Now I dare say I shall be considered very bold and unladylike, and _unfeminine_--that's the word--for owning that I do indeed enjoy paying my favourites a visit in their comfortable quarters. It's worth a good deal to see Brilliant's reception of me when I approach his stable. From the instant I enter his abode and he hears my voice, he begins to move restlessly to and fro, whisking his dear tail, cocking his ears, and pawing up his "litter," till indeed that word alone describes the state to which he reduces his bed; then when I go up to him he lays back his ears with sheer delight, and gives a jump, as if he was going to kick me, and whisks that thin tail about more than ever. I lay my cheek to his smooth soft skin, and he nestles his beautiful head in my arms, and pokes his pretty muzzle into my pockets, and seems to ask for bits of bread and sugar and other delicacies, all of which are conferred upon him forthwith. I am sure he has more sense than a dog, and a great deal more affection than most men. I don't care how _slang_ and "bad style" people may think me, but I feel every one of those strong flat black legs, and look into his hoofs, hind-feet and all, and turn his rug up to see that he has been properly cleaned and treated as he deserves; for I _love_ Brilliant, and Brilliant loves me. It has sometimes been my lot to have an aching heart, as I conclude it is the lot of all here below. Like the rest of my fellow-creatures, I have been stung by ingratitude, lacerated by indifference where I had a right to expect attachment; or, worst of all, forced to confess myself deceived where I had bestowed regard and esteem. When I feel sore and unhappy on any or all of these points, nothing consoles and softens me so much as the affection of a dumb animal, more particularly a horse. His honest grave face seems to sympathize in one's grief, without obtruding the impertinence of curiosity or the mockery of consolation. He gives freely the affection one has been disappointed in finding elsewhere, and seems to stand by one in his brute vigour and generous unreasoning nature like a true friend. I always feel inclined to pour my griefs into poor Brilliant's unintelligent ears, and many a tear have I shed nestling close to my favourite, with my arms round him like a child's round its nurse's neck. That very afternoon, when I had made sure there was no one else in the stable, I leaned my head against Brilliant's firm warm neck, and sobbed, like a fool as I was. CHAPTER XVIII.