"There is always a
something," said he, "in what we make, not only beyond what we intend
to make, but different from it. We study a long time the powers of
position,--in chess, for example;--how much is produced by one move
that we did not anticipate, and perhaps cannot ascertain,--certainly not
prevent! How many times we are wittier than we meant to be,--striking
out, by our unconscious blow, thoughts related to the one we utter, but
far more brilliant,--and ourselves becoming conscious of the very good
thing we have said only by its effect on the company! So it is, I fancy,
with all our mental movements. The brain acts independently of the will
in sleep. Why not, in a great measure, when awake? Probably, as all
Nature has a movement of its own, so all Art may be made to have, by
the infusion and absorption of so much of the creative energy of the
artist,--hidden to the common eye, but palpitating to the instructed
touch, throbbing or sparkling to the instructed eye. Yes, it must be
so. The south-wind sighs a thousand times more mournfully through the
keyhole than Thalberg can make it do on the piano. What music there was
in those stones the man brought round, the other day, and played on with
a stick! And now, the sound here from the gas-tube, how wailing, how
sorrowful!--now, how triumphant!"

Fred was so delighted with watching the gas-burner, and listening to the
wild music which floated through it, that he did not at first observe
that the wind had risen and was blowing almost a gale. Presently, in his
speculations as to the cause of such a sudden flood of melody, he hit on
the possibility of a current of air.

"But, then, how comes the air to be so full of music? Never mind,--I'll
put the window down."

However, just as he was putting it down, a snow-flake, one of a hundred,
all pressing for the same point, flew past him, and alighted on the
green velvet tabouret.

It was nothing,--only a snow-flake,--and another time, Fred would have
thought nothing of it. But in the novel awakening of his faculties, even
a snow-flake had a new interest. With intense eagerness he watched the
movement of the little thing,--and yet, feeling that he might be on
forbidden ground, he had the presence of mind to seem not to see or
hear. If inanimate Nature were once to suspect his new insight, what a
bustle there would be! He almost closed his eyes, and lay still, where
he could watch and yet seem asleep. His prudence and caution