The buds of trees show a more notice 

 able increase in size this month than pre 

 viously, especially the elm, tag-alder, red 

 maple, horse-chestnut and balm-of- 

 Gilead. In sunny, sheltered places the 

 "soft pussy willows are beginning to air 

 their gray furs" and the lilacs commence 

 to unpack their spring clothes. 



"The skunk cabbage flower with hood like a 



friar, 



Comes up from earth's cloister to view his old 

 place." 



"And in a sheltered garden-spot, 

 The timid snowdrop struggles up, 

 And bravely swings its dainty cup 

 'Why should I fear? The Spring is here.' " 



A step further across the threshold 

 and we shall reach the full affluence of 

 the "leaf ministries," at present only in 

 embryo. Meanwhile, that pleasure lying 

 in anticipation is enhanced in many a 

 way: mainly by the feathered denizens 

 in the lanes and about the homesteads. 



In the gloaming of a clear March day 

 if we can fortunately look out on an or 

 chard we shall see plenty of ruffed 

 grouse and when they are busily settled 

 to "budding" the careful opening of a 

 door will not disturb them and we may 

 hear them talk busily, much in the way 

 of a flock of poultry. 



On a clear morning, the form of a 

 large bird in a neighboring apple tree 

 leads us to think of the hairy wood 

 pecker ; but the glint of blue as it flashes 

 along in the sun shows it to be a blue- 

 jay. The cheery voice of the chickadee 

 on the roof, the faint note of the tree 

 sparrow hopping about the doorstep and 

 the wren uttering "her sweet and mellow* 

 plaint at times" gives us a homey, con 

 tented feeling. Down the country road we 

 spy a downy woodpecker merrily rapping 

 on that dead oak, and away from the 

 distance comes the unmistakable call, 

 "Peelt, peelt!" of his cousin the hairy. 

 Now we startle the juncos and white- 

 throated sparrows in 'the hedge of mead 



ow-sweet and wild clematis. The "caw 

 caw" of the crow and the melancholy 

 che-a of a small flock of siskins swooping 

 overhead ; the one, a harbinger of spring, 

 the other, suggestive of cold, bleak winds 

 remind us that "one crow does not make 

 warm weather," if we may be permitted 

 to alter slightly the old proverb. 



On a still, cloudy day the "kimp, 

 kimp" of birds flying low down pro 

 nounce them to be American crossbills, 

 Sometimes we are fortunate enough to 

 see alight in the yard a few of the white- 

 winged species of crossbill either by 

 themselves or with the American. 



An outlook on the orchard on a warm, 

 rainy day reveals the tiny red-breasted 

 nuthatches spirally moving about on 

 tree trunks, head downwards, searching 

 for insects on the mossy bark layers, and 

 the pine grosbeaks, our winter-robins, 

 eating frozen apples on the trees and 

 talking bird news all the while. 



In a clump of sumacs, its head, neck, 

 and breast hardly distinguishable from 

 the red berries, but revealed by its black 

 and white markings, I once had the rare 

 pleasure of watching a red-headed wood 

 pecker at his noon-tide lunch. The hap 

 piest March bird with whom I am ac 

 quainted is the snowflake and rightly 

 has it been named, appearing most fre 

 quently in "squally" weather, usually in 

 a flock of about a dozen. They seem to 

 join in the "dance and whirl of the blind 

 ing storm" hardly settling down to feast 

 on the yarrow and golden-rod seed stalks 

 before scurrying away only to appear 

 again and join in the revelry with the 

 drifting flakes. So when "March with 

 his hammers comes knocking at our 

 doors," as the old Breton ballad has it, 

 if we observe the seasons progress, we 

 shall have no difficulty in discerning the 

 beauty, the hope, and the promise inter 

 woven even with the chilly east winds. 

 LUCINA HAYNES LOMBARD. 



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