Signs of a severe Winter--The Little Auk or Auklet--The Gadwall--Falcons being trained by the Prussians to intercept the Paris Carrier Pigeons--Ballooning--The King of Prussia's Piety--John Forster--Solar Eclipse of 22d December 1870--The Government and the Eclipse--Large Solar Spots--Visible to the naked eye--Rev. Dr. Cumming--November Meteors. It must have been in view of some such scene [November 1870] as the early morning presents to the eye at present that Horace began his celebrated ode to Augustus-- "Jam satis terris nivis, atque diræ Grandinis misit Pater"-- Enough, enough of snow and direful hail! Or if you prefer the wintry scene in the ninth Ode-- "Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus Sylvæ laborantes: gelûque Flumina constiterint acuto?" Which our countryman Theodore Martin thus renders-- "Look out, my Thaliarchus, round! Soracte's crest is white with snow, The drooping branches sweep the ground, And, fast in icy fetters bound, The streams have ceased to flow." The snow-clad Soracte itself could not wear a colder or wintrier aspect than does our own Ben Nevis at this moment. We have, in truth, had a great deal of sleet and snow and rattling hail showers of late, with bitterly cold winds and frost enough to induce one to don his warmest habiliments when venturing abroad, and thoroughly to appreciate the comforts of a bright and blazing fire within doors. Winter, in short, has fairly set in; and we must just battle with its inclemencies as best we may until a more genial season has come round. And an unusually inclement and severe winter is this likely to prove. Our lochs and estuaries are swarming with Arctic sea-fowl, that already venture quite close to the shore, and seek their food in the most sheltered bays, a sure sign that much cold weather, with heavy gales from the north and north-west, cannot be far away. Among these web-footed visitors from the far north we have observed two that are extremely rare on our part of the west coast, even in the severest winters. One of these is the ratch or auklet (Alca alle, Linn.), a very pretty little black and white diver, the smallest bird of the genus with which we are acquainted, a little more rotund in form and of a robuster frame than the well-known dipper of our streams, but otherwise very like it. Another is the gadwall (Anas strepera), a species of duck very rare in our north-western waters--a very pretty little duck, with a remarkably loud and harsh voice, so loud that on a calm frosty day it reaches you over a sea surface distance of several miles. We have only identified the latter at a distance by the aid of a powerful binocular. It is not a difficult bird to recognise, however, on account of its distinct markings, and we are as confident that we have repeatedly seen it during the present month as if we had it in our cabinet. And talking of birds, what does the