2;o NATURE'S STORY OF THE YEAR 



r the breeze is from a warm quarter. The fog is 

 then absorbed as well as scattered. But when the 

 cold increases, and all is still, fog is developed 

 throughout the night, and the first grey light of 

 dawn may reveal a landscape changed almost 

 beyond recognition. The hills and uplands have 

 their usual appearance ; but the farm in the hollow 

 has vanished ; the ten-acre spinney cannot be 

 traced ; the sound of the waterfall at the mill can 

 still be heard ; but there is a white vaporous mass 

 swelling high above the spot, as though the build- 

 ings had been burnt but still smouldered. Yet 

 some of the highest trees rear their crests above 

 the shroud, which engulfs all else around them. 



The morning mist, however, is generally the 

 forerunner of a fine day. The sun will dissolve 

 these soft shades, and retake possession of his 

 sheltered nooks and basking fields. And, glad as 

 we are for the humid cloud to vanish, we must yet 

 admit that this cold, clammy, opaque screen has 

 its charm. There is something beyond our ken 

 in this all-embracing and mysterious shade, silent 

 save for the drip it sheds from the trees. 



From a hilltop the life and death of the mist 



