WILD LIFE IN HARD WEATHER 207 



penetrate the dense rolling waves of gloom ; and 

 the very breath of the field life seemed stifled by 

 the heavy pressure of the limnid fog- wreaths. 

 Then the cold was felt to be terribly severe, and 

 the raw dampness of the atmosphere chilled one 

 through and through. 



As the morning advances the dense mist of 

 the frost is lifted by the growing strength of the 

 sun above the water meadows, and there, collect- 

 ing in a dense cloud, rolls past the wooded slope. 

 Soon, when the sun is high above the wood, the 

 cloud dwindles into a thin streak of blue fog, 

 which Hes across the tree-tops near old Watty's 

 cottage at the entrance to the glade. This fog, 

 rent at its edges by innumerable shafts of ruddy 

 light, disappears at last ; and the bright, un- 

 clouded azure of heaven extends in a great in- 

 verted cup that rests on the rim of the moor- 

 lands, on the rugged crests of the far-off moun- 

 tains, and on the gentle undulations of the 

 sleeping upland pastures — all a dazzling irregular 

 horizon of untrodden snow. Simultaneously 

 with the departure of the cloud from the wooded 

 slope near the river, the fairy fretwork of the 

 rime-frost vanishes from the stiffened boughs, 

 and the moisture drips from the pendent twigs. 

 Sometimes it trickles down the twigs, and, 

 meeting on the main branches, forms rivulets 

 that in turn become united where the branches 



