A MARCH CHRONICLE 



ON THE POTOMAC 



~IV ,T~AECH 1. The first day of spring and the 

 **-" first spring day! I felt the change the mo 

 ment I put my head out of doors in the morning. 

 A fitful, gusty south wind was blowing, though the 

 sky was clear. But the sunlight was not the same. 

 There was an interfusion of a new element. Not 

 ten days before there had been a day just as bright, 

 even brighter and warmer, a clear, crystalline 

 day of February, with nothing vernal in it; but 

 this day was opaline; there was a film, a sentiment 

 in it, a nearer approach to life. Then there was 

 that fresh, indescribable odor, a breath from the 

 Gulf, or from Florida and the Carolinas, a subtle, 

 persuasive influence that thrilled the sense. Every 

 root and rootlet under ground must have felt it; 

 the buds of the soft maple and silver poplar felt 

 it, and swelled perceptibly during the day. The 

 robins knew it, and were here that morning; so 

 were the crow blackbirds. The shad must have 

 known it, down deep in their marine retreats, and 

 leaped and sported about the mouths of the rivers, 



