0*- THE 



MARCH. 63 



birds that like them make glad the waste places during 

 March, but let us turn now to another and far from 

 spring-like phase of this much-maligned month. It is 

 one of historic storms. 



I gathered pink and white blossoms of the spring 

 beauty on the 10th of the present month, and on the 12th 

 they were under the drifting snow of what will pass into 

 history as the great storm of March, 1888. 



Where the humble flowers dotted the sprouting grass 

 there now rests a grand curl-crested drift, twenty feet 

 in height ; and where I at times sought shelter from occa- 

 sional gusts of chilly wind, that same day, now lies an up- 

 rooted chestnut with its storm- tossed branches strewed over 

 the meadow. Borne by the hurricane, the sand-like snow 

 has formed itself into one long, tortuous mound over the 

 smilax thickets; glittering and roseate in the morning 

 sun, cold and pale as death in the feeble moonlight. 

 The wondering, unhoused birds flitting over it by day 

 lessen, in part, the present dreariness of the scene ; but 

 when the faint shadow of a wandering owl passed over it 

 at night the spot was desolate beyond all power of words 

 to describe. 



Twice I attempted out of doors to watch the progress 

 of the storm, but soon learned the danger of the attempt. 

 It is marvelous, now, when all is so calm, to think that it 

 was unsafe to be but a few rods from the house. The 

 meager landscape changed with wonderful rapidity, and 

 snowdrifts that I found a shelter from the wind a moment 

 before were often moved bodily, or so it seemed, and 

 threatened to overwhelm me. I can liken the roar of the 

 wind among the trees to nothing less stupendous than Ni- 

 agara's cataract, but varying in this, that each tree gave 

 forth a different sound. Among the tall, mast-like 

 branches of three enormous beeches, the noise was so 

 shrill and piercing that it drowned at times the deeper- 



