But although March has thus acquired a character that is not the best in the world, there are some pleasant things to be said about it. William Howitt, who takes a cheerful view of almost everything in nature, admits that “March is a rude and sometimes boisterous month, possessing many of the characteristics of winter;”--“yet,” he adds, “it awakens sensations, perhaps, more delicious than the two following spring months, for it gives us the first announcement and taste of spring.” Bryant too--our own poet, and one of the sweetest that ever sung--finds something pleasant to say of March; a pretty good proof that nothing is wanting but good humor to render a person always able to find something agreeable to talk about. See how truly and yet how pleasantly Bryant describes this capricious month:-- The stormy MARCH has come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah! passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou to northern lands again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train, And wear’st the gentle name of spring. And in thy reign of blast and storm Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the bloom of May. The fourth day of this month will be distinguished this year by the inauguration of William Henry Harrison as President of the United States. The people of this country chose him to that office last autumn, and on the fourth day of March he enters upon its duties. He goes to the capitol at Washington, and in the presence of the Senate, and a great concourse of people, he takes an oath, administered by the chief justice of the nation, by which he pledges himself to use his best efforts to govern the people according to the laws, and with a view to promote their best happiness. The Child and the Violets. “Oh, mother, mother!” said the child, “I saw the violets blue; Thousands were there, all growing wild; Mother, I tell you true! They sat so close upon the ground, Here and there, and all around, It seemed as if they had no stems, And all the grass was strown with gems. “‘Whence came ye, flowers?’ I asked them all; They would not say a word; Yet something seemed to hear my call, And near me was a bird. I turned mine eye,--he flew away,-- Up he went with joyous lay; And seemed to sing, as high he flew, ‘From yonder sky come violets blue.’”