e conservatory, and there, seated amid
the rare eastern flowers, herself the queen of them, was, gracious
heaven! I dared scarcely breathe, so great was my fear of dispelling
the beautiful illusion. It was she! none other; my stage-coach
companion--my Fairmount goddess. The musical, measured voice of my
statue-like Cousin Emily brought me to myself.

"Allow me. Cousin Ledyard, to introduce you to _my_ Cousin Emily."

There they both stood, one Cousin Emily, calm, stately, serene; the
other trembling and in blushes.

I looked from one to the other in the most ludicrous bewilderment, yet
each glance showed me more and more what a wonderful fool I had been
making of myself for the last few days. Still they were strangely
alike; their own kindred could not at times distinguish one from the
other. My heart could feel the difference. _My_ Emily was a child of
nature, the other bred in a more conventional school. My Emily was a
shade less tall, less stately, less Grecian, and exquisitely more
lovely, and loving.

But that double wedding _was_ a grand one. By what means my Emily
contrived to disentangle herself from that handsome-whiskered
"Charles," and to entangle him fast in the chains of the other Emily,
any one who wishes to know, and will take the trouble, can have all
due information on the subject, and can also learn how I wooed my
peerless Emily and won her, by coming to our lovely picturesque
dwelling, situate in one of the most romantic spots in the country. I
write you all to come, one by one, and spend a month with me, and you
shall know all the particulars. You will find my little Emily a
pattern housekeeper; you will also find a ready welcome. Bless her
sweet face! There she sits, at the moment that I am writing this to
you, with her willow arms twined around the exquisite form of her
little lily-bud boy, and bending low her graceful form over him,
hushing to sleep the very bravest, noblest, merriest little specimen
of babyhood--the exact image of his enraptured father.

THE DEFORMED ARTIST.

BY MRS. E. N. HORSFORD.

The twilight o'er Italia's sky
Had wove a shadowy veil,
And one by one the solemn stars
Looked forth serene and pale;
As quickly the waning light
Through a high casement stole,
And fell on one with silver hair,
Who shrived a passing soul.

No costly pomp and luxury
Relieved that chamber's gloom,
But glowing forms, by limner'