WOODCHUCKS 



woodchuck may be seen, a hairy philosopher 

 of the woods, sitting on top of his burrow or 

 on top of some stump close by, enjoying his 

 favorite occupation of sunning himself and 

 ruminating on the perfidy of man. Motion- 

 less as a monument, and yet warily observant 

 of his surroundings, he will sit in this way 

 for hours at a time. It is believed by many 

 people that the woodchuck really enjoys the 

 pleasures of woodland meditation. The soft 

 winds go by and the sun slants lingeringly 

 along the broad slopes about his home. 

 Swallows swing gracefully above the apple- 

 trees on the hill, and from a barkless limb 

 comes down the tattoo of the red-headed 

 woodpecker. Doves go past, swift as light, 

 their lead-colored wings striking sharply 

 across the treetops. The waters of the lake 

 drift idly in and as lazily recede. The sum- 

 mer dreams and dozes, and clouds of whitest 

 fleece lie furled in upper harbors of bluest 

 ether. And the brown stoic of the fields 

 looks out over all the peace and beauty of 

 this landscape, and wonders why man was 

 made to interrupt the thread of his mus- 

 ings, and waylay him with rifle and shot-gun, 



