278 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



To-day there is not a gossamer to be seen on either branch 

 or paling ! I could not help thinking how fickle Nature is in 

 some of her ways, for, to all appearances, to-day was a perfect 

 replica of yesterday, when the white gossamers were every- 

 where : the same misty morn of grey light, the ceaseless drip 

 from the trees, whose leaves are covered with the white of the 

 frost's frondescence. Up from the river over the banks the 

 mists come tumbling through the long, dreary day, prefixing 

 Winter. The roads are sticky, the paths clammy, and the 

 soil, moistened by the heavy mists, clings to one's boots ; 

 the fragrance of decaying leaves, to-day so very much like 

 April hyacinths, pervades the air. These are the days that 

 gossamer-time brings, telling of many more waiting ahead 

 ere the blue skies of Spring shall dawn ! 



