“She is evidently very unhappy,” said Mr. Wharton, “and perhaps her funds are exhausted.  She must return to us, and for this purpose I will send her the means without delay.”

But still Miss Edwards did not come, and her letters were few and far between.  At length there came one written in much better spirits, and in her old cheerful style, in which she informed them that she was engaged to be married to a young physician of that place.  She seemed now very happy, and full of bright anticipations, not the least cheering of which, was the prospect of visiting her kind friends once more, when she should travel to the east on her bridal tour.  And this was the last letter they ever received from Miss Edwards.

That same summer a package came to Mr. Wharton, directed in an unknown hand, from a place, the name of which he had never heard before.  It was from a physician, and ran thus: 

SIR,—­I was called a few weeks since to attend a young lady, who was lying dangerously ill, at the only tavern in our little village.  I found her raving in delirium, and your name, and the names of many whom I suppose to be members of your family, were constantly mingled with her ravings.  She had stopped at the tavern the night before in the stage; and when the other passengers went on was too ill to proceed with them.  I attended her constantly for a week or ten days, and at the end of that time, I had the happiness to find that her fever had entirely left her, and her mind was quite restored.  She was, however, extremely weak, and feeling assured, she said, that she should never be able to reach the home of her kind friends, (mentioning the name of your family,) she begged earnestly for writing materials, and though I remonstrated and entreated, I found it impossible to prevent her writing.  She said she had a communication which it was due to you that she should make, and she charged me over and over again, to remember your direction, and send the package to you in case she did not leave that place alive.  She was busily engaged in writing one day, when the noise of wheels attracted her to the window, which she reached in time to see a gentleman alight from a chaise, who proceeded to hand out a lady.  A person in the room with her, saw her put her hands to her head, and then she rushed from the back door of the house, and did not stop till she reached the woods.  When found she was a raving maniac, and is so still.  We have been obliged to place her in the county house, where she is confined in the apartment devoted to Lunatics, and is as comfortable as she can be made under the circumstances.  The accompanying package I found just as she left it, when she dropped her pen and hastened to the window, and I now comply with her earnest request and enclose it to you.

   With respect, &c.

   JAMES MASTEN.

The manuscript, when opened, was found to be in Miss Edwards’ well known hand-writing, though the fingers that held the pen, had evidently trembled from weakness and agitation.  It was with the saddest emotions, that those who had loved her so tenderly, read the following communication: