The first day that the advertisement appeared, no visitors of any distinction came to see the Wanderer, who yawned, and smoked cigars, and read through the last novel, declaring that it was intolerable to be dressed up for a show, and to have nobody come to see them. But in the evening, they were rewarded for their trouble. There was a quick, nervous ring, and Barrington opened the door: a timid little man walked in, looking back over his shoulder to see if he were observed. When he found himself alone with Barrington, he asked, with some surprise, if he were the Great Magician. "I! oh, no, my lord: far be it from me. I am the humblest of his slaves. I will see if my venerable master can now receive you." Opening the door leading into a back apartment, he made a low salam to the Wanderer, who was seated in state upon a divan, immersed in his studies. Addressing him in Hebrew, with a few words of Greek to make out the sense, he received a response which he interpreted to the newcomer as a permission to approach the august presence. The little man went in, feeling at every step an increase of reverential awe. The Oriental, costumed with all magnificence, his hoary head bent with age, his brow, from beneath which black eyes flashed brightly, furrowed with years and care, filled him with admiration. Every thing around heightened the impression. A curious-carved cabinet, whose doors looked as if they concealed a mystery, was surmounted by folio volumes filled, of course, with potent spells: and above these again, a skull and cross-bones made him shudder. In one corner was a globe, covered with strange figures, dragons, scorpions, distressed damsels fastened to a rock, etc. Scattered about the room were singular instruments of various kinds, jars with hideous snakes preserved in spirits, books in unknown tongues, and parchments upon which cabalistic diagrams were portrayed, which no doubt had power to command the spirits and to reveal futurity.