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How pleasant 'tis to mark the labouring plough
Traverse the field, and leave a sable track,
While merrily behind the driver stalks,
Whistling in thoughtless vacancy of mind.

D. M. MOIR.

MARCH.

And ow men see not the bright light which is in the clouds, but the wind passeth by and cleanseth them.

Fair weather cometh out of the north.

JOB Xxxvii. 21, 22.

EVERY month, like a good servant, brings its own character with it. This is a circumstance which, the more I have studied the Seasons, the more I have been led to admire. Artificial as the division of the months may be deemed by some, it is so much founded in nature, that no sooner comes in a new one than we generally have a new species of weather, and that instantaneously. This curious fact is more particularly conspicuous in the earlier months, there being greater contrast in them. In comes January,—and let the weather be what it might before, immediately sets in severe cold and frost: in February, wetwet wet; which, the moment March enters, ceases-and lo! instead-even on the very first of the month, there is a dry, chill air, with breaks of sunshine stealing here and there over the landscape. The clouds above fly about

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with a brisker motion, and the paths under our feet, which yesterday were intolerably miry, become at once solid and dry. The change is surprising. Twelve hours of March air will dry the surface of the earth almost to dustiness, even though no sunshine should be seen; and a peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom," says the whole proverb, which we may suppose means, that the drying property of March is invaluable, removing the superabundant humidity, and enabling the husbandman to get in his seeds- the hope of summer produce. So speedily does the mire of winter vanish in this month, that country people, who connect their adages, which though significant are not literally true, with something which makes them partially so, say, "The rooks have picked up all the dirt," because the rooks are now busily employed in building their nests, and use mire to line them, as do magpies too at this period; who place their thorny halls on the tops of the yet leafless trees, objects conspicuous but secure.

March is a rude, and sometimes boisterous month, possessing many of the characteristics of winter, yet awakening sensations perhaps more delicious than the two following spring months, for it gives us the first announcement and taste of spring. What can equal the delight of our hearts at the very first glimpse of

spring the first springing of buds and green herbs! It is like a new life infused into our bosoms. A spirit of tenderness, a burst of freshness and luxury of feeling, possesses us: and let fifty springs have broken upon us, this joy, unlike many joys of time, is not an atom impaired. Are we not young? Are we not boys? Do we not break, by the power of awakened thoughts, into all the rapturous scenes of all our happier years? There is something in the freshness of the soil-in the mossy bank-the balmy air-the voices of birds the early and delicious flowers, that we have seen and felt only in childhood and spring.

There are frequently mornings in March, when a lover of Nature may enjoy, in a stroll, sensations not to be exceeded, or perhaps equalled, by any thing which the full glory of summer can awaken :-mornings which tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or the fear of its return, out of our thoughts. The air is mild and balmy, with, now and then, a cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, contributing towards that cheering and peculiar feeling which we experience only in spring. The sky is clear; the sun flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost summer glow. The world seems suddenly aroused to hope and enjoyment. The fields are assuming a vernal greenness―

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