Baron
von S---- was in the habit of giving."

"I render thanks to Heaven," said Vincenz, "that this meeting of our
Club has ended so happily. I never dared to hope that it would; and I
would fain entreat my worthy Serapion Brethren to see that proper
measures are taken, in future, that there be a due alternation between
the terrifying and the entertaining, which on this occasion has by no
means been the case."

"This admonition of yours," Ottmar said, "is right and proper; but it
rested with yourself to rectify the error into which we have fallen
to-night by contributing something of your own, in your special style
of humour."

"The truth is," said Lothair, "that you, my very fine fellow--and at
the same time my very lazy-as-to-writing fellow--have never yet paid
your entrance-money into the Serapion Guild, and the only mode of
payment is a Serapiontic story."

"Hush!" cried Vincenz. "You don't know what has come glowing forth from
my heart, and is nestling in this breast-pocket of mine here; a quite
remarkable little creature of a story, which I specially commend to the
favour of our Lothair. I should have read it to you to-night. But don't
you see the landlord's pale face peeping in at the window every now and
then, just in the style in which the uncle Kuehleborn, in Fouque's
'Undine,' used to 'keek' in at the window of the fisherman's hut.
Haven't you noticed the irritated 'Oh, Jemini!' countenance of the
waiter? Was there not written on his forehead, legibly and distinctly
(when he snuffed the candles), 'Are you going to sit here for ever? Are
you never going to let an honest man get to his well-earned bed?' Those
people are right. It is past twelve: our parting hour has struck some
time ago."

The friends agreed to have another Serapiontic meeting at an early
date, and dispersed.

SECTION VII.

The dreary late autumn had arrived, and Theodore was sitting in his
room beside the crackling fire, waiting for the worthy Serapion
Brethren, who came dropping in, one by one, at the appointed hour.

"What diabolical weather!" cried Cyprian, entering the last. "In spite
of my cloak I am nearly wet through, and a gust of wind all but carried
away my hat."

"And it won't be better very soon," said Ottmar; "for our
meteorologist, who lives in the same street with me, has prognosticated
very fine weather at the end of this autumn."

"Right; you are perfectly right, my friend Ottm