elevated ground had apparently disappeared. The day was very clear and
bright, sunny and hot, and there was no natural vapour. But on the light
north-east wind there came slowly towards me a bluish-yellow mist, the
edge of which was clearly defined, and which blotted out distant objects
and blurred those nearer at hand. The appearance of the open arable
field over which I was looking changed as it approached.

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.