January, eighteen sixty-seven - an odd number that. Can it be that, according to the views of a deceased horticulturist, we are to have a barren fruit year, or, stepping across a broad chasm, that, as Rory O'More has it, there is "luck in odd numbers?" We shall see. As I now write, the records all over the country are that trees and vines were well prepared for winter, and thus far the temperature has been favorable - all looks well for a great crop of fruit the coming year. May it prove so to be, for great gatherings of fruit men are expected, and an unfavorable fruit season would keep back progress. However, let the fruit crop be what it may, of one thing we are certain, and that is, that January, 1867, has blossomed out more abundantly than ever before with Agricultural and Horticultural literature. New magazines and weekly and monthly journals have sprung into existence over all the land in such numbers that I almost fear some of them, if not many, will suffer from the want of sufficient nourishment, and come to the harvest before they are fully ripe. New books, plain practical illustrated books, just what the people want, also abound, and evince that the cultivators of the land not only increase, but that to be successful they must inform themselves thoroughly of their pursuit.

May all this continue and increase, for of a truth, notwithstanding the increase of rural laborers, that of the non-producing classes has, during the past three years, far outnumbered them. But to my notes.