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winter fires. But he probably needs no fire now. There was something strangely interesting in this sim- ple circumstance. Imagine the long-dead woodman, and his long-dead wife and family, and the old man who was a little child when the wood was cut, coming back from their graves, and trying to make a fire with this mossy fuel.

September 19th. Lying by the lake yesterday af- ternoon, with my eyes shut, while the waves and sun- shine were playing together on the water, the quick glimmer of the wavelets was perceptible through my closed eyelids.

October 13th. —- A windy day, with wind north- west, cool, with a prevalence of dull gray clouds over the sky, but with brief, quick glimpses of sunshine.

The foliage having its autumn hues, Monument Mountain looks like a headless sphinx, wrapped in a rich Persian shawl. Yesterday, through a diffused mist, with the sun shining on it, it had the aspect of burnished copper. The sun - gleams on the hills are peculiarly magnificent just in these days.

One of the children, drawing a cow on the black- board, says, I ’1l kick this leg out a little more,”— a very happy energy of expression, completely identify- ing herself with the cow; or perhaps, as the cow’s creator, conscious of full power over its movements.

October 14th. -—The brilliancy of the foliage has passed its acme; and indeed it has not been so mag- nificent this season as in some others, owing to the gradual approaches of cooler weather, and there hav-