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has been said "Let the dead past bury its dead!" Very good, We bury
the past as we last week buried the seeds of the grass, grain, and
garden, to come up again. "That's the rub," and the good of it they
won't stay buried; they will come up again. Besides, we know well that if we want clover and oats and sweet corn, we must not scatter garlic and daisy and chickwed.

"Sown in darkness, or sown in light,
Sown in weakness, or sown in might,
Sown in meekness, or sown in wrath,
In the broad world-field or the shadow path,
Sure will the harvest be!"

Your historian is not accostomed to be poetical and moralistic
at the commencement of his review. Forgive him! The extraordinary
frevor must surely be suggested by the extraordinary progress and
early luxuriance of the present season. We have had in many respects
an extraordinary year. The most marked feature was an unusual
regularity in the advance of the successive seasons. Last spring was
not an early one; but when it did finally commence, it went on with
scarcely any of those backsets so common in our climate. No "winter
lingering in the lap of May" last year. The summer, -- well, the
summer went on regularly too, until it attained a high steady
temperature, which was of such intensity as probably not to have
passed altogether out of your recollection. Then came autumn, one
of the most beautiful that any of us has known: its calm lovely days
by no means "the saddest of the year," followed one other in remarkable
succession of gradually reducing temperature over apping far into
December, and putting off the actual advent of winter until all
might be supposed ready for its coming. Fresh roses in bloom were
plucked from the gardens late into December. At length winter came