MARCH WINDS 



F OR two days the mad March winds 

 have been blowing a fifty-mile gale, set- 

 ting all the woodland crazy. No wonder 

 the March hare is mad. He lives in 

 Bedlam. No sooner does he squat com- 

 fortably in his form, his fair fat belly 

 with round apple-tree bark lined, topped 

 off with wee green sprigs of rash but suc- 

 culent spring herbs from the brookside, 

 ready to contemplate nature with all the 

 philosophy which such a condition engen- 

 ders, than the form rises in the air and 

 its component leaves skitter through the 

 wood and over the hill put of sight, leav- 

 ing him denuded. 



The usually dignified and gentle trees 

 howl like beagles on his trail. The pro- 

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