nd regarded me not till I paused within ten feet of him and
lifted myself up. Then he did not know me; having, perhaps, never seen
Adam in his simplicity, but he twisted his nose around to catch my
scent; and the moment he had done so he sprang like a jumping-jack and
rushed into his den with the utmost precipitation.

The woodchuck is the true serf among our animals; he belongs to the
soil, and savors of it. He is of the earth, earthy. There is generally
a decided odor about his dens and lurking-places, but it is not at all
disagreeable in the clover-scented air, and his shrill whistle, as he
takes to his hole or defies the farm dog from the interior of the stone
wall, is a pleasant summer sound. In form and movement the woodchuck is
not captivating. His body is heavy and flabby. Indeed, such a flaccid,
fluid, pouchy carcass, I have never before seen. It has absolutely no
muscular tension or rigidity, but is as baggy and shaky as a skin
filled with water. Let the rifleman shoot one while it lies basking on
a sidelong rock, and its body slumps off, and rolls and spills down the
hill, as if it were a mass of bowels only. The legs of the woodchuck are
short and stout, and made for digging rather than running. The latter
operation he performs by short leaps, his belly scarcely clearing the
ground. For a short distance he can make very good time, but he
seldom trusts himself far from his hole, and when surprised in that
predicament, makes little effort to escape, but, grating his teeth,
looks the danger squarely in the face.

I knew a farmer in New York who had a very large bob-tailed churn-dog by
the name of Cuff. The farmer kept a large dairy and made a great deal of
butter, and it was the business of Cuff to spend nearly the half of each
summer day treading the endless round of the churning-machine. During
the remainder of the day he had plenty of time to sleep, and rest, and
sit on his hips and survey the landscape. One day, sitting thus, he
discovered a woodchuck about forty rods from the house, on a steep
side-hill, feeding about near his hole, which was beneath a large rock.
The old dog, forgetting his stiffness, and remembering the fun he had
had with woodchucks in his earlier days, started off at his highest
speed, vainly hoping to catch this one before he could get to his hole.
But the woodchuck, seeing the dog come laboring up the hill, sprang to
the mouth of his den, and, when his pursuer was only a few rods off