Not that I have any thing new or worth writing about do I now open my journal—I wonder what kind of person I am, I am sure I don’t know—but me! me! O! me—wish I was—never mind—don’t care—but I declare this will not do—Must call the past to mind—Friday morning I worked, read &c all the morning—in the evening Mr Saunders, and Mr Joe Stevenson (who had just come down from the Hill) called—I went to a party at Mr Lovejoys at night—Mr Charlie Graham accompanied me—I cannot say I enjoyed the evening although I was one of the last to start home—I enjoyed it about as much as I have any (except ours) for some time past—Saturday I got up early, and went down to try on my dress after which, came home and spent the rest of the day, in I have forgotten what— yes I took a nice nap in the evening—went over to see Mrs Rorke after tea—I will not bid my journal good bye, for a short time—I will not write in it again ‘til my return from Chapel Hill, for which place we expect to start by times Tuesday morning—how I hope I may enjoy it—and have as much pleasure and fun as I anticipate—went to Church this morning—Took a short nap this evening, awoke with a head-ache—Mr Stith, and Mr Jule Guion called and I had that greatest of pleasures talking, or hearing, (no not hearing for I did not pretend to do that) but letting him sit up, and rattle on sometime—well one comfort, he will not come in some time I guess now—I must off to bed for I must not sleep such late hours, I know it injures my health—but I cannot sleep, and I don’t see the use to go to bed—good night for some time—