ver opening my mouth
upon the subject again. I leave this record after my death, and perhaps
strangers may be found to have more confidence in me than my friend."

Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may have been. I may add
that the visit of the deceased to Allerton's Farm, and the general
nature of the alarm there, apart from his particular explanation, have
been absolutely established. With this foreword I append his account
exactly as he left it. It is in the form of a diary, some entries in
which have been expanded, while a few have been erased.

April 17.--Already I feel the benefit of this wonderful upland air.
The farm of the Allertons lies fourteen hundred and twenty feet above
sea-level, so it may well be a bracing climate. Beyond the usual morning
cough I have very little discomfort, and, what with the fresh milk and
the home-grown mutton, I have every chance of putting on weight. I think
Saunderson will be pleased.

The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint and kind, two dear little
hard-working old maids, who are ready to lavish all the heart which
might have gone out to husband and to children upon an invalid stranger.
Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, one of the reserve forces
of the community. They talk of the superfluous woman, but what would
the poor superfluous man do without her kindly presence? By the way,
in their simplicity they very quickly let out the reason why Saunderson
recommended their farm. The Professor rose from the ranks himself, and
I believe that in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these very
fields.

It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are picturesque in the extreme.
The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregular
valley. On each side are the fantastic limestone hills, formed of rock
so soft that you can break it away with your hands. All this country is
hollow. Could you strike it with some gigantic hammer it would boom like
a drum, or possibly cave in altogether and expose some huge subterranean
sea. A great sea there must surely be, for on all sides the streams run
into the mountain itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhere
amid the rocks, and when you pass through them you find yourself in
great caverns, which wind down into the bowels of the earth. I have a
small bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it into
these weird solitudes, and to see the wonderful silver and black effect
when