1828.] The Bird-Catcher. 131 



mellow woodland tints, and its deep emerald pasture lands, every blade 

 and leaf covered with a thousand little drops, as pure as crystal, glitter- 

 ing and sparkling in the sunbeams like the dew on a summer morning, 

 or the still more brilliant scintillations of frost. 



It was in one of these days, early in November, that we set out about 

 noon to pay a visit to a friend at some distance. The fog was yet on 

 the earth, only some lightning in the south-west gave token that it was 

 likely to clear away. As yet, however, the mist held complete pos- 

 session a much prettier, lighter, and clearer vapour than that which is 

 defiled with London smoke, but every whit as powerful and as delusive. 

 We could not see the shoemaker's shop across the road no I nor our 

 chaise when it drew up before our door; were fain to guess at our own 

 laburnum tree ; and found the sign of the Rose invisible, even when we 

 ran against the sign-post. Our little maid, a kind and careful lass, who, 

 perceiving the dreariness of the weather, followed us across the court 

 with extra wraps, had well nigh tied my veil round her master js hat, 

 and enveloped me in his bearskin ; and my greyhound, Mossy, an 

 elephant of a dog, who had a mind to give us the undesired honour of 

 his company, carried his point, in spite of the united efforts of half; a 

 dozen active pursuers, simply because the fog was so thick that nobody 

 could see him. It was a complete game at bopeep. Even mine host 

 of the Rose, one of the most alert of his followers, remained invisible, 

 although we heard his voice close beside us. 



A misty world it was, and a watery ; and I that had been praising the 

 beauty of the fleecy white fog every day for a week before, began to 

 sigh, and shiver, and quake, as much from dread of an overturn as from 

 damp and dullness, whilst my careful driver and his sagacious steed went 

 on groping their way through the woody lanes that lead to the Loddon. 

 Nothing but the fear of confessing my fear, that feeling which makes so 

 many cowards brave, prevented me from begging to turn back again. 

 On, however, we went, the fog becoming every moment heavier as we 

 approached that beautiful and brimming river, which always, even in 

 the midst of summer, brings with it such images of coolness and fresh- 

 ness as haunt the fancy after reading Undine; and where on the present 

 occasion we seemed literally to breathe water as Dr. Clarke said in pass- 

 ing the Danube. My companion, nevertheless, continued to assure me 

 that the day would clear nay, that it was already clearing ; and I soon 

 found that he was right. As we left the river we seemed to leave the 

 fog ; and before we had reached the pretty village of Backham the mist 

 had almost disappeared ; and I began to lose at once my silent fears 

 and my shivering chilliness, and to resume my cheerfulness and my 

 admiration. 



It was curious to observe how object after object glanced out of the 

 vapour. First of all, the huge oak, at the corner of Farmer Brookes's 

 field, which juts out into the lane like a crag into the sea, forcing the 

 road to wind around it, stood forth like a hoary giant, with its head lost 

 in the clouds ; then Farmer Hewitt's great barn the house, ricks, and 

 stables still invisible ; then a gate, and half a cow, her head being pro- 

 jected over it in strong relief, whilst the hinder part of her body 

 remained in the haze ; then, more and more distinctly, hedgerows, 

 cottages, trees, and fields, until, as we reached the top of Backham Hill, 

 the glorious sun broke forth, and the lovely picture lay before our eyes 

 in its soft and calm beauty, emerging gradually from the vapour that 



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