MARCH DAYS 



ize that nothing is quite so good as the 

 old stand-by, a naked ground, and crave 

 more of it, even as this is, and hunger 

 for it with its later garnishing of grass 

 and flowers. The crows, too, are drawn 

 to these bare patches and are busy upon 

 them, and you wonder what they can find ; 

 spiders, perhaps, for these you may see 

 in thawy days crawling sluggishly over 

 the snow, where they must have come 

 from the earth. 



The woods are astir with more life than 

 a month ago. The squirrels are busy and 

 noisy, the chickadees throng about you, 

 sometimes singing their sweet brief song 

 of three notes ; the nuthatches pipe their 

 tiny trumpets in full orchestra, and the 

 jays are clamoring their ordinary familiar 

 cries with occasional notes that you do 

 not often hear. One of these is a soft, 

 rapidly uttered cluck, the bird all the time 

 dancing with his body, but not with his 

 feet, to his own music, which is pleasant 

 to the ear, especially when you remember 

 it is a jay's music, which in the main can- 

 not be recommended. To-day, doubtless, 

 he is practicing the allurements of the 

 mating season. 



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