in my Homer. Often do I strive to allay the burning fever of my
blood; and you have never witnessed anything so unsteady, so
uncertain, as my heart. But need I confess this to you, my dear
friend, who have so often endured the anguish of witnessing my
sudden transitions from sorrow to immoderate joy, and from sweet
melancholy to violent passions? I treat my poor heart like a sick
child, and gratify its every fancy. Do not mention this again:
there are people who would censure me for it.

MAY 15.

The common people of the place know me already, and love me,
particularly the children. When at first I associated with them,
and inquired in a friendly tone about their various trifles, some
fancied that I wished to ridicule them, and turned from me in
exceeding ill-humour. I did not allow that circumstance to grieve
me: I only felt most keenly what I have often before observed.
Persons who can claim a certain rank keep themselves coldly aloof
from the common people, as though they feared to lose their importance
by the contact; whilst wanton idlers, and such as are prone to bad
joking, affect to descend to their level, only to make the poor
people feel their impertinence all the more keenly.

I know very well that we are not all equal, nor can be so; but it
is my opinion that he who avoids the common people, in order not
to lose their respect, is as much to blame as a coward who hides
himself from his enemy because he fears defeat.

The other day I went to the fountain, and found a young servant-girl,
who had set her pitcher on the lowest step, and looked around to