" March 1st - My Daffodils, Jonquills, Buttercups, Valley Lilies, and Blue Bells, that border the garden paths, are in full bloom. Peas, Radishes, Cabbages, Lettuce, etc., are in a fine state of progress, and in another fortnight will delight our epicurean propensity. Peach, Plum, and Cherry trees are heavy with their beautiful blossoms. Through my open window comes the odor of Hyacinths and Jasmine".

So writes one from the sunny land of Georgia, whereon the sun deigneth to bestow his warm beamings, his genial favors, in greater lavishness than in this slighted region. Full three months will it be before we can tell such a tale. Three months longer we must ring changes on the winter stores which last summer's skill and forethought garnered. As for flowers, only the favored few - the possessors of conservatories and green-houses - can for some time yet delight their senses with their blossoming. Not before the last of May or first of June need we fatigue ourselves with garden making. Vastly discouraging would it seem to one of a more favored climate to go through so much toil for so short enjoyment of its fruits. They would think it hard indeed to have the earth locked up from use full half the year, vegetation sleeping, tree and shrub undecked, and the flowers in their " tiring rooms " nearly as long. What have we of the North to atone for the lack of lavish beauty, warmth, and luxury ? One thing we have, the delights of winter, which to them is only a short period of damp dullness.

A few weeks previous another wrote: "I enjoyed last winter one scene of rare beauty - the first of the kind in my recollection. It had been unusually cold for a few days. One evening it commenced snowing. The moon rose in her full, her light dimly shaded however by murky clouds. The snow came gently down in great feathery flakes; not a breath disturbed the hush of nature. I seated myself in the window behind the curtain and exclaimed 'how beautiful- how beautifull' At last I could stand it no longer, so Lavinia and I threw our shawls about us and went out where we could enjoy it all. Up and down the garden walks we tramped, standing sometimes to drink in a scene whose parallel we might not soon see again. Off to the woods, then to the hills, down to the village below us; over the valley our eyes wandered and lingered, thus to impress ineffacibly the beautiful pictures on our memory. I dreamed of elf-land that night. The next morning was clear and frosty beyond anything in my youthful memory. Such brilliance! my imagination, aided by descriptive readings, was tame - was nothing. The snow so softly falling had congealed on blade, and leaf, and stem, sometime scarcely changed, its feathery outline only becoming clear and crisp.

Elsewhere they had melted and hung in glittering drops and icicles from limb and branch. Cousin, how can I tell it to you! I absolutely have no language I I was enchanted and excited, and laughed and cried in a breath. The dazzling, glancing rays of early sunlight were reflected back and forth from bright points, glassy smoothnesses, and through beautiful prisms, ten thousand-thousand times, till the very air seemed to dance and glisten. Everything which the sunbeam touched scintillated and gleamed. Diamond sparks glittered, and gold splinters spangled and flashed up wherever the dancing rays quivered. The copse beyond the lawn, whose shadowy depths are impenetrable at this distance, was lighted till we could see through it A marble floor showed pure and fair between the dark uprising shafts. The bare boughs above gleamed as if a hundred lamps had lit up their dimness. Ah, those aisles and columns, frescoed arches and groins of nature's own handiwork, with which no art might vie! I would tell you of little flowers peeping through the snow, chilled and icy - of Monthly Roses and Chrysanthemums frozen and stiff, and a hundred other things, but you will think me intoxicated, and verily I was.

In a few hours this fairy splendor had vanished, and everything looked black, withered and limpsy, and the ground was muddy and mucky, and people with sublunary ideas began to query'and speculate on the fete of the fruit-buds. I thought I could willingly forego Peaches and Plums one year".

Ah, cousin, such scenes are common here, and they are not always so evanescent as to be quickly chased away by the approach of Sol. Then, too, we have the deep snows - the drifted snows - in curl-created waves and high banks, that you never have seen, and the wild borean winds whose music your ears never greeted.

Such homes as these cold winters make! - the long bright evenings, friendly circles, social joys, household pleasures, cozy comforts, warning affections, are the more enjoyed when so long and closely housed. Pursuits and occupations grow to completeness, uninterrupted by the enticing facinations of out-door summer life. How much easier when bound within the circle of our own door-sills to concentrate the thoughts and fix them on reading and study. What a nice time for building castles, and laying plans, and projecting great designs, that may, perchance, melt away with the snow and ice. How contentedly we can stitch away hour after hour with work-baskets beside us, when no birds, blossoms, or breezes are calling and coaxing us out.

Does not this stern, cold climate tend to a greater development of industry and energy ? In the short summer one must work busily and briskly, and learn to make the most of shining days, soft air, and genial rays. There is a happiness in planning and storing up comfort and enjoyment for the coming winter - the anticipations which are pretty sure to prove realities. There is bravery and energy in daring the cold piercing winds, the driving storms when needs be, which no life in soft airs and sunshine can call forth.

Thus you see I am too philosophical to look back upon the beautiful home of my childhood with longing eyes, but readily content myself in this busy, enterprising North-west Elsie.