back to the hotel, and he sent out his servant to call a hansom.

"For the next quarter of an hour, as we sat talking, we could hear
the cab-whistle sounding, violently, from the doorstep, but
apparently with no result.

"'It cannot be that the cabmen are on strike,' my friend said, as he
rose and walked to the window.

"He pulled back the curtains and at once called to me.

"'You have never seen a London fog, have you?' he asked. 'Well, come
here. This is one of the best, or, rather, one of the worst, of
them.' I joined him at the window, but I could see nothing. Had I not
known that the house looked out upon the street I would have believed
that I was facing a dead wall. I raised the sash and stretched out my
head, but still I could see nothing. Even the light of the street-
lamps, opposite, and in the upper windows of the barracks, had been
smothered in the yellow mist. The lights of the room in which I stood
penetrated the fog only to the distance of a few inches from my eyes.

"Below me the servant was still sounding his whistle, but I could
afford to wait no longer, and told my friend that I would try and
find the way to my hotel on foot. He objected, but the letters I had
to write were for the Navy Department, and, besides, I had always
heard that to be out in a London fog was the most wonderful
experience, and I was curious to investigate one for myself.

"My friend went with me to his front door, and laid down a course for
me to follow. I was first to walk straight across the street to the