THE MARCH WOODS. 
The long white lines which stretch along the brown 
hillsides are the relics of the snowdrifts which still lie on 
the shady side of the stone walls, at this distance invisi- 
ble. If we could forget for a while that this is March 
we might think it some late October day or some long- 
belated bit of Indian summer arrived at its destination. 
The air is calm but with a chill in it suggestive of snow- 
fields yet lingering about us. The sky is almost serene, 
in pleasant contrast with the most of March hitherto. 
This, with the cheery warbling of the bluebird and the 
robin, reminds us that it is time to be away to the 
woods again to see what signs are visible of the awak- 
ening of Nature from her winter sleep. We can hardly 
expect blossoms as yet, but feel sure we shall not be 
without some reward of our labors. 
The prospect from the top of our favorite hill has 
much in it which reminds us of the late autumn. The 
nearer hills are for the most part robed in brown, with 
