MARCH. 
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. 
• ELCOME, March ! Adieu, rude Winter, weird 
and wild. “ Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mild¬ 
ness, come ! Come, ye vernal breezes and 
refreshing showers, come, and welcome in the length¬ 
ening days'! ” Nature begins to look gay, and to don her 
robes of brightest green. Spring is come at last, and 
March is here. Now, on the very first of the month 
there is a dry, chill air, with breaks of bright sunshine 
here and there over the landscape. The clouds move 
faster. The paths which in February were wet and 
sloppy, are now solid and dry, and the East wind sends 
clouds of dust along the roads. ’Tis glorious weather 
for the husbandman, who loses not a moment in dig¬ 
ging, ploughing, and harrowing the earth—in planting 
