A LONDON FOG.

Western Star, Issue 1244, 21 April 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

A LONDON FOG.

“I could not sec my hand before |me. The;man next door couldn’t see his hand before him either. Nobody, in fact, could see his or her band before him or her during the whole time. I think that upbet ub more than all the other miseries combined. When we met together of an evening round the fire, we used to tell each other with tears in our eyes how we hadn’t been able to see our hands before us all day long. 1 do not know that we particularly wanted to see our hands before us, or that our not being able to do so was any. serious deprivation .in any way, but it was a bitter blow to us at the time. You would have thought from the universal wail of misery that went up that seeing one's hand before .us was a consolation that made human life worth living. We all walked about by feel, creeping cautiously along with our arms spread out before us, after the manner of ants and earwigs. When we bumped up against anything soft we guessed it was a man, and if it felt hard we concluded it was a cart or a horse, As for asking people the way, it was useless. Nobody knew where they were. You would clutch hold of something that you bad bumped up against, and say—‘Oh, if you please, would you mind telling me where I am ?’ Andj if it were a pillarbox or a baked potato can, it wouldn’t answer ", but if it was alive, it would say—‘Well, really, to. tell you the truth, I don’t know myself.’ Even when you did get into your own street, matters were far from settled, and it was quite a mercy if you didn’t get forcing your way into the wrong house, and be given in charge for a burglar. People used to come into our house with latch-keys from all parts of London, and then be indignant and surprised at finding me there ; and ask —‘ What ? ain’t this number 102 Little Pudding Street, Bayswater V and on my replying, ‘ No—you don’t live here, and you ain’t going to—so get outside,' would exclaim—' 1 Well, then, how is it

my key fits your door ?’ and go away convinced that it was their home after all, and that they’d been swindled out of it. Why, one lady called me Teddy, and followed me into the passage one day. She thought I was her husband in the fog. And, would you think it, it took three hours and a half hard at it to convince my mother-in-law that I hadn’t encouraged her—and then she didn’t believe it.”—Home Chimes.