If a false step on the part of any man
should be generously forgotten, it should be
forgotten in him.

THE OTHER GARRET.

IN the year 1846, finding myself out of
employment, I happened to hear that there
was a demand in Paris for workmen in my
business. I understood the French language,
and had no family ties to keep me in London;
so I packed up all my worldly goods, and
with a few pounds in my pocket, proceeded
to the gay capital. I hired a single chamber
on the second floor of one of the enormous
"hotels garnis," or furnished houses, in the
Rue du Faubourg Poissonnière; and the next
day went out to seek employment. I had
two letters of introduction to masters— one
directed to the Rue St. Martin, where I
proceeded first. The employer received me kindly,
but said that he had then no need of
workmen. The second gave me the same
answer, but added that if in six weeks' time
I were not engaged, he should certainly be in
a condition to employ me. A month passed
and left me still idle. I found that I had
been misinformed as to the demand for
workmen; or else, that the state of things
had changed since the date of my information.
I began to think of returning to London,
before my stock of money became too low to
enable me to do so; but, by a strange fate, I
was positively without a friend or relative in
England; and, if I returned, I did not see that
I should greatly improve my prospects. On
the other hand, the house in the Faubourg
St. Antoine had assured me that I should be
engaged there in another fortnight. I resolved
to stay, I saw my money dwindle down to
the exact sum which would take me back to
London. I hesitated—but at last spent a
portion, with the resolution of a man who
burns his boat upon the shore to give himself
the courage of desperation. Meanwhile I
renewed my search, but still without success;
till, at last, the day came when I was to
present myself at the manufactory in the Rue St.
Antoine. The aspect of the workshop, and
the countenance of the master, were sufficient
answer. I left the house with a heavy heart
—my last and most confident hope was gone
in an instant! I was without friends—
almost without money, or the means of getting
it; and as effectually cut off from my own
country as if I had been in the heart of
Siberia. I had no spirit to renew my search
that day. I took my small loaf and cheese,
and with a book in my hand sat in the gardens
of the Luxembourg till the light failed. I
returned home, and entering at the lodge,
asked to speak with the porter's wife, of whom
I had hired my room. At the same time, a
young woman lodging in the same house came
in and asked if there were a letter for her.
The landlady gave her one, and she broke
open the seal and began to read it eagerly. I
felt some degree of shame to speak of my
business in the presence of a stranger; but
the young lodger was absorbed in reading
her letter, and showed no signs of departing.

"I wished, Madame Mallet, to ask if you
had another room to let, which I might
exchange for my own."

"Oh yes— Monsieur would like one better
furnished; one on the first floor, perhaps.
Well, I must say Monsieur is not lodged very
comfortably; but however, for six francs a
week, I am sure Monsieur would not find a
nicer lodging in all Paris."

"No, Madame Mallet, it is not that which
I want. I simply wished to know if you had
another room unoccupied, at a lower rent
than my own."

"Why yes," replied she, in a less respectful
tone—" if you wish for one cheaper, you must
be content to climb up to the top floor,
where I have a little room, not very elegantly
furnished, as a matter of course, at four francs
per week. This young person occupies the
other garret, which she will tell you is pretty
comfortable."

The young woman raised her eyes from the
letter and murmured, timidly, that she was
quite satisfied with it.

I observed her as she spoke. She was
certainly far from being handsome, but her
dress though plain was neat and graceful.
There was, moreover, an expression in her
face of meek humility, the result perhaps of a
consciousness of her want of beauty. On that
account she had, I thought, experienced
neglect, perhaps harsh treatment, and had
become timid and retiring, never forgetting
her defects.

"Monsieur can walk up, and see his new
room if he pleases," added Madame Mallet—
"or, as it is quite ready, he has nothing to do
but to carry up his box."

She took the light, and I followed. My
near neighbour wished me good night upon
the landing, and I entered my new abode.
The room was small, and paved with red
tiles. It contained simply a bed, two chairs,
and a table, and on the walls a few Catholic
pictures.—The house, like most of the " hotels
garnis " in the suburbs of Paris, was a great
building, forming three sides of a square yard
planted with trees. My window looked out
upon this yard. I sat myself down and began
to reflect upon my position. My money, If I
lived the life of a hermit, would not last me
more than three weeks. I might then,
perhaps, sell a few books, which I had brought
with me— the only consolation to which I
could turn in my trouble; I had also a ring
which my mother had given me, and which I
had resolved never to part with.

I continued to seek employment and to live
with the most rigid economy; but, at length,
I found myself without a sou. I took my
books and sold them for a few francs at
one of those innumerable book stalls that line
the quays of the Seine. When this money