" INTELLIGENCE like our own is seen to be looking out upon us from every taft of grass, and from every heathery knoll, from the solitudes of the forests and the shady dells." — CALDERWOOD.
THIS midwinter twilight I ride over the clean white track, and note the changing shadows of the departing day as they deepen into darker purple along the overhanging snow-drifts, where the north wind, the " fierce artificer," has built in " frolic architecture " the endless curves of beauty. The voice of every beast and bird is hushed, the short twilight is fast disappearing, the solemn star-eyed night, with shade after shade, shuts out the distant hill and nearer wood. Like some spirit of the oncoming darkness, with stealthy wings a huge bird comes directly towards me, like a black spot slanting across the snowy background. He passed me with an upward swirl of his strong pinions, and turns his ugly countenance on me with a twist of his neck, and I can see the yellow-green of his eyes, the hook of his