worldly ambition; and a Beautiful Woman without pride or coquetry; a
Married Pair whose life had never been disturbed by incongruity of
feeling; a Reformer untrammelled by his theory; and a Poet who felt
no jealousy towards other votaries of the lyre. In truth, however,
the host was not one of the cynics who consider these patterns of
excellence, without the fatal flaw, such rarities in the world; and
he had invited them to his select party chiefly out of humble
deference to the judgment of society, which pronounces them almost
impossible to be met with.

"In my younger days," observed the Oldest Inhabitant, "such
characters might be seen at the corner of every street."

Be that as it might, these specimens of perfection proved to be not
half so entertaining companions as people with the ordinary
allowance of faults.

But now appeared a stranger, whom the host had no sooner recognized
than, with an abundance of courtesy unlavished on any other, he
hastened down the whole length of the saloon in order to pay him
emphatic honor. Yet he was a young man in poor attire, with no
insignia of rank or acknowledged eminence, nor anything to
distinguish him among the crowd except a high, white forehead,
beneath which a pair of deep-set eyes were glowing with warm light.
It was such a light as never illuminates the earth save when a great
heart burns as the household fire of a grand intellect. And who was
he?--who but the Master Genius for whom our country is looking
anxiously into the mist of Time, as destined to fulfil the great
mission of creating an American literature, hewing it, as it were,
out of the unwrought granite of our intellectual quarries? From