CHAPTER II.
May 22d.
I wonder whether I should be happier now if I had lived in a garret "in the brave days when I was twenty-one," if I had undergone the lessons of misery with the attendant compensations of "_une folle maitresse, de francs amis et l'amour des chansons_," and had joyous-heartedly mounted my six flights of stairs.

I lived modestly, it is true; but never for a moment was I doubtful as to my next meal, and I have always enjoyed the creature comforts of the respectable classes; never did Lisette pin her shawl curtain-wise across my window.

Sometimes, nowadays, I almost wish she had.

I never dreamed of glory, love, pleasure, madness, or spent my lifetime in a moment, like the singer of the immortal song.

Often the weary moments seemed a lifetime.
And now that I am forty, "it is too late a week." Boon companions, of whom I am thankful to say I have none, would drive me crazy with their intolerable heartiness.