't forget, though, Theodore, my friend," said Ottmar, "that there
are quantities of people who won't go up the ladder at all, because it
isn't 'proper' or 'becoming.' And many turn giddy by the time they get
to the third rung of it. Many never see the ladder at all, though it is
facing them in the broad, daily path of their lives, and they pass by
it every day. As regards the tales of the 'Thousand and One Nights,' it
is remarkable enough that most of those who have tried to imitate them
have overlooked that which is just what gives them life and reality--
exactly what Lothair's principle is. All the cobblers, tailors,
dervishes, merchants, and so forth, who appear as the characters in
those tales, are people who are to be met with every day in the
streets. And--inasmuch as life is independent of times and manners, but
is always the same affair--in its essential conditions (and always must
be so), it follows that we feel that all those folks--upon whom, in the
middle of their everyday lives, such extraordinary and magical
adventures came, and such spells wound themselves--are really the sort
of people who are actually walking about amongst us. Such is the
marvellous, mighty power of description, characterization, and
representation in that immortal book."

As the evening was fast growing colder, it was thought advisable--on
account of Theodore's having but half recovered from his late
illness--that the friends should go to the great summer-house, and
indulge in a cup of refreshing tea, in place of anything more exciting.

And when the urn was on the table, singing its usual little domestic
tune, Ottmar said--

"I don't think I could have a better opportunity for reading you a
tale which I wrote a long while ago, and which happens to begin with
tea-drinking. I mention, to begin with, that it is in Cyprian's style."

Ottmar read--

THE UNCANNY GUEST.

A storm was raging through the heavens, announcing the coming of
winter, whirling black clouds on its wings, which dashed down hissing,
rattling squall-showers of rain and hail.

"Nobody will come to-night," said Madame von G. to her daughter
Angelica, as the clock struck seven. "They would never venture out in
such weather. If your father were but home!"

Almost as she was speaking, in came Captain Moritz von E. (a cavalry
officer), followed by a young Barrister, whose brilliant and
inexhaustible fund of humour and wit was the life an