NIGHTINGALE ROAD. 51 



In front of the wall of mist the sunshine lit the 

 field up brightly, behind the ground was dull, and yet 

 not in shadow. It came so slowly that its movement 

 could be easily watched. When it went over me 

 there was a perceptible coolness and a faint smell of 

 damp smoke, and immediately the road, which had 

 been white under the sunshine, took a dim, yellowish 

 hue. The sun was not shut out nor even obscured, 

 but the rays had to pass through a thicker medium. 

 This haze was not thick enough to be called fog, nor 

 was it the summer haze that in the country adds to 

 the beauty of distant hills and woods. 



It was clearly the atmosphere not the fog but 

 simply the atmosphere of London brought out over 

 the fields by a change in the wind, and prevented 

 from diffusing itself by conditions of which nothing 

 seems known. For at ordinary times the atmosphere 

 of London diffuses itself in aerial space and is lost, 

 but on this hot July day it came bodily and undiluted 

 out into the cornfields. From its appearance I 

 should say it would travel many miles in the same 

 condition. In November fog seems seasonable: in 

 hot and dry July this phenomenon was striking. 



Along the road flocks of sheep continue to travel, 

 some weary enough, and these, gravitating to the 

 rear of the flock by reason of infirmity, lie down in 

 the dust to rest, while their companions feed on the 

 wayside sward. But the shepherds are careful of 

 them, and do not hasten. Shepherds here often 

 carry the pastoral crook. In districts far from the 

 metropolis you may wander about for days, and 

 with sheep all round you, never see a shepherd 



