that ever was invented. It's exercise fit for the gods!"

He drew her to him and kissed her eyes and her cheeks and her lips.

"It was heavenly--heavenly, Sis," said he, "And I don't suppose even the
prudes could object to a man's waltzing with his own wife. I wonder will
we ever dance to old Cy's fiddle again?"

CHAPTER XXVI.

It was a very modest party, but a merry one. The ground was covered with
the unsullied whiteness of new-fallen snow and the coming of most of the
guests was heralded by the tintinnabulation of the little silver bells
so charming to the ear of the host.

The Grahams were among the first to be welcomed out of the frosty night
into the glow of lamp and candle and firelight, by the cordial hand and
voice of Edgar Goodfellow. Mr. Graham was in tune to most heartily take
part in the commemoration of the birthday of the man who was making
_Graham's Magazine_ the success of the publishing world in America. His
kindling blue eyes had never been kinder, his smile never more bland.
Mr. Alexander, founder of _The Saturday Evening Post_ which so gladly
published and paid for everything that Edgar Poe would spare it from
_Graham's_ was the next, and close following him, Mr. Cottrell Clarke,
first editor of the _Post_, and his charming wife. Captain and Mrs.
Mayne Reid, who were among the most admiring and affectionate friends of
the Poe trio were also there, and other congenial spirits.

They came in twos and threes, their laughter as light and clear as the
tinkle of their sleigh-bells.

And Rufus Griswold was there. The Dreamer with his deep reverence for
intellectual ability had a sincere admiration for Dr. Griswold--though
he did say he was "no poet." He desired the approval--the friendship--of
this brainy man and was proud and happy to have him of his party.

Coming in after the rest of the company had assembled, the brainy man's
big frame, topped by his big head, with his prominent brow and piercing
eyes, his straight, thick nose, his large full-lipped close-set mouth,
his square jaw with the fringe of beard sharply outlining it, produced a
decided effect. He seemed to fill up a surprisingly large portion of the
room. Instinctively, the gentleman who had occupied the largest and
heaviest chair vacated it and invited him to be seated in it--which he
did, instinctively. He was a young man--under thirty--but looked much
older. His face was a strange one. It could not have been called ugly.
By