Journalism in the broad bosom of the Rockies in midwinter is arduous. At this time, when the boulevards are wrapped in the plastic embrace of the snowslide, and the ïnareh of communication with the onter world is imaginary and irrepressive, the constitueney unite in wishing that winter was gone - gone with her laughter and love. The country scribe seeks the snowy wreaths of truth in silence and with uncertain step, as a search warrant parades the realms of somnambulistic slumbers in quest of a h'undred typos to cope with the rush of business at the office, which is left in charge of his satanic majesty. Now, what seems death is a change, when we look deeper down in the world's beautiful, and the blazoned optie sees not fruition but an altar in coerción of the tribute of nature. Ho wever, no one can deprive hibernated vitafity of this sphere of the felicity that across the vista of winter, with its fathoms of snows and frosts, April smiles, and the atmosphere ripens with fragrance and crocus blooms, just as over the gulf of death Faith sees the glow of the jeweled walls of heaven. N. B.- Only lie in this issue. - Rico News.