Cornelia Augusta Hewett Crosse

“ It is a curious question to consider why, under certain circumstances, the fog is so electric as to crystallise every drop of moisture, forcing it to obey certain laws of form, and why another time the fog is so wanting in electric power that the deposition which follows a rapid loss of heat is amorphous, only casing the boughs with cylinders of ice, the mere mechanical weight of which, however, rends the wide-spread branches, leaving the noblest tree shorn by a mightier axe than ever woodman wielded. ”

“ There was hardly a breath of air stirring, but on all sides I heard the ominous sounds of splitting timber. Making my toilette with something more than “convenient speed,” I was soon at the scene of action, where I found in good sooth that the branches on every side came
—— Cracking, crashing, thunder down,
as though a legion of woodmen were felling whole plantations at a stroke. On looking round, I perceived to my amazement that every twig, every bough, was covered with a coating of transparent ice, half an inch or more in thickness. The walls of the house were glazed over ”

“ Every object that the eye could rest upon was turned to glass; stalactites were hanging from the upper boughs in every conceivable form; the laurels and other shrubs were not to be recognised, but on examining the leaves, I found that the icy mould in which they were encased retained the most delicate impressions of every fibre. ”