Beauty　or　none；　there　is　much　to　be　said　for　a　London　fog。　It　gives　us　all　that　“change”　which　we　are　always　needing。　When　our　world　is　all　but　invisible；　and　growing　visible　bit　by　bit　looks　utterly　different　from　its　accustomed1　self；　the　stupidest　of　us　all　can　hardly　fail　to　observe　a　change　for　our　eyes　at　least　as　great　as　there　would　have　been　in　going　to　Glasgow。　When；　arriving　at　one’s　house　or　one’s　club；　that　monotonous2　diurnal　incident　seems　an　almost　incredible　feat；　acplished　with　profound　relief　and　gratitude　for　a　safe　deliverance；　one　has　at　least　an　unaccustomed　sensation。　One　is　not　a　man　going　into　his　club；　but　a　mariner　saved　from　shipwreck3　at　the　last　gasp；　to　be　greeted　with　emotion　by　erst4　indifferent　waiters。　Yes；　a　fog　gives　Londoners　a　more　thorough　change　than　going　to　the　Riviera　to　avoid　it。　Then　it　brings　out　the　kindness　and　cheerfulness；　which　are　their　prime　claim　to　honour；　into　strong　relief。　True；　it　also　throws　into　relief　the　inparable　egoism　of　the　prosperous　among　them。　People　with　no　serious　cares　or　worries　in　the　world　of　course　bemoan　and　upbraid　this　trifling　inconvenience。　But　the　working；　struggling　Londoners；　cabmen　and　busmen；　you　and　I；　display　our　indomitable5　good…humour　to　advantage。　I　stayed　on　top　of　a　bus　for　half　an　hour　in　the　block　on　Monday　at　Hyde　Park　Corner　and　talked　with　the　driver。　People　are　often　disappointed　in　a　bus…driver　because　they　expect　a　wit　and　a　pretty　swearer。　They　find　neither；　but　they