Something less than a year had passed since the settlement of Mr. and Mrs. Withers in their new home. It was now early autumn. Let me introduce you into that large, beautiful, and fragrant dressing-room into which Mrs. Collins had conducted our Hagar upon the first night of her arrival. The room wears the same pure and elegant appearance that it presented nearly a year since—nothing is changed, except by the addition of one article of furniture—near the right hand front corner of the room stands a large rose-wood crib, with beautifully embroidered thin white muslin curtains drawn around it. Let us draw back the curtains and look within—upon a downy pillow, covered with the finest, smoothest lawn, repose two babes of a few weeks old; we can only see their beautiful heads and faces, for their tiny forms are lightly covered by the white silk eider down quilt. But look at their sleeping faces, and tell me who they resemble—their fine blue-black hair looks like floss silk—we may be sure that their eyes are black by the slender eye-brows traced like a black pencil curve, and by the long black lashes that repose upon the crimson cheeks; look at the noble foreheads, at the elegant features; look at the delicate crimson lips, with the spirited curve of the upper one. They are our Hagar’s children! would you not have recognised and claimed them if you had found them in the wilderness? They are our Hagar’s twins—duplicate miniatures of herself—and now her bedroom door opens and she comes in, pacing slowly in an India muslin wrapper, with her ringlets glittering down as we used to see them; she comes and pauses softly, bending over the infant sleepers. Now, whether it is the reflection of the white muslin curtains, together with her white dressing robe, or whether her many months sedentary in-door life, and her recent illness had bleached her into a blonde, is not known; but certainly she is many shades fairer, and much thinner than when we saw her last; her carnation cheek has faded to a pale rose tint, her eyes are not so wild and bright, they are larger, sadder; instead of a lightning glance, they have now an earnest gaze; and see while she stoops over them till the ends of her bright ringlets rest upon the counterpane, her bosom heaves, her cheek flushes, her lips glow and open, her eyes grow bright and brighter, and her soul, pouring from her countenance, bathes the sleepers in a libation of love and blessing. How earnest her eyes are! how devotional her whole air, as her lips move in silent heart-worship! Now the passage door opened, and Raymond enters, going up to his wife’s side; he stood contemplating the children in silence, until she took his hand, and drawing his arm around her waist, turned and buried her face passionately in his bosom, while her ringlets fell over his circling arms. Then raising her head, she pointed to the sleeping infants, and exclaimed with enthusiasm, “Are they not beautiful, dearest?”