From Fox's Earth 



On the charming paving I had loitered the 

 day away. Nor was I quite out of Inferno, but 

 only in another part. There was a change, but 

 scarcely for the better. The road entered on a 

 quaking bog, where was a trembling underfoot. 

 Over this boggy land the sun was setting. 

 Though so mild the climate, the relation of day 

 and night approach to Arctic. The midsummer 

 sun sets later than the early-bedding natives. 

 This is already a sleeping land in daylight. 



Mist came, or crawled down. The enemy is 

 mist. A slight chill will weave it from the 

 moisture-laden air. The change from day tem- 

 perature is often enough. There are two typical 

 summer evenings, when the moisture reveals its 

 presence in the rainbow hues of sunset, or a 

 coloured haze scarce less lovely ; and when it is 

 grey or black with mist. I learned to know all 

 three. The first lesson was the mist. 



The closed curtains deadened sound, if sound 

 there were, as well as veiled sight. Strange 

 chattering voices as of primeval men broke out 

 close at hand ; figures loomed large, because 

 undefined. I was in the midst of a family of 

 tramps. They found me lodging for the night ; it 

 matters not where. 



Such was the end of the bright road that led 

 through Inferno. The mist was the last phase. 

 I issued from it to know the Shetland I have 

 since known and loved ; a land sparkling and 



98 



