I walked along the Cliff yesterday, and found myself slipping on a little ridge just at the edge of a red fissure. I did not remember that they came so near the path; I have no wish to perish. I can imagine sticking out ones arms on the way down, and feeling them tear, and finally whirling over, and cracking ones head. I think I should feel as though I saw a china vase fall from the table; a useless thing to happen-and without any reason or good in it. But numbers of people do fall over; my good landlady tells me stories. Her son in law was found dead in the road, his horses coming home before him, and no one knew how it happened. She is full sayings, and wisdom about making the best of things, and `here we are, and we must grin and bear it'. She offered me a horn cup, made from an ancestral cow, which I had to refuse as well as I could; and then said that I was like the gentleman she had just had-a true lady.

Well-if I am to go out, and I get bitchy if I stay in, I must tramp now, in my great boots and water proof.

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