the wayside brook is made to pour itself into the bunghole of a barrel

October 29th. -- On a walk to Scott's pond, with Ellery Channing, we found a wild strawberry in the woods, not quite ripe, but beginning to redden. For a week or two, the cider-mills have been grinding apples. Immense heaps of apples lie piled near them, and the creaking of the press is heard as the horse treads on. Farmers are repairing cider-barrels; and the wayside brook is made to pour itself into the bunghole of a barrel, in order to cleanse it for the new cider.

The ground this morning is white with a thin covering of snow.

October 27th. -- The ground this morning is white with a thin covering of snow. The foliage has still some variety of hue. The dome of Taconic looks dark, and seems to have no snow on it, though I don't understand how that can be. I saw, a moment ago, on the lake, a very singular spectacle. There is a high north-west wind ruffling the lake s surface, and making it blue, lead-coloured, or bright, in stripes or at intervals; but what I saw was a boiling up of foam, which began at the right bank of the lake, and passed quite across it; and the mist flew before it, like the cloud out of a steam-engine. A fierce and narrow blast of wind must have ploughed the water in a straight line, from side to side of the lake. As fast as it went on, the foam subsided behind it, so that it looked somewhat like a sea-serpent, or other monster, swimming very rapidly.

I saw the face of a beautiful woman, gazing at me from a cloud

October 21st. -- Going to the village yesterday afternoon, I saw the face of a beautiful woman, gazing at me from a cloud. It was the full face, not the bust. It had a sort of mantle on the head, and a pleasant expression of countenance. The vision lasted while I took a few steps, and then vanished. I never before saw nearly so distinct a cloud-picture, or rather sculpture; for it came out in alto-relievo on the body of the cloud.

The best of us being unfit to die, what an inexpressible absurdity to put the worst to death!

October 13th. -- How pleasant it is to see a human countenance which cannot be insincere, -- in reference to baby's smile.

The best of us being unfit to die, what an inexpressible absurdity to put the worst to death!

"Is that a burden of sunshine on Apollos back?" asked one of the children, -- of the chlamys on our Apollo Belvedere.