near that sweet season of fresh green, of which the poets of the
sixteenth century sang with so much feeling:

Now the gladsome month of May
All things newly doth array;
Fairest lady, let me too
In thy love my life renew.

The chirping of the sparrows calls me: they claim the crumbs I scatter
to them every morning. I open my window, and the prospect of roofs opens
out before me in all its splendor.

He who has lived only on a first floor has no idea of the picturesque
variety of such a view. He has never contemplated these tile-colored
heights which intersect each other; he has not followed with his eyes
these gutter-valleys, where the fresh verdure of the attic gardens
waves, the deep shadows which evening spreads over the slated slopes,
and the sparkling of windows which the setting sun has kindled to
a blaze of fire. He has not studied the flora of these Alps of
civilization, carpeted by lichens and mosses; he is not acquainted with
the myriad inhabitants that people them, from the microscopic insect to
the domestic cat--that reynard of the roofs who is always on the prowl,
or in ambush; he has not witnessed the thousand aspects of a clear or
a cloudy sky; nor the thousand effects of light, that make these upper
regions a theatre with ever-changing scenes! How many times have my
days of leisure passed away in contemplating this wonderful sight; in
discovering its darker or brighter episodes; in seeking, in short, in
this unknown world for the impressions of travel that wealthy tourists
look for lower!

Nine o'clock.--But why, then, have not my winged neighbors picked up the
crumbs I have scattered for them before my window? I see them fly away,
come back, perch upon the ledges of the windows, and chirp at the sight
of the feast they are usually so ready to devour! It is not my presence
that frightens them; I have accustomed them to eat out of my hand. Then,
why this fearful suspense? In vain I look around: the roof is clear,
the windows near are closed. I crumble the bread that remains from my
breakfast to attract them by an ampler feast. Their chirpings increase,
they bend down their heads, the boldest approach upon the wing, but
without daring to alight.

Come, come, my sparrows are the victims of one of the foolish panics
which make the funds fall at the Bourse! It is plain that birds are not
more reasonable than men!

With this reflection I was about to shut my win