obliged to seek shelter. I see
every one rushing toward the shop in front of my window, which a bill
announces is to let. It is for the fourth time within a few months. A
year ago all the skill of the joiner and the art of the painter were
employed in beautifying it, but their works are already destroyed by the
leaving of so many tenants; the cornices of the front are disfigured by
mud; the arabesques on the doorway are spoiled by bills posted upon them
to announce the sale of the effects. The splendid shop has lost some of
its embellishments with each change of the tenant. See it now empty, and
left open to the passersby. How much does its fate resemble that of so
many who, like it, only change their occupation to hasten the faster to
ruin!

I am struck by this last reflection: since the morning everything seems
to speak to me, and with the same warning tone. Everything says: "Take
care! be content with your happy, though humble lot; happiness can be
retained only by constancy; do not forsake your old patrons for the
protection of those who are unknown!"

Are they the outward objects which speak thus, or does the warning
come from within? Is it not I myself who give this language to all that
surrounds me? The world is but an instrument, to which we give sound at
will. But what does it signify if it teaches us wisdom? The low voice
that speaks in our breasts is always a friendly voice, for it tells
us what we are, that is to say, what is our capability. Bad conduct
results, for the most part, from mistaking our calling. There are so
many fools and knaves, because there are so few men who know themselves.
The question is not to discover what will suit us, but for what we are
suited!

What should I do among these many experienced financial speculators? I
am only a poor sparrow, born among the housetops, and should always
fear the enemy crouching in the dark corner; I am a prudent workman,
and should think of the business of my neighbors who so suddenly
disappeared; I am a timid observer, and should call to mind the flowers
so slowly raised by the old soldier, or the shop brought to ruin by
constant change of masters. Away from me, ye banquets, over which hangs
the sword of Damocles! I am a country mouse. Give me my nuts and hollow
tree, and I ask nothing besides--except security.

And why this insatiable craving for riches? Does a man drink more when
he drinks from a large glass? Whence comes that universal dread of