180 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 1, 1894. 
thought himself quite safe from all intrusion, but he too 
starts up with a cry, and with outstretched beak and legs 
flaps his wings and beats a hasty retreat over the tree- 
tops. "We pass on, and in a few seconds the quiet spot is 
left behind, the kingfisher, the white, spotless lily and the 
sunny air. 
Cool, balsamic shade now receives us, as we enter be- 
tween the banks. The alders that fringe the shores form 
an impenetrable thicket on both sides; and as they 
stretch their arms over the water's edge obscure the 
dividing line between river and shore. White gleaming 
birches mingle with the spruce, pine and cedar. They 
stretch their limbs far, far up into the sky, waving 
and nodding toward one another from either shore, 
and joining their crowns way above our heads. The 
river now flows faster beneath our canoes, we see the 
ripples where the alders touch its surface, the long aquatic 
grasses are waving in the current underneath; but the 
surface remains unruffled; and down in the depths we 
see again the gleaming birches, the swaying pines and 
the azure heaven above, 
A bend in the river and another opening like the first 
partly overgrown. Turning the point we see the broad 
wake of a muskrat as he swims across. We speed on to 
have a closer view of him, but as he perceives us be dives 
in an instant and is seen no more. A large rock comes in 
view now as the river narrows again. A short distance 
below it the water shows in white ripples, giving evidence 
of the strong current. We ply the paddles vigorously, and 
pressing them hard against the rocky bottom climb up the 
rapids. The rocky, moss-grown giant is soon left behind, 
another" rapid follows, then a bend in the river and we are 
at the foot of a third, too steep and too rocky to be passed 
by the canoe. It is beached a little below, behind a pro- 
jecting point, which breaks the current and forms a safe 
anchorage. 
Taking up our rods we start ahead over the short port- 
age, while the guide follows with the canoe on his shoul- 
ders. The end of the carry is soon reached, and a small 
lake surrounded by brushy hills lies before us in the morn- 
ing sun. Lake Number Two, they call it, as it is probably 
considered too insignificant for a more euphonious name. 
Hark! what is the noise that falls on our ears as we enter 
the river again? Like distant thunder it sounds. The 
canoe shoots around an island that divides the river at 
this point and there, right before us, shades of Izaak Wal- 
ton, what a glorious pool! Large, slanting rocks rise on 
the right, making a safe and convenient landing place for 
our craft. From out of the depths of the forest vaults 
leaps a wild mountain brook. Gigantic bowlders and 
rocky ledges lie in its pathway, forming a natural dam 
over which the stream rushes, a boiling, seething mass of 
white foam, falling into a wide basin below. The pro- 
jecting rocks divide the current into several channels and 
thus nature has formed one of the most tempting pools an 
angler's eyes ever beheld. 
But we do not fish here to-day. The canoe is quickly 
pulled ashore, lifted on the strong shoulders of our guide 
and we climb the steep incline of the rocky ledge. For a 
few minutes our path lies through low brushes and second 
growth trees We stop to slake our thirst at a little 
spring which trickles under the roof of an old spruce, and 
in another minute the shade of the big silent woods closes 
around us, silent save for the sound of the rushing stream 
which is our companion part of the way. Over slippery 
logs, over mossy stones, over windfalls, bare roots and 
through swampy stretches lies our path. The sun sends 
his rays slanting through the green network of foliage 
overhead. They dance upon the carpet of brown leaves 
and turf under our feet, and play at hide and seek around 
the rocks and mossgrown tree-trunks, until they seem to 
lose themselves in the dark recesses of the shadowy forest. 
The morning is cool and we march on buoyantly, chatting 
on the way. After some twenty minutes of arduous 
working the woods grow lighter, the blue sky shows 
again amid the slender columns ahead. We quicken 
our pace and there before our eyes under the arching 
branches stretches the silvery surface of Lake William. 
The end of our journey is reached. The canoe is put into 
the water, the rods are strung, hooks and flies adjusted, 
and now for the sport which we have come such a long 
way to obtain. 
As we float out amid the rocky shores through a small 
bay, I begin casting my flies while Mrs. B. puts on her 
sinkers and worm and trolls her bait far astern. A large 
rock shows above the water to the right; I lengthen my 
cast to reach it and in another moment mv flies play 
around its base. One — two splashes — a flash of gold in the 
water — I strike, the rod bends and sways, while my reel 
buzzes its ever wploome song into my ear. Two half- 
pounders hardly lie in the canoe at the feet of George, 
when Mrs. B. with a fierce expression on her face, jerks 
her rod forward and fastens a fish that had made too free 
with the bait. She handles him skillfully and he is soon 
deposited with the others. He seems an ounce or two 
heavier than they. We proceed along the wooded 
shores, casting into every likely nook and corner, 
over sunken logs and rocks, under overhanging cedars, 
and once in a while into the deeper water on 
the other side. But only an occasional fish is caught, 
until we reach a small bay, deeply shaded by the dense 
forest. Casting around an old stump, that rises out of the 
water here like the broken mast of a sunken vessel, I 
hook another double, while my companion strikes at the 
same moment, and bends her rod almost double. George 
has" his hands full for a few moments, and the landing net 
is kept busy. The place seems alive with fish for several 
minutes. I score a few misses, while Mrs. B. is more for- 
tunate or, as she thinks, cleverer than I — let us give her 
the benefit of the doubt — and has four trout to her credit 
before I catch another. The fish are rising and biting 
freely now, and sport is good. But the large ones are not 
out to-day, one of a little over three-quarters being the 
heaviest caught. All fish of a quarter of a pound and 
under are carefully removed and returned to their element; 
Black-hackle and Parmachene-belle are the flies that have 
the call; in fact, I have found these two the best taking 
flies in this region. 
The sun rises higher and higher, and as the heat of the 
day increases the fish cease biting. With double-edged 
appetites we head our canoe for the small peninsula which 
commands a beautiful view of the lake and the wood- 
lands. We step ashore; and the blue smoke of our camp- 
fire rises up through the crowns of the pines. Potatoes 
are peeled and sliced, the fish dressed, and the smell of 
coffee and frying bacon give evidence that preparations 
for luncheon are in progress, Have you ever tasted a 
meal equal to the one now spread before us on the birch 
bark plates? Was there ever a banqueting hall grander, 
were ever columns loftier, or arches more graceful than 
these that support the eternal roof over our heads! Where 
is your dyspepsia now or that tired feeling you complained 
of? All have departed after a few weeks' sojourn here 
among the lakes and hills, a short time of close commu- 
nion with Mother Nature, of return to the pristine condi- 
tion of life. The meal is over, and now follows sweet 
repose upon the mossy ground. The embers of the fire 
are burning low; and while the smoke from the pipe curls 
up and is blown away by the faint breeze, we lie and feast 
our eyes upon the beauties of the landscape. 
The sun is low in the west, when, after the afternoon's 
fishing, we finally prepare for the homeward trip. It is 
hard to tear ourselves away while the trout are still 
rising, even though our creel is filled and it costs great 
strength of mind not to let our awakened fishing propen- 
sities get the better of us. Every rise causes us to stop for 
just another cast — we halt again and again until at last 
the lengthening shadows of trees and mountains com- 
mand our return to camp. I do not know the number of 
trout we caught that day, but I do know that after 
George had cut a long twig and began to string the beau- 
ties on it, it grew longer and longer before our admiring 
eyes as if the treasure were inexhaustible; and I also 
know that after I had lugged those trout over the portage 
and emerged with them upon the rock by the pool I could 
have taken my solemn oath at that moment that to the 
best of my knowledge and belief that string of fish 
weighed lOOlbs. at least. 
Which, however, did not deter me from toying a few 
parting casts at the pool. I caught two fish which I did 
not add to the rest, but returned them for another day or 
another angler. 
Our descent down the river was naturally swifter and 
easier than our ascent in the morning. Nevertheless the 
sun had long disappeared behind the hills when we shot 
the last rapid and soon after entered Lake Seymour. Like 
glass lay its surface before us. Deep shades of blue and 
purple rested upon hill and ridge, standing out in bold re- 
lief against the pale evening sky. Hazy darkness envel- 
oped valley and bay and inlet, while clear and distinct in 
the waning light stood every rock, point and island in the 
beautiful sheet of water. 
The pale, placid moon peeped out over the eastern hills, 
and clouds of mist rose from the water, as our craft shot 
out of the narrows and Camp Mastigouche hove in sight. 
The tinkling of cowbells sounded a cheery welcome, while 
from the windows bright, shifting lights told of the 
crackling logs in the fireplace, sending their promise of 
warmth and comfort through the chilly night air. 
Albert Bruning. 
Mastigouche Lake, Quebec, 1894. 
BEAVER CHIPPINGS. 
BY THOMAS CHESTER. 
The beaver, in its structure, customs and habits, is 
highly interesting to all who like to study the ways of the 
lesser animals. Many stones have been told, many anec- 
dotes and traditions have been related, illustrating its 
sagacity and instinct. And though part of these beliefs 
may be i scribed to the overflow of an exuberant imagina- 
tion, still t- nough remains true to place the beaver at the 
head of all the fur-bearing animals in downright sagacity 
and in the possession of that mystic quality which we call 
instinct, that reaches out to the verge of reason and brings 
about results by the adoption of means. 
The beaver is strongly and compactly built. In form it 
very much resembles the muskrat, though it is much 
larger. The forward feet and legs are very small as com- 
pared with the size of the animal; the hind legs are larger 
and very strong and muscular. The hind feet are fully 
webbed and on the second digit of each is a very curious 
growth or formation. This is a horny scale which grows 
out over the nail of the toe, but is not attached to it, 
forming, as it were, a second nail over the first one. These 
dew claws are used by the beaver in scratching himself, 
and in picking the particles of bark and other matter from 
between bis teeth. The body of the beaver, when fully 
grown, is 24 to 30in. long; the tail is from 12 to 15in. long 
and 6 to Sin. wide in the middle, and shaped much like a 
mason's trowel. A continuation of the backbone runs 
centrally through it, to the extreme end. It tapers from 
about 2in, thick at the root to Jin. thick at the end, and it 
also tapers from the central bone on each side to the outer 
edge and to about the same thinness; the whole is covered 
with a thick, hard, scaly-like skin, of a dark brown color. 
A full-grown beaver weighs from 40 to 501bs. And in 
years gone by they have been taken weighing 70 or 801bs. ; 
but of late it is rare to get one weighing more than 45 or 
501bs. The fur is extremely fine and is waterproof. The 
inner coat, or fur proper, varies in color from a gray to a 
very dark brown on the upper parts. Below on the 
flanks it is from light to dark gray. The outer coat of 
long hair which covers the inner fur varies from a light 
to a dark brown. 
The skull is of a heavy structure and is from 5 to 6in. 
long, from 3 to 4in. wide, with a circumference over the 
eyes of 11 or 12in. The under jaw is very thick and 
strong. The upper part of the skull is broad and flat, 
with a slight rise from nose to top of head, but being 
somewhat depressed between the eyes. The ears are short 
and nearly hidden by the fur, but their interior is large 
and they are attached to the skull by a hollow, hard, 
gristly substance of a bony nature. This attachment un- 
doubtedly quickens the hearing, and seems to be common 
to most wild animals. The eyes are small and not especi- 
ally quick-sighted. 
The nose is medium-sized and wonderfully quick- 
scented. To guard against this nose taxes to the utmost 
the ingenuity of the best trapper. The beaver has twenty 
teeth; two incisors, or cutting teeth, at the extreme front 
end of each jaw, four grinders on each side of upper jaw 
and four on each side of the under one. The upper 
incisors curve a little inward and the lower ones, which 
are a little the longer, curve outward. They are from 1£ 
to 1-Jin. long. The outer surfaces are covered by a hard 
enamel, which forms the cutting edges. These teeth are 
gouge-shaped, and convex on the face, or outer side, and 
are sharpened by a concave slant on the inner side. The 
grinders are placed well back in the mouth. The upper 
ones slant backward, the under ones forward. 
The beaver lives to be twenty or twenty -five years old, 
and has been found all over the wooded parts of the 
northern hemisphere, existing to-day in many of the 
States of the Union and across the continent from Labra- 
dor to Mexico. 
The beaver lives a busy life and a varied one. They 
commence building their dams in the early fall while the 
streams are low, this condition enabling them to work 
with greater ease and facility. They build on streams, 
ponds, thoroughfares between ponds, or near the mouths 
of small brooks emptying into larger waters. The main 
condition sought in choosing a location for the dam is 
that the water be slack, of a springy nature, not too far 
from wood, and having some natural formation tending 
to the lessening of labor — such as the narrows at the foot 
of an expansion in the stream, or some place where there 
is one or more small islands in the stream, or some other 
obstruction. 
These conditions are sought for and adopted by the 
beaver in a general way. But when hard pushed it will 
build almost anywhere that it can find wood and water, 
for it has a wonderful facility in adapting itself to a 
change of conditions. 
In commencing their dam they cut alders, willows and 
other bushes which may be growing in the near vicinity, 
and float them down to the location; then they take one 
at a time, place it slanting — butt up stream, top down 
stream" — cover the butt end with mud, stones, grass roots 
and such other matter as may be near by; and so proceed 
until they have a row placed across the stream. Then they 
fill in the face of the inclined row with sticks, mud and 
any debris which may be handy by; frequently they go 
up stream above the site of the dam and cut wild grass 
and bushes, put them in the water and float them down 
against the dam, then go down and place them where 
needed. They repeat these operations until they have 
the dam as high as they want it, which may be from two 
to six or eight feet. Finally then, to make it tight, they 
carry up mud and muck in their mouths and by aid of 
their paws, on their chests, and spread it over the face of 
the wall; then in traveling over it, their large webbed 
hindfeet press it down and make it compact. As the 
dam settles, it is levpled up, so that when full the water 
runs over it in one unbroken sheet. 
After the dams are finished they commence work on 
their houses. They usually select a place to build up 
toward the head of the flowage on the bank Of the stream 
in shoal water. In such cases they dig tunnels under- 
ground from the bed of the stream to their houses. The 
houses are cone-shaped, having a diameter at the base of 
from 3 to 7ft. or more, and a slant height of from 5 to 
15ft., according to the number of the family. The houses 
are built up of alders, willows, grass tussocks and mud 
mixed in and interlaced much in the same manner as is 
the material in the dams; then a coating of mud and 
muck is spread over the outer surface save a space on top, 
which is left unplastered for ventilation. This plastering 
is not finished up until late in the fall, when the cold 
nights freeze the layers as they are put on, making a hard 
strong wall, which , is proof against all depredations of 
animals which might try to break in. The interior of the 
houses is lined with mosses, grass and leaves, making a 
comfortable room for the beaver to live in. Sometimes 
there are two compartments, one above the other. The 
upper one is to be used in case of very high water, which 
may flow them out of the lower one. From these com- 
partments, passage-ways are cut leading into the water 
near the bottom of the stream, and being below the frost 
line, they are consequently free and open all winter for 
egress and ingress between the house and the water. 
Usually a house is occupied by only one family ; but 
sometimes two or more families will live in it, having 
separate passage-ways to go in and out as they may see 
fit. It is seldom they form these gregarious communities 
now. In old times, when beaver were plenty, they did 
so. Some of the Hudson's Bay Co.'s trappers in British 
America found as many as twenty-seven beaver in one 
house, which were probably of three or four families. A 
family may be only two old ones, or the two old ones and 
all their progeny which may be with them, and may vary 
from two in number to a dozen or more. 
Sometimes beaver do not build regular houses to live in 
through the winter, but tunnel into the banks of streams, 
commencing well down in the water, inclining upward as 
they proceed, till they get far enough above the surface 
level of the water to insure them against an overflow, 
which may occur by heavy rains. At the end of the tun- 
nel they form a circular room to live in, lining it with 
grass and leaves, making it dry and comfortable. At the 
end of the tunnel they break a hole through to the sur- 
face of the ground. Then they go down through the pas- 
sage-way and up'.to the land, where the break is, and cover 
it over loosely with sticks, twigs and leaves. This break- 
ing through the surface is frequently charged against the 
beaver as a mistake on its part, a miscalculation in its 
plans; but the charge is ill-considered, hastily made and 
is not true; they do this to ventilate their apartment. To 
sustain life, they must have pure air to breathe, as must 
all other animals; this can be obtained in sufficient quan- 
tity in the present instance only by this opening over- 
head. The sticks and other matter with which they 
cover the opening hide it from view, but still leave space 
sufficient for the passage of air. 
Sometimes a beaver will not provide any kind of a 
place to stay in, but wanders about disconsolate and 
alone. This is caused by some misfortune, by some acci- 
dent which has happened to it, usually the loss of a toe 
or a foot, the tribute paid to some amateur trapper. It 
fails to mate up with any other beaver. No beaver of 
the opposite sex will have anything to do with it, but 
passes it by, gives it the cold shoulder, seeming instinct- 
tively to know that it is incapable of supplying the win- 
ter's subsistence; and the unfortunate one seems to know 
this, too, for it loses all ambition, all desire to labor, and 
goes about from place to place in a hopeless, dejected 
condition. Sometimes it will take up its abode in an old 
vacated house, which has been wrecked and torn by the 
elements — the winds and the waters. Here it may stay 
till cold and hunger drive it out; then it will enter some 
occupied house and try to make friends with the inmates. 
But they don't want it, won't keep it, so drive it out. If 
it shows resistance the whole family will unite in forcing 
it to leave; but it usually goes without this rigorous per- 
suasion, knowing their teeth are long and sharp. Should 
