d improvements to be carried
into execution there. It has been found necessary to build an
additional room, which the proprietor pledges himself can be ready for
occupation in six weeks, and already have its walls reached nearly to
their intended height. The builders seem to be as expeditious as the
upholsterers at Paris, and adding a room or two to a mansion appears to
be as easily accomplished as adding some extra furniture.

One is made to pay dearly, however, for this facility and expedition;
for rents are extravagantly high at Paris, as are also the prices of
furniture.

Already does the terrace begin to assume the appearance of a garden.
Deep beds of earth inclosed in green cases line the sides, and an
abundance of orange-trees, flowering shrubs, plants, and flowers, are
placed in them.

At the end of the terrace, the wall which bounds it has been painted in
fresco, with a view of Italian scenery; and this wall forms the back of
an aviary, with a fountain that plays in the centre. A smaller aviary,
constructed of glass, is erected on the end of the terrace, close to my
library, from the window of which I can feed my favourite birds; and
this aviary, as well as the library, is warmed by means of a stove
beneath the latter. The terrace is covered by a lattice-work, formed
into arched windows at the side next the court: over the sides and roof
there are trailing parasitical plants. Nothing in the new residence
pleases me so much as this suite, and the terrace attached to it.

Already do we begin to feel the unsettled state peculiar to an intended
change of abode, and the prospect of entering a new one disturbs the
sense of enjoyment of the old. Gladly would we remain where we are, for
we prefer this hotel to any other at Paris; but the days we have to
sojourn in it are numbered, and our regret is unavailing.

CHAPTER XX.

September, 1829.--A chasm of many months in my journal. When last I
closed it, little could I have foreseen the terrible blow that awaited
me. Well may I exclaim with the French writer whose works I have been
just reading, "_Nous, qui sommes bornes en tout, comment le sommes-nous
si peu quand il s'agit de souffrir_." How slowly has time passed since!
Every hour counted, and each coloured by care, the past turned to with
the vain hope of forgetting the present, and the future no longer
offering the bright prospect it once unfolded!

How is my destiny changed since I last opened this b