supply could not be sustained, and a silk plush came to be substituted in its stead. The improvements that took place in the manufacture of silk hats about 1840 caused the fur of the beaver to be almost entirely superseded for this purpose. It is, however, still extensively used to trim and adorn ladies' mantles and dresses. The fur on the animal is always the thickest in winter. Nature does for the beaver exactly what we have sense to do for ourselves when we put on a thick overcoat to protect us from the cold. The beaver hunters accordingly seek to capture their prey in the winter, for the skin is then in the best condition. Over and above the fur which grows close to the body, there is a kind of long hair which seems designed to protect the fur from injury, and which is carefully stripped off, and used in the manufacture of various stuffs.

The beaver is an amphibious animal, and can make himself at home on either land or water, though he requires to be very near to both to be perfectly happy. His head and forefeet are something like a magnified rat or squirrel, but his hinder parts are expressly designed for aquatic pursuits. The hinder feet are webbed, and the tail is like an oval paddle, which, as we shall see, can be put to a variety of

uses.

The most remarkable thing about the beaver is the care he takes to build his house, and the methodical and businesslike way in which he goes about it. The site generally selected is a pond, or failing that, a small stream or river. When finished the house has the appearance of a large mound resting on the water. The front door

is under the water, and so is the way to the various rooms, which are not unfrequently built two and sometimes even three stories high. When comfortably housed, therefore, the animals are quite safe from their natural enemies the wolves, who often pursue them to the very water's edge.

If a stream is their only possible site, the animals first of all build a dam or breakwater right across it, below where their dwellings are to be. Civil engineers have lately ascertained that the strongest breakwaters are those built with a slight curve to turn the force of the waves, and many sea-walls and other similar constructions are now built in that form. Now this is exactly the kind of wall that beavers have been building for thousands of years.

But to build a substantial dam that will not be broken by the shock of the water is no easy matter, as many of our youthful readers will have discovered when carrying on their early efforts in engineering by the seaside, or near some inland river. How does the beaver accomplish his task? He makes a wise use of the implements with which Nature has endowed him-his teeth, his paws, and his tail; and the animals who constitute a single colony always act in unison and under the recognised leadership of one of their number. Their teeth are sharp, and are deeply riveted in the jaws, and are so strong that they can gnaw down large trees, and, as an ordinary thing, make their way through a trunk four inches in diameter almost as quickly as a

man could with an axe. The stems and branches of trees are either drawn to the necessary spot on the tails of the animals, or they are floated down the stream to the place where they are wanted. The tail is used not only as a hod for the animal to carry his materials upon, but is sometimes made to serve the purpose of a trowel. The paws are used to work and soften the clay. They use sticks, stones, branches, roots, moss, grasses, clay-it is all fish that comes to their net-they can use up almost anything they come across. With these materials they construct their causeway as skilfully as any human architect. The willows, poplars, &c., which they use sometimes strike root in the mud or clay, and have been known to grown in time to a green hedge in which birds have built their nests. When the dam has been raised to its proper height, the chambers for the animals to live in are rapidly finished. These mounds, however, are of such strength, and built on such true principles, that though put together by small creatures of two or three feet in length, a strong man can jump on them without any fear of their giving way. The food of the beaver consists of the bark of trees and such shrubs and flowers as grow on the water or near it. They are confined, therefore, by a double necessity, to districts that are well watered and well wooded. During the summer they gather together a store of food for the winter, for experience, or instinct, has taught them that then it is very scarce, and if their magazines are not well filled they will have to subsist on "short commons." This food is

stored beneath the water, and at such a depth that it can never be locked in by the ice. Fresh cut bark, however, is as dainty to them as fresh meat to sailors who have for months lived on salt junk, and it is with this the hunters bait their most successful traps.

Besides giving us a beautiful covering for our persons, the beaver presents to every reflecting mind some valuable lessons on industry, thrift, and concord. A colony of beavers seems to form a sort of academy of architects and engineers, who proceed on well-shaped and rational plans, which they are able to modify if the necessity should

arise.

When we see the extent and solidity of their work, and its almost perfect resemblance with works erected by man for the same purposes; when we see them raise an embankment, and make even sluices if the occasion for them should arise; when we see them build their houses and plaster them much the same as we do our apartments; when we see them contrive various modes of exit and of entrance; when we see them carefully store up a supply of food for a day of need; when we see them form themselves into an organised society with hardly ever a single traitor to the good of the commonwealth, and, therefore, no reasons for prisons or the police in their little economy, every reflecting mind must acknowledge the wisdom and adore the goodness of the great Creator who hath made everything beautiful in His

season.

TOM FOSTER, THE ORPHAN.

M

BY CHARLES LEACH.

CHAPTER X.-THE THEATRE.

Y son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not," is excellent advice, which all our readers will do well to follow. Solomon who gave it had a large experience of life. He knew far more of men and things than some of us possibly can, though we live in the nineteenth century. His experience taught him that sinners do entice, and he shows his wisdom in advising us not to consent. If you will follow his advice it will save you from many a pang, much disgrace, and the misery into which so many thousands have fallen.

But we return to our story. One evening when business was over, Barker and Foster went out for a walk. When they had gone some distance Barker said, "Foster, I think I shall go to the theatre to-night. 'The Poor of Liverpool' is to be played, and I should very much like to see it. You will go with me, I suppose ? " "To the theatre!" said Foster, evidently astonished at such a proposal. "Yes," replied the other; "I am sure you would enjoy it, there is such a good company here at present. I mean to see this wonderful play."

"But I think it wrong to go to such a place," said Tom ;" and I am very sorry that you think of going.'

"Well, as to its being wrong," said Barker, “I don't see that. I can hardly think that you are right in calling it wrong. Remember that people who are very respectable go there. Sometimes even ministers can be seen there. And I am sure you will not believe that ministers would go if it were wrong."

This was a powerful argument against Tom. He could not think that ministers would go if there were anything wrong going on there. He forgot, or rather he had never learned, that even good men sometimes make mistakes. Barker, who saw that he was winning, followed up his argument with such others as those can, and only those would, who try to make a wrong thing look right, if it answers their purpose and serves their end.

66 But," said Foster, "I am afraid that Mr. Trueman would be very angry if he knew we had been to such a place as that."

"Well, as to that," said Barker, "you need have no fears. No one will know us there. And even if they did there is no fear that they would ever think of telling Mr. Trueman. But suppose they should go sneaking to tell him, what of that? We have done our day's work, and are now out for our own pleasure. I did not know that we were at all bound to ask him where we should go. I have never done so yet, and another thing, I don't intend. Come along, man, don't be a

66

baby all your life." After saying this, he put his arm through Foster's and led him along. Foster was still hesitating, and said: Suppose we were to go, what time should we get home?" "About eleven o'clock or soon after," said Barker. "Eleven o'clock !" said Tom; "you know I never stop out after ten o'clock. I have never been out so late as that since I came to live at Mr. Trueman's."

"That is no reason why you never should be," said Barker.

"But if we were out so late we should be sure to be found out," said Foster. "You know the housekeeper will not go to bed until we get home and have had supper. She would be sure to ask where we have been stopping so late, and you know I cannot tell a lie about it. Then Mr. Trueman will get the news first thing. Of course, as you say, it may not be wrong, but if I go to the theatre, I had much rather Mr. Trueman did not know I had been."

Barker saw that he had now got him. It was very easy for him to remove the last difficulty, which he now did by saying:

"You have no occasion to fear anything from Mary; I have made it all right with her long ago. The first time I was out late, like you, I was afraid she would tell, so I bought her a brooch, and that set all things right. I have been out many times since then, but she never tells. As I thought of going to see this play, I knew I should be late, and as I expected you would go with me, I told her that Foster, and I would be rather late, as we were going to the theatre. She laughed, and wished she had the chance to go."

By this time they were at the door of the theatre, and almost before Tom knew it he had passed for the first time in his life across the threshold of a common theatre, and had taken his first step to ruin. It is impossible to describe Tom's feelings as he sat there, thinking that everybody was gazing at him. Let us say that he was very uneasy. Indeed, he was ashamed, confused, and restless. He looked toward the door, and was more than half inclined to walk to it and pass out, when the spell was broken by the tinkling of a bell and the rising of a curtain. The play went on from scene to scene and act to act. In spite of himself, Foster was interested somewhat. Barker saw this and tried to keep up the interest, in the few short intervals, by assuring him that what was to follow was better still, and the fire scene best of all.

The play ended, the youths went home and soon retired. Barker was glad that he had gained a point with Foster, and slept well. But Foster, when alone in his room, was very much troubled. Now he felt what he had done. He would have given anything to have undone that night's work, but that could not be. With a heavy heart he got into bed, and laid his head upon the pillow, which, though soft enough before, now felt a good deal harder than the stone he placed his head upon in the horse-box some years before.

CHAPTER XI.-AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY.

NEXT day Barker took care to let some of the assistants know that young Foster and he had been to the theatre. He had reasons, best known to himself, for doing this, but they were no doubt of a questionable character. Foster did not like this, but as the assistants seemed to look upon it as a privilege, he began to think that after all he had done nothing wrong.

The two youths became more attached to each other. Barker seemed to be such a good fellow, that Foster began to think himself fortunate in having his friendship. Besides, he was very liberal. Foster had very little money. Barker had plenty, and was always ready to treat his companion to anything he like to have.

Had Foster been wise enough to think about Barker's position, and reckon up his income from all lawful sources, he would have been not a little uneasy about the amount of money which he had at his disposal. It never occurred to him at this time that anything was wrong. He was like the victim of the rattlesnake charmed by its music, but unconscious of its sting, until he felt its poison in his blood, and smarted from the pain.

Again we crowd a few years of Foster's history into a few sentences. He attended to his business, and so far had the esteem and confidence of his master. But he had left Sunday school, seldom went to a place of worship, neglected his Testament, and had become very irregular in his visits to Mr. Wood's. These good people were glad to see him looking so gentlemanly as he always did, but were afraid that he was growing rather careless. Whenever they spoke seriously to him, he always assured them that he was all right. Through these years Barker was his constant companion. They had both learned to smoke, to drink, and to gamble a little. But so far they had kept within what they were pleased to call reasonable bounds, and were not in the least suspected of irregular conduct by their master.

Foster is now a young man about twenty years of age. A few days after his twentieth birthday he was taken from behind the counter to a place in the office. In his promotion to this position he was lifted over one or two others. It was evident that he had won the confidence of his employer, and had a fair prospect of making for himself a good place in the firm of Mr. Trueman. When a few weeks had passed, he was master of the difficulties of his new position, and liked the work well. About this time Mr. Trueman made a discovery which was of no small importance, and not a little damaged the character of Foster in the eye of his master.

Having business of importance which required his absence from home for a few weeks, Mr. Trueman was very busy for some days previous to his departure. The night before he went away he was at his office until a very late hour. He and the manager were in the private office until past midnight, but their presence on the premises was not known to those in the house. Leaving the office between