lao THE SPIRIT 



piling it up billow upon billow, only to 

 be swirled away in filmy tails of white. 

 It combs out the crimped tresses of the 

 summer cloud and makes smooth, 

 straight rivers of silver in the azure. 

 But it is not until the wind has become 

 less boisterous, not until the mist has 

 trailed the fringe of its tattered skirts 

 across the cultivated lands of the lower 

 hills, that the grateful rain, gentle as 

 dew, comes to water the sunburnt earth. 

 It is these first showers of autumn 

 which give such a charm to the " season 

 of mists and mellow fruitfulness." To 

 wake up after a soaking night and smell 

 the autumn in the air, is one of the most 

 invigorating sensations of the year. To 

 see the sun blinking through the white 

 mists which are lying tree-deep in the 

 valleys, to watch the deep blue come to 

 the far distances, to wait until the steamy 

 vapour rises up from the near fields, to 

 stay a little while until the crystal dew is 



