How various are the situations of the people covered by the roofs beneath me, and how diversified are the events at this moment befalling them!  The new-born, the aged, the dying, the strong in life and the recent dead are in the chambers of these many mansions.  The full of hope, the happy, the miserable and the desperate dwell together within the circle of my glance.  In some of the houses over which my eyes roam so coldly guilt is entering into hearts that are still tenanted by a debased and trodden virtue; guilt is on the very edge of commission, and the impending deed might be averted; guilt is done, and the criminal wonders if it be irrevocable.  There are broad thoughts struggling in my mind, and, were I able to give them distinctness, they would make their way in eloquence.  Lo! the raindrops are descending.

The clouds within a little time have gathered over all the sky, hanging heavily, as if about to drop in one unbroken mass upon the earth.  At intervals the lightning flashes from their brooding hearts, quivers, disappears, and then comes the thunder, travelling slowly after its twin-born flame.  A strong wind has sprung up, howls through the darkened streets, and raises the dust in dense bodies to rebel against the approaching storm.  The disbanded soldiers fly, the funeral has already vanished like its dead, and all people hurry homeward—­all that have a home—­while a few lounge by the corners or trudge on desperately at their leisure.  In a narrow lane which communicates with the shady street I discern the rich old merchant putting himself to the top of his speed lest the rain should convert his hair-powder to a paste.  Unhappy gentleman!  By the slow vehemence and painful moderation wherewith he journeys, it is but too evident that Podagra has left its thrilling tenderness in his great toe.  But yonder, at a far more rapid pace, come three other of my acquaintance, the two pretty girls and the young man unseasonably interrupted in their walk.  Their footsteps are supported by the risen dust, the wind lends them its velocity, they fly like three sea-birds driven landward by the tempestuous breeze.  The ladies would not thus rival Atalanta if they but knew that any one were at leisure to observe them.  Ah! as they hasten onward, laughing in the angry face of nature, a sudden catastrophe has chanced.  At the corner where the narrow lane enters into the street they come plump against the old merchant, whose tortoise-motion has just brought him to that point.  He likes not the sweet encounter; the darkness of the whole air gathers speedily upon his visage, and there is a pause on both sides.  Finally he thrusts aside the youth with little courtesy, seizes an arm of each of the two girls, and plods onward like a magician with a prize of captive fairies.  All this is easy to be understood.  How disconsolate the poor lover stands, regardless of the rain that threatens an exceeding damage to his well-fashioned habiliments, till he catches a backward glance of mirth from a bright eye, and turns away with whatever comfort it conveys!