A beautiful sunset to-night has served to reawaken our interest in this world of white sameness. Throughout the day the sky has been a cheerless gray from the zenith to a few degrees from the horizon. Low down there have been changes, now an ice-blink, now a water-sky, and again a series of seeming land clouds. The little play and change in colour, which has been evident for brief periods, is limited to a narrow strip under and over the cloud-hidden sun in the west and south. The comparative rarity of brilliant sunbursts and sunsets, in the smoky skies at the edge of the pack, has made the phenomenon to-night a real joy. At seven o’clock the long stratus clouds in the south-south-west, which were slaty in colour, became fringed with a touch of luminous gold. This increased gradually until the entire body of the clouds was gilded; then the sun, a great yellow ball of dull orange, sank under the creamy sheets of waving snows. The great fiery ball was only fifty seconds in passing from view, but in this time its face changed into at least ten distortions. There is a weird sadness in these faces: an expression which is singularly appropriate, because we know the good old luminary is quickly leaving us to brighten the top of the globe. She seems to feel it, for her face is like that of a dying mother sorry to leave her children alone in a world of hazard. The final parting, however, was more prolonged and more glorious than the actual presence. Soon the upper stratus of low clouds were showered with a scarlet light, which remained without apparent change for thirty minutes. Below and above this were narrow belts of bright and glistening silvery blue, while the ice was all aglow under a veil of pale magenta. Then followed a long purple twilight, which, in itself, is full of delightful charm. It is all an unimaginable dream.