A MARCH CHRONICLE. 



ON THE POTOMAC. 



]V f[ ARCH i. — The first day of spring and the first 

 ^ spring day ! I felt the change the moment 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 in- 

 terfusion of a new element. Not ten days since 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. Ev- 

 ery 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 black- 

 birds. The shad must have known it, down deep in 

 their marine retreats, and leaped and sported about the 

 mouths of the rivers, ready to dart up them if the genial 

 influence continued. The bees in the hive also, or in 



