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A battery of thirty-two pound periods.

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In the eyes of a young child or other innocent person, the image of a cherub or an angel to be seen peeping out,—­in those of a vicious person, a devil.

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October 11. In Boston, a man passing along Colonnade Row, grinding a barrel-organ, and attended by a monkey, dressed in frock and pantaloons, and with a tremendously thick tail appearing behind.  While his master played on the organ, the monkey kept pulling off his hat, bowing and scraping to the spectators, round about,—­sometimes, too, making a direct application to an individual,—­by all this dumb show, beseeching them to remunerate the organ-player.  Whenever a coin was thrown on the ground, the monkey picked it up, clambered on his master’s shoulder, and gave it into his keeping, then descended, and repeated his pantomimic entreaties for more.  His little, old, ugly, wrinkled face had an earnestness that looked just as if it came from the love of money deep within his soul.  He peered round, searching for filthy lucre on all sides.  With his tail and all, he might be taken for the Mammon of copper coin,—­a symbol of covetousness of small gains,—­the lowest form of the love of money.

Baby was with us, holding by my forefinger, and walking decorously along the pavement.  She stopped to contemplate the monkey, and after a while, shocked by his horrible ugliness, began to cry.

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A disquisition or a discussion between two or more persons, on the manner in which the Wandering Jew has spent his life.  One period, perhaps, trying over and over again to grasp domestic happiness; then a soldier, then a statesman, &c., at last realizing some truth.

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The most graceful way in which a man can signify that he feels that he is growing old, and acquiesces in it, is by adhering to the fashion of dress which chances to be in vogue when the conviction comes upon him.  Thus, in a few years, he will find himself quietly apart from the crowd of young men.

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Our most intimate friend is not he to whom we show the worst, but the best of our nature.

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Nothing comes amiss to Nature,—­all is fish that comes to her net.  If there be a living form of perfect beauty, instinct with soul,—­why, it is all very well, and suits Nature well enough.  But she would just as lief have that beautiful, soul-illumined body for worms’ meat and earth’s manure!

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Instances of two ladies, who vowed never again to see the light of the sun, on account of disappointments in love.  Each of them kept her vow, living thenceforth, and dying after many years, in apartments closely shut up, and lighted by candles.  One appears to have lived in total darkness.