Cloudy and cold. The season is setting in rather more sharp than I have experienced it, and my mind becomes consequently rather anxious again about my daughter. As yet she goes on pretty well, but the tendency is not gone, and I dread any accidental cold that may set her back again. Morning spent at home, writing letters, and reading Pepys, who continues amusing. After luncheon, another walk over Castle bear hill, thence across the field, to the railway bridge to Drayton Green, thence along a straight road through a very flat manifesting plain to Little Ealing, and so back on the fields through Great Ealing home. The paths through fields are almost endless. I rarely try an old one twice. They must make serious drawbacks to the cultivation of lands. I note a good deal which seems to be left in pasture. Evening, quiet at home, reading more of J. R. Lavell.143