greatly mistaken," said Lothair, "and be anything but the
possessor of a native genius (supplemented by assiduous practice) for
physiognomy--such as I believe that I do possess, if I do not read very
distinctly in the face of every one of us (not excepting my own, which
I see magically gleaming at me in yonder mirror), that our minds are
all fully charged with matter of importance, and only waiting for the
word of command to fire it off. I am rather afraid that more than one
of us may have got shut up in one or other of his productions one of
those eccentric little firework devils which may come fizzling out,
dart backwards and forwards about the room, banging and jumping, and
not manage to pop out of the window until it has managed to give us all
a good singeing. I even dread a continuation of our last conversation,
and may Saint Serapion avert that from us! But lest we should fall
immediately into those wild, seething waters, and that we may commence
our meeting in a duly calm and rational frame of mind, I move that
Sylvester begins by reading to us that story which we could not hear on
the last occasion because there was no time left."

This proposal was unanimously agreed to.

"The woof which I have spun," said Sylvester, producing a manuscript,
"is composed of many threads, of the most various shades, and the
question in my mind is whether--on the whole--you will think it has
proper colour and keeping. It was my idea that I should, perhaps, put
some flesh and blood into what I must admit, is a rather feeble body,
by contributing to it something out of a great, mysterious period--to
which it really does but serve as a sort of framework."

Sylvester read:--

THE MUTUAL INTERDEPENDENCE OF THINGS.

A tumble over a root as a portion of the system of the universe--Mignon
and the gypsy from Lorca, in connection with General Palafox--A
Paradise opened at Countess Walther Puck's.

"No!" said Ludwig to his friend Euchar, "no! There is no such lubberly,
uncouth attendant on the goddess of Fortune as Herr Tieck has been
pleased to introduce in the prologue to his second part of 'Fortunat,'
who, in the course of his gyrations, upsets tables, smashes ink-bottles,
and goes blundering into the President's carriage, hurting his head and
his arm. No! For there is no such thing as chance. I hold to the opinion
that the entire universe, and all that it contains, and all that comes
to pass in it--