I know when people dislike me: know it keenly, painfully; I know, too, with a sort of stolid patience, when they are simply indifferent to me. Doubtless, in both cases, they have every reason; I blame nobody, not even myself, I only state a fact. But with such people I can no more be my natural self, than I can run about, bare-footed and bare-headed, in our north winds or moorland snows. But if a little sunshine comes, my heart warms to it, basks in it, dances under it, like the silliest young lamb that ever frisked in a cowslip-meadow, rejoicing in the May. I am not, and never pretend to be, a humble person. I feel there is that in me which is worth something, but a return for which I have never yet received. Give me its fair equivalent, its full and honest price, and oh, if I could expend it every mite, how boundlessly rich I should grow! This last sentence means nothing; nor do I quite understand it myself. Writing a journal is a safety-valve for much folly; yet I am by no means sure that I ought to have written the last page. However, no more of this; let me tell the story of my day. Walking from church, Doctor Urquhart told me that Augustus had asked him to be best-man at the wedding. I said, I knew it, and wished he would consent. "Why?" Though the abrupt question surprised me, I answered, of course, the truth. That if the best-man were not himself, it would be one of the camp officers, and I hated-- "Soldiers?" I told him, it was not kind to be always throwing in my teeth that unfortunate speech; that he ought not to teaze me so. "Do I teaze you? I was not aware of it." "Very likely not; and I am a great simpleton for allowing myself to be teazed with such trifles. But Doctor Urquhart cannot expect me to be as wise as himself; he is a great deal older than I." "Tell me, then," he continued, in that kind tone, which always makes me feel something like a little pet donkey I once had, which, if I called it across the field, would come and lay its head on my hand,--not that, donkey as I am, I incline to trouble Doctor Urquhart in that way.--"Tell me what it is you do hate?" "I hate to have to entertain strangers." "Then you do not consider me a stranger?" "No; a friend." I may say that; for short as our acquaintance dates, I have seen more of Doctor Urquhart, and seem to know him better than any man in the whole course of my life. He did not refuse the title I gave him, and I think he was gratified, though he said only:-- "You are very kind, and I thank you." Presently I recurred to the subject of discussion, and wished him to promise what Augustus, and Lisabel, and we all desired. He paused a moment, then said, decisively:-- "I will come." "That is right. I know we can always depend upon Doctor Urquhart's promises."