A WOODCHUCK AND A GEEBE 



N r fact comes to mind which is not more im- 

 pressed upon us by the valuable aid of 

 comparisons, and Nature is ever offering antith- 

 eses. At this season we are generally given a 

 brief glimpse — the last for the year — of two crea- 

 tures, one a mammal, the other a bird, which are 

 as unlike in their activities as any two living crea- 

 tures could well be. 



What a type of lazy contentment is the wood- 

 chuck, as throughout the hot summer days he lies 

 on his warm earthen hillock at the entrance of his 

 burrow. His fat body seems almost to flow down 

 the slope, and when he waddles around for a 

 nibble of clover it is with such an effort that we 

 feel sure he would prefer a comfortable slow 

 starvation, were it not for the unpleasant feelings 

 involved in such a proceeding. 



As far as I know there are but two things which 

 can rouse a woodchuck to strenuous activity; 

 when a dog is in pursuit he can make his stumpy 

 feet fairly twinkle as he flies for his burrow, and 

 when a fox or a man is digging him out, he can 

 literally worm his way through the ground, fre- 

 quently escaping by means of his wonderful 

 digging power. But when September or October 

 days bring the first chill, he gives one last yawn 



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