120 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
on deck. The fresh mist blew in our faces with sicken- 
ing effect, and the sun—then two hours high—was invis- 
ible. The shore, which was so near that the breaking of 
twigs could be heard, as cattle, or game moved about on 
it, was indiscernible. Even the end of the boat opposite 
to the one on which we stood was invisible. A deep, 
damp, opaque Mississippi river fog, had swallowed us 
up. 
As the sun continued to rise and gain strength in © 
its ascent, its rays penetrated through the gloom, and 
we at last discovered it, working its way through the 
fog by its rays, reaching them out as a debilitated spider 
would his legs, and apparently with the same caution 
and labor. 
With the growing heat a gentle breeze sprang up, 
and the fog rolled about in huge masses, leaving spots 
of pure atmosphere, and then closing them up; gradu- 
ally the air became more and more rarefied, and things 
at a distance began to appear all magnified and myste- 
rious. 
On came the sun, brightening and enlarging, until 
his streaming rays dipped into the water, and shot up to — 
the zenith. | 
The fog, no longer able to keep its consistency, re- 
tired before its splendor in little clouds, which would 
sometimes rally, and spread over the surface of the 
river, then, breaking asunder, vanish away into air, with 
a splendor that rivalled the dying dolphin’s tints. 
