Beer made with it certainly does not keep, says Thomson, but soon becomes muddy and flat, has a mawkish 
taste, and runs into the acetous fermentation. It is consequently less nutritious and wholesome than that 
which is properly hopped. (Woodv. mat. med. Thomson’s Lond. disp.) It subjects those brewers who 1 
employ it to a heavy penalty. Quassia-wood evidently has a narcotic power, from its being used to poison 
flies. 
Every month, says William Howitt,like a good servant, brings its own character with it. This is a circum- | 
stance which, the more I have studied the Seasons, the more I have been led to admire. Artificial as the division I 
of the months may be deemed by some, it is so much founded in nature, that no sooner comes in a new one, I 
than we generally have a new species of weather, and that instantaneously. This curious fact is more particu- 
larly 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, wet — wet — j 
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 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 I 
earth almost to dustiness, even though no sunshine should be seen; and “ a peck of March dust is worth a j 
king’s ransom,” says the old 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 f| 
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 lj 
partially so, say, "The rooks have picked up all the dirt,” because the' rooks are now busily employed in I 
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 1 
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 lj 
upon us, this joy, unlike many joys of time, is not an atom impaired. Are we not young? Are we not 1 
boys ? Do we not break, by the power of awakened thoughts, into all the rapturous scenes of all our happier H 
years ? There is something in the freshness of the soil — in the mossy bank — the balmy air — the voices of i 
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 j 
to be exceeded, or perhaps equalled, by any thing which the full glory of summer can awaken : — mornings j 
which tempt us to cast the memory of winter, or the fear of its return, out of our thoughts. The air is mild j 
and balmy, with, now and then, a cool gush by no means unpleasant, but, on the contrary, contributing H 
towards that cheering and peculiar feeling which we experience only in spring. The sky is clear : the sun i 
flings abroad not only a gladdening splendour, but an almost summer glow. The world seems suddenly ; 
aroused to hope and enjoyment. 
In the fields, labourers are plashing and trimming the hedges, and in all directions are teams at plough. J 
You smell the wholesome, and I may truly say, aromatic soil, as it is turned up to the sun, brown and rich, j 
the whole country over. It is delightful, as you pass along deep hollow lanes, or are hidden in copses, to j 
hear the tinkling gears of the horses, and the clear voices of the lads calling to them. It is not less plea- n 
sant to catch the busy caw of the rookery, and the first meek cry of the young lambs. The hares are hopping ! J 
about the fields, the excitement of the season overcoming their habitual timidity. The bees are revelling II 
in the yellow catkins of the sallow. The harmless English snake is seen again curled up, like a little coil of 1 1 
rope, with its head in the centre, on sunny green banks. The woods, though yet unadorned with their ! j 
leafy garniture, are beautiful to look on ; — they seem flushed with life. Their boughs are of a clear and I 
glossy lead colour, and the tree-tops are rich with the vigorous hues of brown, red, and purple ; and, if you 
plunge into their solitudes, there are symptoms of revivification under your feet — the springing mercury and j , 
green blades of the blue-bells — and perhaps above you the early nest of the missel-thrush, perched between n 
the boughs of a young oak, to tinge your thoughts with the anticipation of summer. These are mornings |J 
not to be neglected by the lover of Nature, and if not neglected, then not forgotten ; for they will stir the j i 
springs of memory, and make us live over again, times and seasons that we cannot, for the pleasure and 
purity of our spirits, live over too much. 
