In undertaking to describe some of the peculiarities of a southern spring, I do not aim at special accuracy, or fulness of detail; but attempt, simply, to speak of what is noticeable by a stranger from the north. My information was gathered during the winters and springs of two successive years, in the several States on the sea-board, but • chiefly in Florida.

For the benefit of some of your readers, allow me to state, first, that there is a winter at the south, as well as at the north. Frosts out off the the leaves of deciduous trees and shrubs in November; so that, aside from the greater number and variety of evergreens which abound there, the winter landscape is almost as dreary as at the north. Several kinds of oak, the persimmon, cypress, gum-tree, catalpa, pride of India, and other deciduous trees, are without leaves for nearly three months. But between the vast forests of pine, the live and water oak, the laurel, bay-tree, magnolia, and other evergreen trees and shrubs, one can easily imagine, (on a fair day,) that he is in the midst of summer. Snow and ice are seldom seen in Florida. Hardy vegetables, such as peas, cabbage, lettuce, and turnips, are often grown during the entire winter. The whole family of roses, geraniums, verbenas, the aloe, and other tender plants, require no protection. The temperature of the air during the three winter months ranges, at mid-day, from about 45° to 80°; the average is probably not far from 65°. A little fire upon the hearth is often needed for comfort, and an overcoat is not amiss when the "northers" blow.

But there are frequent intervals of delightful balmy weather, when the sun shines warm through a soft, hazy atmosphere, and the wind, blowing fresh from the tropics, fans your cheek with its fragrant breath, and gives elasticity to your frame. On such days the invalid comes out from his chamber and sits upon the broad piazza, which adorns every southern house, and while inhaling the genial air, breathes freer, and indulges again the hope of recovery. But such weather continues only a few days at a time. The air is, for the most part, so cold that nearly all vegetation remains dormant A few birds are seen throughout the winter, such as pelican, gull, fish-hawk, etc., on the rivers and sea-shore; and the blue jay, wren, blue-bird, turkey buzzard and crow, inland. The last named seems to have a bronchial affection, - his caw being quite feeble and husky.

The first indication of coming spring is seen not in any change of the weather, but in the planting of Irish potatoes \ Gardens are seldom plowed for this purpose, but merely dog over with a heavy hoe. Trenches, eight or ten inches deep, are then made, a little manure is spread in the bottom, the potato dropped in, and the whole covered with several inches of soil.

Early in February, the air gradually becomes milder. Fires are often suffered to go down in the middle of the day, and one feels an irresistable desire to stroll in the fields in search of some fresh green leaf or spring flower. Nor will he search in vain, for the- mulberry is now expanding its leaves, and the peach is opening here and there a blossom. A few days later, you will find the wild blue violet, and pink, white, and yellow flowers as modest as the violet. If you walk in the neighborhood of streams or marshy places, you will notice next the scarlet blossoms of the soft maple. Soon you will find the wild plum, canopied with snowy flowers, musical with bees, and filling the air with a pleasant odor; and then the red-bud tree with its singular blossoms. But perhaps more pleasing than anything yet beheld, will be the first flower of the yellow jasmine, a vine which you have noticed during the winter, clambering over fences and bushes by the road-side and far up among the branches of trees, now opening its numerous trumpet-shaped blossoms, and loading the air with delicious fragrance. Soon the orange and fig trees push out fresh leaves, and flowers appear on the blackberry, the wild rose and shrub honeysuckle. Meanwhile, the birds are singing merrily.

Chief among them is the mocking-bird, whom you hear early in the morning and late at night; unless we except the bob-o'-link, no bird seems so gleeful as this. Swaying upon the highest branch of a tree, he pours forth a continuous song, and that in every dialect, as though he would tell all the feathered creation what a delightful world he lives in; or, flying about and balancing himself in the air, he sings and chatters all the while, as though he had more joy than he could well contain.

In the latter part of February, and early in March, trees of all kinds put forth fresh leaves. The pine sends out the yellow tufts on the ends of its branches. The leaves of the live and water oak rustle to the ground, being pushed off by the opening of new leaf buds. The dull, greyish green of the olive becomes brighter, the cabbage palmetto and date tree send up central leaf stalks, and the towering magnolia (grandi-Jlora) takes on new adornments of thick, glossy leaves, and large white flowers. Soon the scarlet blossoms of the pomegranate appear, and the little brown flowers of the long trailing moss; the "hawthorn's top" is a mass of snowy white, and the red jasmine, clambering over many a bush and tree, gives them the appearance of having been dipped in blood. In the course of this month, (March,) oleanders, roses, verbenas, geraniums, and a great variety of garden flowers, are in the perfection of their beauty. The roses! the roses! To see the Lamarque, Cloth of Gold, Ophir, Bank-Has, and other tea scented varieties climbing over pillars and even above second story windows, completely loaded with flowers, is a sight which one must himself behold, in order to appreciate its splendor. Lettuce, beets, Irish potatoes, peas and strawberries now appear on the table.

Beans, melons, corn, and all kinds of vegetables are growing rapidly. And, to tell the whole story, rattlesnakes, lizards, and other reptiles now come out of their winter quarters. Alligators are seen sporting in the rivers and creeks, carrying their black noses above water, or basking in the sun upon the marshy shore.