Burlington Hawkeye. As we whirl out of New York the thermometer begins to go down, though for why, nobody knows; it's cold enough up where it is. But cold and colder grows the night, and by daylight a redhot stove feels like an icicle. Uneasy lies the foot that wears a chilblain. Even the fooi who says, "Is this cold enough foryou?" now only looks at you weeps with his nose, and says nothing Tbo brakeman, touched by the sliiver ing appearance of the gradually freez ing passengers, only holds the car door open a little longer than usual. When the train stops the chilled brakes let go uneasily and slowly, and there is a concert of wails, and groans, and sighs under the car that is enough to wako a night watchman. The train boy comes along with a tray of orangcs. Every body shudders. That boy will be sunstruck one of these days. The man who sits olosest the stove lays the rubber soles of his arcticsright againstits glowins sides. Nobody complaihs. Anythmg that smells of the fire taste good. The fat passenger makes two or three desperate efforts to sit on his freezing feet, but with a heart-rending groan gives it up and puts them on his valise and looks the picture, the tall, thin passengers remark, of L111 Vt V;i "H.VA iVVWVl.) v - snovr man. That fat passenger stiiled a groan to say that he hopes he may turn into a snow man before he lives to look like an icicle on a Doctor Tanner diet. Tho tall, thin passenger saVs no more, but sits with his shoulders drawn up to his ears, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his back bowed, dnimming a wild, weird improvisations for two drums on the floor with his feet. The man with the sandy goateo strokesthat ornamental appendage wifli his shivering hauds so constantly that the cross passenger asks him if he is trying to' warm them at it. The cross passenger cnrls up in a knot at one end of the seat, and has a light with the conductor rather than pull one of his hands out of his warm pocket to show his ticket. The umi nassmio-fir shivers in wensive, eomplaining silenco, like a clipped rier looking in at the kitclien window. Once in a while he thaws a hole in the f rost in the car window with his tongue, [ and looks out with one eye at the desolate wintry landscape flyiug past, and then sighs, but lie says never a word. The man on the wood-box shudders a litile every time any one goes in or out, but for the most of the time he shiclds his face from the glowing heat with his nat, and looks down at his smoking shins with great satisfaction. For once he has the boss seat in the front row. And he offers to yield it to no man. The woman who talks bass sits bolt upright, straight as a ram; her hands are in her muit; her feet are twiu blocks of ice; her nose is tipped with blue; her ears are scarlet, and her eyes. are set. Only one man had the temerity to ask if she were cold. And then, without turning her head, she answered htm with such an awful, icy croak, that it chilled the warm life-blood in his throbbing veins, and he is now riding out on the front platform frying to freeze himself to death. Brethren, as sure as you' re bom, it is a cold day. Whv do I write so much about the weather? Because. inquisitive son of the question-book, thcre is so much weather to write about. There is more weather in the land just at this present moment of writing than there is of anythiug else. If you don'tbelieve it, uncover your ears and count it for yourself. And the weather may be a highly interesting topic of conversation, even though it seemeth so threadbare. For see, when a man says to you: "it is colder than the bosom of a snow man," say then unto him: "Thou liest!" Then will he straightway make itwarm for thee. And this will prove him to be the liar you said he was. and you also will be counted among the vveatherprophets.