In life, as on the roofs, how many misfortunes come from having forgotten a single corner!

Ten o’clock.—­I cannot leave my window; the rain and the cold have kept it shut so long that I must reconnoitre all the environs to be able to take possession of them again.  My eyes search in succession all the points of the jumbled and confused prospect, passing on or stopping according to what they light upon.

Ah! see the windows upon which they formerly loved to rest; they are those of two unknown neighbors, whose different habits they have long remarked.

One is a poor work-woman, who rises before sunrise, and whose profile is shadowed upon her little muslin window-curtain far into the evening; the other is a young songstress, whose vocal flourishes sometimes reach my attic by snatches.  When their windows are open, that of the work-woman discovers a humble but decent abode; the other, an elegantly furnished room.  But to-day a crowd of tradespeople throng the latter:  they take down the silk hangings and carry off the furniture, and I now remember that the young singer passed under my window this morning with her veil down, and walking with the hasty step of one who suffers some inward trouble.  Ah!  I guess it all.  Her means are exhausted in elegant fancies, or have been taken away by some unexpected misfortune, and now she has fallen from luxury to indigence.  While the work-woman manages not only to keep her little room, but also to furnish it with decent comfort by her steady toil, that of the singer is become the property of brokers.  The one sparkled for a moment on the wave of prosperity; the other sails slowly but safely along the coast of a humble and laborious industry.

Alas! is there not here a lesson for us all?  Is it really in hazardous experiments, at the end of which we shall meet with wealth or ruin, that the wise man should employ his years of strength and freedom?  Ought he to consider life as a regular employment which brings its daily wages, or as a game in which the future is determined by a few throws?  Why seek the risk of extreme chances?  For what end hasten to riches by dangerous roads?  Is it really certain that happiness is the prize of brilliant successes, rather than of a wisely accepted poverty?  Ah! if men but knew in what a small dwelling joy can live, and how little it costs to furnish it!

Twelve o’clock.—­I have been walking up and down my attic for a long time, with my arms folded and my eyes on the ground!  My doubts increase, like shadows encroaching more and more on some bright space; my fears multiply; and the uncertainty becomes every moment more painful to me!  It is necessary for me to decide to-day, and before the evening!  I hold the dice of my future fate in my hands, and I dare not throw them.

Three o’clock.—­The sky has become cloudy, and a cold wind begins to blow from the west; all the windows which were opened to the sunshine of a beautiful day are shut again.  Only on the opposite side of the street, the lodger on the last story has not yet left his balcony.