the Cousin Emily I had but a little before left was
simply my Cousin Emily, and not the beautiful being of whom my heart
and life were full--that incessant thinking of her, and seeking her,
had crazed my brain. I relighted my lamp and made my way into the
doctor's study. I read all I could find on the subject of optical
delusion and maniacal hallucination until I convinced myself that I
was laboring under a very alarming attack of one or both, and resolved
on seriously consulting my friend, the doctor, early the next morning.

I went back to bed with the decided opinion that I was exceedingly to
be pitied--how would it appear in the papers? for I must undoubtedly
grow worse, and it must undoubtedly end in suicide. "Sad occurrence,"
"nice young man," "brilliant prospects," "only son of--," and
"promising talents," "laboring under incipient insanity," "fatal cause
unknown," &c., &c. I sympathized with myself until near morning, then
fell into a sleep, which lasted until the bell rung for breakfast. I
dressed in a hurry, and got down before the muffins were quite cold. I
ate a hearty breakfast, read a newspaper or two, and determining on
seeing my cousin again before I made up my mind to ask advice, I soon
found myself at her door. The fresh morning air and the walk had so
invigorated me, that I laughed at my last night's fears, especially as
my lovely cousin came into the drawing-room to receive me, radiant
with health and beauty. I found her just the same as she was the night
before, gay, witty and charming, and as cold as marble. Still I could
not be mistaken; for, with all her feigned coldness--for some good
reason of her own undoubtedly--there was no doubting her identity with
that of my glorious Fairmount vision.

The day was a lovely one, soft and mild as a June morning could make
it. After conversing on indifferent subjects for a time, I asked her,
remarking on the deliciousness of the morning, if she would not like
to go out with me to Fairmount. She assented with a quiet smile, as
innocently as though she had never in her life before heard of such a
place as Fairmount.

"The little-deceiver!" thought I. "Which way shall we go?" said I,
aloud, and very significantly, "shall we take the omnibus?"

"I will order the carriage," replied she, with a slight shrug; "I
never ride in those omnibusses, one meets with such odd people."

"_Never?_" asked I, emphatically.

"Certainly, never!" answered she, with much appa