60 DATS OUT OF DOORS. 



It is a little surprising that the Indians did not call 

 March the windy moon, for the fitful blasts that characterize 

 fully one half of its days could not have passed unheeded, 

 although the country then was heavily forested. 



I have lately learned to love these blustering March 

 mornings, particularly when they do not bluster ; for the 

 north wind is happily often held in abeyance, and at no time 

 can it sweep the sunny slopes that are already green with 

 expectant buds. After all, it is but a question of standing 

 on this or that side of a tree, whether it is spring or winter. 

 A grand old chestnut hard by has had green grass at its 

 roots since Christmas, and at the same time snow and ice 

 were banked upon the wrinkled north side of its trunk. 



But granting all this, why call March mornings match- 

 less ? Meet almost whomsoever you may, and he will de- 

 ride the opinion that they can be mentioned except to 

 condemn them. Nevertheless, I claim that they have 

 features unknown to the other months, and while ma- 

 ligned by the many, are not without merit to the few — 

 that happy few who delight in nature's harmless intoxi- 

 cant, pure air. Perhaps it is that the atmosphere is doubly 

 charged with that subtle quality, ozone, that now for a 

 whole month stimulates every sense ; but whatever it may 

 be, there is an all-pervading influence in the clear air of 

 a wild March morning that stirs us to livelier action; 

 something far more potent than the mere thought that a 

 long winter draws to a close. For years, I admit, I hon- 

 estly hated ; now, as honestly, I love these matchless March 

 mornings. 



That emphasis of action which we admire in mankind 

 because indicative of their own faith in their work, char- 

 acterizes every phenomenon in March, and calls forth my 

 admiration, notwithstanding the marked rudeness of a gusty 

 wind tends somewhat to disgust. But here I am mani- 

 festly unfair, for the cutting blasts are not unheralded : 



