A recluse, like myself, or a prisoner, to measure time by the progress of sunshine through his chamber.

Editor's note: the following entries were written between October 1836 and July 1837; no specific date is written in the journal.

A recluse, like myself, or a prisoner, to measure time by the progress of sunshine through his chamber.

Would it not be wiser for people to rejoice at all that they now sorrow for, and vice versa? To put on bridal garments at funerals, and mourning at weddings? For their friends to console with them when they attained riches and honour, as only so much care added?

If in a village it were a custom to hang a funeral garland or other token of death on a house where some one had died, and there to let it remain till a death occurred elsewhere, and then to hang that same garland over the other house, it would have, methinks, a strong effect.

No fountain so small but that heaven may be imaged in its bosom.