B November ffOQ 29 



the western horizon, barred with crimson and orange 

 and pale yellow, with a yawning aperture showing a 

 vista of purplish pink ending in clouded blue. Weather 

 imports all, surely ! 



So to-day the morning broke in a snow-squall, and 

 the afternoon fell entirely under stern Winter's sway. 



And the icy cold of this mid-March day ! Truly 

 'twas a penalty to pay for an unclouded, star-blazing 

 sky, and a sunset worthy of an ambitious painter's 

 dream. 



A NOVEMBER FOG 



The Fog Fiend's chilly breath has been breathed 

 upon the desolate beach this early November morning. 



At sunrise a light wind sprang out of the south, 

 coming straight from the heathery moors of Yorkshire 

 and across the crinkled waters of the Tees estuary, 

 but it cannot dissipate this raw smother of vapour. 

 As the choking stuff drives along, 



Lengthening to th' horizon round, 



it makes you cough and gasp with painful frequency, 

 and deposits a thin film of salt upon your lips. Your 

 general feeling is that of being enveloped in a sheet 

 fresh dipped in the North Sea, whose waters, though 

 almost by your side, are quite invisible. The low- 

 circling sun 



Sheds, weak and blunt, his wide refracted rays. 



It is but a misty, suffused patch of orange light, 

 perpetually changing its indefinite form as the steam- 

 like clouds sweep steadily past. 



