer can 

 break it. Within, in his goodly chamber, lined with the river 

 grass, the plumage of ducks, and the soft floss of the silkweed, my 

 friend lies with his wife, safe from enemies, from want, and from 

 cold, and reads me a lesson of skill and providence I have not yet 

 followed. 



In some lakes a hundred of these little domes appear rising 

 about three feet from the water, and resembling an Indian village. 

 When the nights are still in autumn, the inhabitants of this 

 modern Venice will be found floating about on the lake, chasing 

 each other around the houses, or playing tag on the open water. 

 They lie on the surface, with their tails slightly arched, which is 

 a sign of watchfulness, and by a quick motion will disappear so 

 suddenly that even the hunter's shot is ineffectual to stop them. 

 One old beadle will now and then be seen mounting one of the 

 houses, and with an august dignity survey the surrounding shores 

 and when well satisfied, will dive down so softly as not to leave 

 a ripple; but if, perchance, he should see some cause of alarm, 

 he leaps back with an angry plash, and the whole tribe disappear 

 in an instant. Should you be tempted to fire a gun at some 

 impudent member of the colony, before the bright flash has faded 

 along the shore, every one will have disappeared from view. You 

 may wait hours for another shot, and though the pond is full of 

 them, you will never see one. Once in a while an old sentinel 

 will float to the surface, and the point of his nose, about the size 

 of a chestnut, will be exposed, while he breathes and takes a view, 

 and after a moment of watchfulness, it will be so quietly with- 

 drawn that even if you see it you will not suspect it to be one of 

 your prey. 



