MARCH SUNSHINE 



FINE days in early March are, by an ancient 

 tradition, placed among " the flatteries of the 

 faithless year." This year (1911) flatteries of 

 such sort have been few, and every dust -liveried 

 servant of the soil will tell you that the season is 

 backward. Yet some of the processes of Nature 

 go on without consulting a laggard thermometer, 

 and even when skaters and curlers were still active 

 on the ice the blackbird was making furtive dashes 

 at his future mate. He had no notion why he did 

 it, and after each dash shamefacedly accused 

 himself of idiocy unworthy of a blackbird male. 

 But the foolishness was repeated, and all the while 

 the bird's black coat was becoming glossier and 

 his bill a richer orange. The hen bird has been 

 slower to respond to the seasonal feelings, and 

 the silly outbursts of the males have surprised the 

 still sane gravity of her temper. As she hastily 

 evaded that mad dash of his, and turned to look 

 at him from a safe distance, with head critically 

 jerked to one side, her judgment was contemptuous 

 in the last degree. After all, she concluded, male 

 blackbirds were not among the things of life to 

 be taken seriously, and she promptly resumed the 

 search for slugs, which was real business. But 

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